by Taylor Lee
Gabe wondered how much deeper Shamus would dig his own grave, when Shamus obliged him and scooped up another shovelful of dirt.
“What do you say, Angel?” Shamus emptied the glass at his elbow and shot Gabe a wavery smirk. In a voice slurred from a mix of whisky and lust, he quirked a finger at the frightened woman pressed against the wall. “C’mere, Sadie. Wiggle that bony ass of yours over here.” Looking back at Gabe, he growled, “How about I toss in the whore and you and me play this next hand, man to man. Winner takes the pot and the bitch.” He mused, “Hell, even her name fits. Sadie, sad little Sadie!” He cracked her bottom with a hard smack when he sang out her name. The woman barely flinched, confirming that she was no stranger to the vile bully’s punishing hand.
From years of practice, Gabe kept his expression impassive, refusing to let his fury shine through. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and eyed the measly pile of chips in front of Shamus.
Twisting up in his chair to get a better look, he pinned a quizzical frown on the front of the repulsive little man’s trousers. “That’s mighty big talk from a guy with such a small… small pile of chips.”
Hearty guffaws and a chuckle or two greeted the blatant reference to Shamus’s manhood.
Shamus flushed an impossible shade of purple at Gabe’s taunt.
“Why, you arrogant son of a bitch. I’ll show you who’s got chips. Match this, asshole!”
Shamus stood, puffing up like an enraged toad, his gut hanging over his belt buckle. He jerked a leather pouch out of his back pocket and threw it on the table. A splash of gold coins spilled across the tattered green felt.
“This here is Rory’s weekly earnings from the scum he protects. He’ll be pleased as hell when I double his money. Specially when he knows I took it from the biggest sumbitch that ever sat his cocky ass down at a poker table. Put your money where that flappin’ mouth of yours is, Angel.”
Gabe quirked a brow. “What’ll it be, Shamus? Showdown? Five card stud?”
Shamus grunted his assent and added, “Last card’s down.”
Gabe gave him an agreeable smile and pushed his chips to the middle of the table.
“Not sure those gold nuggets equal all of this, given your embarrassingly small… pile of chips,” Gabe added with an easy grin, “But I’ll spot you the difference.”
Ignoring Shamus’s angry growl, Gabe glanced at the nervous ashen-faced dealer. Though he was Shamus’s stoolie, the frail-looking man was smart enough not to mess with Gabe — or “Angel,” as so many knew him. Gabe focused on the deck in the man’s trembling fingers, gratified that the cards were talking to him. Nodding to the dealer, he said, “I believe Shamus and I are ready, Sean. Please deal the cards.”
The tension in the room thickened. Palpable apprehension settled over the table. Shamus’s cohorts stared at the dirty felt, preparing for the inevitable explosion when Gabe won.
Gabe and the Swede made eye contact, and Gabe nodded subtly when he saw Gunnar’s hand eased under the table just in case. Anyone who misread Gunnar’s golden boy good looks did so at their peril. He was a walking time bomb, and as smart as he was lethal. Hell, he could even outdraw Gabe, and that was saying something. Without looking, Gabe knew that one of Eagle’s hands was near his holster and the other seconds away from the knife in his boot. As dangerous as the Indian was with a gun or a knife, Eagle’s forte was his brute strength — and the simmering anger that drove it.
The shuffling was over; the first card hit the table with a soft smack. Shamus grabbed his card and didn’t hide the smile that jerked his lips. Gabe didn’t look at his own card, just nodded to Sean to deal the first of the three community cards. It was the two of spades. He nodded again and the next card, the queen of spades, joined the deuce. Gabe heard but didn’t acknowledge Shamus’s hiss when the he saw the queen.
Gabe leaned back in his chair. He reached in his vest pocket and withdrew an embossed gold cigarette case. Selecting one of his custom Turkish cigarettes, he rolled it between his fingers and drank in the exotic spicy smell. In the glare of the match, he met Sean’s gaze and motioned to him to deal the final up card. Gabe smiled to himself, watching Shamus shift restlessly in his chair. Christ, he thought, the guy isn’t smart enough to try to hide his strain.
Dribbles of greasy moisture leaked from the brim of Shamus’s sweat-stained hat. The pungent smell emanating from the damp circles under his arms swamped the table.
Gabe flicked an ash off the end of his cigarette and met Shamus’s glower with a pleasant smile.
Shamus barked, “You best not be cheatin,’ Angel. If you got this hand rigged in one of your fancy plays, I’m tellin you it’ll be last goddamn game you ever play.”
Gabe allowed his smile to widen. “Hell, Shamus, there’s no need to cheat when I face such piss poor competition.”
“You smart-assed little fucker,” Shamus spit out. He rose an inch or two out of his chair, his face tight with anger. He started toward Gabe. Then, seeming to decide against a more aggressive move, he slunk back down, clutching the corner of his hole card. His furious glare warned the dealer him to deal a good card.
But first came the last shared card; Shamus’s face lit up when the ace of hearts hit the table. He looked like a banty rooster ready to strut across the barnyard. If he could have crowed, he would. His eyes focused on the pile of chips in the middle of the table and he licked his moist lips, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth.
Gabe took a lazy drag off his cigarette and nodded to the dealer to deal each player their last card. As Shamus had ordered, it was a down card to each man.
Without waiting, Shamus leapt to his feet. With a triumphant roar he flipped over the ace in his hand and put it beside the one on the table. He pranced around his chair, his fat rump swinging from side to side, a revolting dance of rippling flesh.
When Shamus reached out to grab the pile of chips chortling in excitement, Gabe held up his hand. Taking a drag off his cigarette, he nudged the queen of spades into the center of the table. As silence descended over the room, he flipped up one and then the other of his hole cards, placing each of his two holecard queens beside the one in the middle.
Shamus’s roar, an agonized “Noooooooo!” shattered the silence. He made a dismal effort to control himself, to save face. But it was no use. His body trembled with rage. His beet-red face swelled, ready to explode. Gripping the edge of the table, he sunk back in his chair. He turned in fury to Gabe and spit out the challenging threat.
“You’re a cheater, Angel, a goddamn fucking cheater. You hear me? I’m callin’ you a cheater.”
He added with a taunting sneer, his hand snaking under the table to where his gun rested. “What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?”
Gabe quirked a brow. His ever-ready grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“It seems as though I don’t have a choice, Shamus. I’m gonna have to take you down.”
The muscles in Shamus’s neck tightened, his beady eyes darkened with hate.
“Take me down? How you gonna do that, Angel? Shoot me? You’re kinda outnumbered, pretty boy.” He gloated, glancing at his men. His face paled slightly, however, when all four avoided his stare and gazed at the table. Shamus swallowed hard, but his reckless fury overcame his caution.
“Guess it’s between you and me, asshole.” Shamus pulled himself up, reaching for his gun.
“Guess for once you’re right, Shamus,” Gabe agreed.
No sooner were the words out of Angel’s mouth, than a flash of a blade sliced through the air, landing in Shamus’s throat. His eyes widened in shock. With a gurgle, the little man pitched forward. His forehead smacked the table, shooting blood from the horizontal gash in his neck.
The silence in the room seemed to last an eternity.
“Damn, Angel.” Pete, one of Shamus’s henchmen, spoke for the rest of them, his voice a shrill squeak, “Holy mother of God! I never saw your hand leave the table.”
Sean’s voi
ce shook when he quaked, “And for Christ’s sake, you’re still smokin’ your goddamn cigarette.”
Before the shaken men could recover, Gunnar’s firm voice rang out. “Hands on the table, assholes, if you value those jewels hiding in your trousers.”
To underscore his partner’s order, Eagle clicked the hammers on both guns he held in his hands, aiming at the cowering men at the table.
Ignoring the disbelieving stares from the four traumatized men, Gabe unwound himself from his chair, his six foot four inch frame towering over the table.
Jerking his chin at the man sprawled on the table, a widening pool of blood seeping from his throat, Gabe spoke to Pete.
“Tell Rory: the next time he steals from a rival gang, he better know who they hired for protection. You can add that the blast that took out his six month store of booze, is courtesy of Angel.” He added, his voice rich with irony, “Hell, I probably did him a favor. Better I blow it up, than all those Micks he hires drink it up.”
Reaching over Shamus’s head, Gabe grabbed the pouch to keep the oozing blood from staining the leather.
He leveled the gangsters with a fierce stare. “Now, all of you, get the hell out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t stop riding until morning.” He added as an afterthought, “You can also tell Rory that if I ever again hear of him forcing fathers to pay off their debts with the bodies of their daughters, I’m gonna burn that chippy joint of his to the ground — with him inside.”
The four men jumped up from the table, knocking their chairs to the floor behind them. They scrambled to the door, jockeying each other out of the way trying to be the first one out.
Gabe watched their retreating backs, disgust flooding him. At the sound of a frightened animal-like moan, he looked up to see Sadie staring at the crumpled body of her now -dead tormenter. Her hands were fisted in her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
Gabe eased over to her and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Tell you what, Sadie, you take this.” He held out the leather pouch full of gold coins to the terrified woman.
She stared at him, then jumped back. She shook her head from side to side, her hair flaring out in stringy clumps.
She protested. “No, Angel, no! I… I couldna ever do that. No, no! You won it. Fair and square.”
When he shook his head, pressing the pouch toward her, a knowing gleam flashed across her face. Her eyes widened with understanding.
“Oh, ‘course. I hears you, Angel. I understand. You wantin’ what mens always want.” Her sallow cheeks pinked slightly. With a shy nod, she added, “Well, sure, Angel. You sure nuff earned it.” She glanced at the table, “Uh, you wanna do it here, Angel? Or… or we could go in the back room if that’s your preference.”
Taking in the resigned expression on the pitiful woman’s face, Gabe’s gut clenched. Bile bubbled up in his throat. Goddamn, he wished he’d beaten Shamus to death. A blade in the throat was too easy a death for the despicable animal.
He kept his voice as gentle as his smile. “Ah, Sadie. Girl, you’ve had enough from big bad men tonight. Go get some rest.”
She looked up at him in surprise. Shooting a longing glance at the pouch in his hand, she stammered, “You… you mean I don’t have to… to do nuthin’ to get it?”
“Hell, Sadie,” Gabe sighed with a fierce glare at the body lying on the table, the blood beginning to cake, “You earned what’s in this pouch a thousand times over, just being in the same room with that piece of scum.”
He tried to hand her the pouch, but she still resisted.
Sadie looked up at him, a faint flush coloring her sallow cheeks. “I… I… not that I’d mind, Angel. The wimmen at the Bunny Hutch say you really know how to please a girl.”
Gabe grinned, his eyes twinkling with false modesty, “Ah, Sadie, don’t believe everything you hear. Hell, compared to men like Shamus here, a rabid dog would be a welcome change.”
Sadie stood up taller, her cheeks flushing brighter. Desire brought back a little of the provocative glow that a couple of years with Shamus must have beaten out of her. Her face cracked with what could have passed for a flirtatious smile.
Dipping into her Irish brogue, she teased, “I dunno, Angel. The poker players call you Angel. But from that dancin’ light sparklin’ in them bonny green eyes of yours, I’m bettin’ you’re more of devil between the sheets than an angel.”
Gabe laughed and winked at her, a sure signal to confirm her suspicions.
Gunnar called him from the doorway. Gabe shoved the pouch in Sadie’s hand and gave her fingers a little squeeze. “Excuse me, Sadie. I have to see what Gunnar needs.”
Gabe joined his partners in the yard. The light of the moon flickering through the clouds lit the full saddlebags Gunnar and Eagle had packed on their horses.
The three of them exchanged a satisfied smile. Gunnar spoke for all three. “This may be some of the easiest money we ever made. Hell, we get the money Dominquez is paying us and then you skim off over $10,000 playing poker with those misfits. I gotta ask, Gabe, how the hell did you know you could take him in that last hand?”
Gabe grinned. “Ah, Gunnar, you know the cards speak to me. Hell, this time they were screaming. They were as eager to thwart that asshole as I was.”
After their celebratory laughter died down, Gunnar turned to Gabe, “This is the first chance I’ve had to give you this message. Chao Li wants you to come to his villa. Says he needs to see you in person.”
Gabe frowned. “Must be something serious. Chao’s never called me to his home. We’ve always met at one of his offices.”
While Eagle went to get their horses, Gabe’s thoughtful frown deepened. He turned to his partner. “Gunnar, you and Eagle go ahead. Scout it out. See what you hear. Chao’s gotta be in trouble.”
Gunnar nodded and mounted his horse.
Gabe flung one strong leg up over his black Arabian stallion. Seating himself easily in the saddle, he took the reins Eagle held out to him.
He turned back to see Sadie in the doorway. Already the lines around her eyes were softer, her expression less pained. Gabe gave her a little salute. “Get some rest, Sadie.”
As the three partners headed out, Gabe pulled up and called back over his shoulder. “And, Sadie, a little advice. Stay away from poker players. I hear they’re a bad lot.”
Chapter 1
Ana shoved her fist into her mouth to swallow her scandalized gasp. Sucking in a shallow breath as she peered into the barn, she scrabbled for air. She squinted hard, not believing what she saw, or heard. But there was no denying it: Molly’s bare white arse was hiked up over the sawhorse, her legs spread wide apart. Even if Ana could mistake the sight, there was no mistaking the sounds. Spellbound by the shocking display, Ana inched closer, clinging to the stall railing, hunting for cover. At the sound of a low manly groan, Ana ducked into an empty stall and huddled against the wide boards, taking tiny silent sips of air.
Her face burned. She struggled against fear, shame. She was horrified, but couldn’t force her eyes to look away. Shielded by the stall door, she choked back her embarrassment and peeked through the slats, mesmerized by the sight.
Even though Ana couldn’t see her face, there was no question it was Molly. Ana had never seen her naked, but there weren’t many maids with that broad a bottom. Her arse looked like dimpled, fleshy lumps of bread dough. The man’s large hands, his fingers spread wide apart, couldn’t contain the soft spongy spread. And that was definitely Molly’s giggle, her throaty come-hither laugh. The one that made the ranch hands hitch up their trousers and growl in anticipation. Yes, it was definitely Molly. Who else — except maybe Caitlin — would let someone copulate with her in the barn in broad daylight? Even thinking the more descriptive word shocked her. But, damn, Ana thought, there was only one other word to describe what the man was doing to a very willing Molly, and Ana didn’t dare say it — even to herself.
As appalled as she was at the s
ight of Molly’s bare butt, Ana was stunned by the man. She had never seen him before. He was tall, dark. A stranger. Even bent over Molly’s naked backside, he looked huge. His shoulders were broad, his muscular legs strained against the tight warp of his pants. Ana noted with a start that, incongruously, the big man was fully clothed. Unlike Molly, whose arse and legs were bare to the world, her breasts overflowing the twisted bodice of her dress, he even had on his cowboy hat. Well, not fully dressed, Ana corrected herself. She didn’t need to see the front of him to guess at the exposed appendage wringing desperate guttural pleas from Molly.
Glancing up at the rafters, Ana throttled a gasp. Not only were Molly’s legs spread wide apart, held open by his strong thighs, but her hands were tied at the wrists. The rope manacling them was hooked over the tack clamp hanging from the center beam. For a whisper of a second, Ana wondered if the man was hurting Molly, forcing her to do this disgraceful act. But if Ana needed evidence that Molly was an enthusiastic participant, Molly’s soft, grunting pleas were evidence enough.
“Ah, yes, me man. Like that! More, harder!” Molly begged.
The man seemed more than able to meet her breathy demands. His voice was low, an amused rumbling sound. As though he was teasing her, manipulating her groaning passion, he pulled back then pressed forward, plunging in and out of Molly’s impatient flesh.
Ana might be naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. She had seen plenty of animals mating. And she knew what the ranch hands did with the maids at night. She overheard the maids giggling about their escapades, sharing bawdy tales, comparing the physical traits of the eager men who traded them like marbles in the schoolyard. But this? Even the coarsest of the hands wouldn’t dare to do what this man was doing in the middle of the day. Her father would fire him, after having him whipped. Ana knew Molly was a slut. But for God’s sake, it was mid-morning. Molly was supposed to be working in the kitchen, scrubbing floors, washing the sheets, ironing her clothes, not… not allowing, no encouraging… begging! a strange man to… to… fuck her in the barn.
