by Johnny Miles
they battled lovingly, their fingers entwined, Alonso's bushy pubic hair as it
scratched beneath his balls.
Not even the clattering, which he realized was the chair, could stop him from
coming. He began to spurt just as Alonso groaned and filled him with his seed.
And with tears in his eyes, even as he felt the hands grab at his arms, Arbol
kept coming all over Alonso.
“No! No! Leave me alone!” Arbol cried, flailing his arms, struggling to keep
from being pulled off the man he loved, the man who was still coming inside him.
Oh God! How can this be?
Arbol struggled as Raúl and Perez pried him off Alonso's cock.
“Jesus Christ! Will you look at the size of that thing? The boy's built even
larger than his father!”
Arbol freed one of his arms. He pulled it in close to his chest, then thrust
backward. He heard a crunch and a moan as he connected with something.
“No! No! Leave him alone!” Alonso hollered, even as Arbol fought and
struggled to keep from being pinned. They pulled Arbol away. Alonso was vaguely
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aware of Raúl's saying something lewd. He thought he felt a hand squeeze and
pump his cock. But his only concern was to help Arbol.
Alonso closed his eyes against the dizziness that made the room spin. He
thought he heard something that sounded like a fist connecting with a face, then a
bewildered moan.
Alonso opened his eyes.
“No! Leave him!” Alonso cried, struggling to get out of bed. But the room
swayed and lurched as though he were at sea. Tears of frustration welled up, and he
thought he saw Arbol clutch at the door frame.
Alonso took a step forward, clutching the sheet as it pulled off the bed, as if it
would help him remain standing.
“I'm coming for you, Arbol!” Alonso hollered, but his voice sounded distant and
hollow.
“Alonso! Don't let them take me! Please! I love you! I want to stay with you!
Alon—”
Alonso took another step forward and fell. His last memory was of the floor
rising to meet his forehead. A darkness encroached at the sides of his mind. He
tried to fight the echoing silence, the soft shadows that threatened to overcome him.
But like a man drugged, the only words he heard were his own as they whispered
and became more muted until there was nothing but silence.
And I love you, Arbol.
The sheet from Alonso's bed fluttered to the floor, covering his lower body.
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Chapter Nineteen
Raúl, riding erect and holding a torch, intentionally rode his horse through the
sugarcane fields.
“Señor?” Perez asked, holding up his own torch.
Raúl grunted in acknowledgment, but Perez could tell the man was annoyed at
the interruption.
“Why are we bringing the slave back to your property? Why not beat him at
Casa Rodrigo?”
Raúl looked down at the captured runaway. His wrists were tied together, and
his long brown legs dragged on the ground behind them.
“Bernardo lacks the proper flogging tools.”
“But he has whips and guns and clubs.”
“Hmmm. Yes. But not what I'm looking for.”
“And why didn't we take young de Rodrigo?” Perez asked. “I'd have liked to see
him beaten as well.” There was an excited yet vengeful emotion coursing through
him.
“You're aroused by all this, aren't you?” Raúl turned to Perez and grinned.
“I…I never thought it could be like this,” Perez replied somewhat embarrassed.
“Do you want to go back for the boy?” Raúl asked. Perez nodded eagerly.
“What for? To beat? Or to fuck?”
“To beat of course! The whelp deserves several lashings after what he did to
me. So does his father!” Perez exclaimed.
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“Don't think I didn't see you feel up that beautiful cock! You ought to be
ashamed of yourself taking advantage of my nephew that way,” Raúl teased and
gave a little laugh.
“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” Perez feigned shock and surprise.
“I'll need your help hoisting up the runaway,” Raúl said. “After that, you can
do whatever the hell you want. But I'd rather you stayed and watch me flog the
boy.” Raúl dug his heels into the horse's belly, and the animal picked up speed.
Perez struggled to keep up as they now rode single file through Raúl's plantation.
After a short distance, Perez shouted to Raúl. The man stopped, and Arbol
whimpered, his hair, face, and body covered in mud from the heavy rain the night
before.
“What the hell is it now?” Raúl asked.
“Your pouch”—Perez pointed, holding his torch lower to see better—“it seems
to be leaking.”
“Leaking?”
“You're leaving a trail of gunpowder behind you.”
“Son of a bitch,” Raúl grumbled. “Must have gotten caught on something. What
the hell is wrong with you? Get that torch away from me! What do you want to do?
Blow me up?” Raúl handed his own torch to Perez and removed the pouch from
around his shoulders.
* * *
Cook and Dante looked at one another and, without a word, reached for
Alonso's prone body. Struggling with the deadweight, the two men dumped Alonso
into his bed somewhat unceremoniously.
“Do you think he'll live?” Cook asked and reached for the sheet that had
fluttered to the floor. The other man pressed his ear against Alonso's chest and
nodded.
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“His heart is still beating,” Dante declared. “But it's best we get Nana.” He
turned and hurried out of the room.
“Oye!” Cook called out. Dante stopped dead in his tracks and looked over his
shoulder.
“Hurry, Dante. We haven't a moment to lose. He must try to save Arbol. He
said”—Cook sniffled and wiped away a tear—“he said he loved him.”
Nodding, Dante scurried away.
* * *
Bernardo's eyes flew open. He glanced about in panic. He tried to move, then
remembered he was still tied to Raúl's bed. His overstretched muscles shrieked in
protest. He winced and let out a little moan.
Gradually, he became aware of his dry lips and parched throat. Judging by the
shadows in the room, he hadn't had drink in nearly twenty-four hours.
His stomach growled with hunger, and he thought of the delicious chicken
Cook roasted for him every once in a while. How he longed to sink his teeth into a
piece of the juicy meat, followed by a generous swig of sangria.
Bernardo shifted, trying to ease a cramp working its way up his left leg and
into the small of his back. That was when he became aware of the cold wetness that
made his cock, balls, and thighs clammy and sticky. With great disgust, he realized
nature had won. He had pissed himself while passed out.
His only consolation was that he'd urinated on Raúl's bed. Knowing Raúl,
there would have been much worse spilled on his mattress.
No time to think about that now. I have to find a way to get out of here,
Bernardo told himself. But it was another
voice that replied.
You have all the time in the world! You're never getting out of this one. And
now your son…
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“No!” Bernardo shouted, grateful to hear his own voice—no matter how
cracked—instead of feeling the panic clutching at his heart and the fringe of his
sanity. It was better than the horrible images his mind presented to him.
What dirty tricks! Bernardo raised his head, refusing to be led down a dark
path by his uncertainty.
Bernardo looked at the stays wrapped around his left wrist, then his right, the
ties that kept him bound and spread-eagle on his stomach. He moaned in
frustration. There seemed to be no loose ends. The tips had been tucked in on
themselves.
Bernardo tried to move his fingers, but there was no way to reach the ties. He
lowered his head and sighed with frustration.
In the stillness of the house, Bernardo became aware of an approaching horse.
An anxious desperation crept into his mind and settled in his heart. He worked his
wrists, moving them to see if there was any give, any movement at all that he could
use to wriggle at least one hand free, but he was tied far too tightly.
Raúl knew his knots better than any sailor.
As Bernardo lay there wondering what to do, he thought he heard moaning,
crying. It sounded like someone struggling and protesting. Then came the squeal of
what Bernard knew was a pulley and the creaking of a tree. Bernardo lifted his
head, straining to hear, but was unable to identify the voice.
“Please God!” Bernardo muttered. “Don't let it be Alonso.” The crying and
moaning turned into horrified screams, and Bernardo knew in that instant that
Arbol had been captured.
The poor boy. He truly must love my son.
A moment later came a whooshing sound followed by a loud, pained shriek.
Bernardo clamped his eyes shut as if that would eliminate the sound reverberating
in his head.
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Another lash. A garbled cry of intense pain, sounding as if Arbol were
drowning. Bernardo remembered the pain he had felt last night when Raúl branded
him, and a fearful coldness chilled Bernardo to the bone.
Bernardo watched the lengthening shadows cross the room as the sun set. He
thought of his son and how he might be doing. Was the fever any better? Had it
broken yet? Would Cook know enough to call for Nana if something went wrong?
Anything, just to keep his mind off the sound of the lashes and the bloodcurdling
screams.
A choking clutched at Bernardo's throat as the events that had led up to this
point filled him with remorse.
As the flogging and screaming continued, Bernardo wondered if he would ever
see Adelina again. How could he have been so foolish as to think that he would stay
on the island? After this, it would be impossible. Not unless he was able to kill Raúl.
Kill Raúl.
Yes. What I came here to do.
Just then, a noise in the hallway startled him.
“Hello?” Bernardo cried out. “Who's there?”
Footsteps approaching.
“Raúl?” No. Of course it wasn't Raúl. He was still lashing Arbol below. He
wouldn't have assigned that task to just anyone.
“Perez?” Bernardo called out, his voice almost a whisper. He raised his head as
the footsteps grew louder. And there, in the doorway, a black boy appeared. His eyes
were red with tears. His chocolate brown face was streaked as if he had been crying
awhile. Dried snot flaked around his nose and on his upper lip. His dirty clothes
were ripped and torn.
Bernardo sighed with relief, and tears of gratitude stung his eyes.
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“Oye, muchacho! Hurry! There's no time to…” Bernardo cried, then stopped
when he saw the sharp knife in the boy's left hand. He clutched at the handle, and
Bernardo could see the boy was struggling with something on his mind.
No, Bernardo thought. If Raúl wanted me dead, he would do it himself.
“Cómo te llamas, muchacho?” Bernardo asked in as soft and calming a voice as
he could muster. He struggled to remain calm and encouraged the boy to come
closer.
“Tobias, señor,” the boy mumbled as he approached the bed and slowly lifted
his left hand.
“Ah! Yes. Of course. Tobias. You're the…uh, Raúl's boy? Right?”
But Tobias did not reply.
Bernardo watched the boy's eyes as they gazed from his wrists to his freshly
branded ass to the ties wrapped around his ankles.
“If I set you free…will you promise to kill him?”
Tobias looked into Bernardo's eyes sadly and held the gaze, his voice hushed
yet determined. Bernardo snorted with relief and almost laughed. Tears streamed
down his face.
“If you set me free, Tobias, I promise to do more than that. I'll set you free.”
The boy sniffled. Without hesitation, he went to work at slicing through the
ties that had kept Bernardo in place.
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Chapter Twenty
“Forty,” Raúl shouted, his voice now hoarse and his arm growing slower. The
strength behind the flogging was weakening, but to Arbol, it might as well have
been the same.
Arbol's body swung in midair from one of the tree's thick limbs. His arms were
above his head, wrists tied together with thick rope. His ankles were tied together
as well, his toes just barely off the ground.
Arbol lifted his tear-streaked face toward the sky. He looked at the softening
evening sky, vaguely noticing the red.
“Forty-one!”
Arbol whimpered. But his mind quickly retreated. Between the lashes cutting
into his back from the cat-o'-nine-tails, his mind went elsewhere for longer periods
of time. To a far-away place. He thought of Dominguez, the owner of el Puerco
Sucio. He thought of how the man had promised him safe passage on the next
galleon, in exchange for—oddly—nothing.
God bless Dominguez.
“Forty-two!”
Arbol lowered his head. Sweat dripped from his entire body. Through slitted
eyes, he saw droplets of blood on the ground and imagined his back would be
horribly scarred for the rest of his life. Assuming he survived.
“Forty-three!”
Arbol prayed.
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Dios mío. Por favor. Take me into your hands and let me die. Overhead, birds
flew home to roost. Arbol's throat worked as he closed his eyes, tears flowing once
more.
Even the birds had their freedom. Why couldn't he?
“Forty-four!”
“Por…por favor. Please. I can't…”
“You should have thought of that before you escaped,” Raúl grumbled. “Forty-
five!”
Arbol's vision glazed over, his body numb with pain. And yet the stinging made
him feel as if his flesh were screaming in a pitch so high that it hurt his ears.
A vision of Alonso swam before his mind, and Arbol smiled with a rapture in
his heart.
“Forty-six!” Raúl counted and stopped a moment, almost out of breath. “Hijo de
puta!”
God bl
ess my Alonso.
It was his last thought as his head lolled to one side and the darkness claimed
him. The last image on his mind before he passed out was of Alonso. The beautiful,
handsome Spaniard with his penetrating blue gaze and the most sincere smile
Arbol had ever seen.
* * *
Perez walked out of the armory with a freshly packed pistol tucked into his
breeches, a loaded rifle slung over his shoulder, and a pouch filled with gunpowder
around his waist.
“Growing tired?” Perez teased, stepping up to Raúl. He spoke with an almost
happy lilt.
“Al carajo contigo, pendejo!” Fuck you, asshole.
Raúl spit on the ground at the overseer's feet. “Now get the hell out of my sight
before I beat you next!”
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Perez shrugged and chuckled at Raúl's foul temper. It barely affected him
tonight. No. Not tonight. For he was off to give Alonso de Rodrigo his comeuppance.
And while he was at it, he just might give him a little more than that.
The overseer shuddered with delight at the image of the boy tied to his bed. He
didn't even try to hide the smile that still pained his face. The pup would be unable
to fight or do anything except scream. Perhaps he'd shove something in his mouth
to keep him quiet.
Perez reached into his breeches, readjusted himself, and looked about for
Tobias.
“Now where the hell did that little black runt run off to?” Perez mumbled. He
walked around to the front of the house, calling out for the boy.
“Tobias?” He climbed onto Raúl's porch. Perez looked around and harrumphed.
“Maldita sea,” Perez muttered. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Tobias!” Perez bellowed.
“Señor!” a small voice cried out from inside. It sounded as if the boy were in
danger.
Perez turned, hurried for the door, and opened it.
In the expansive foyer, near the foot of the stairway almost directly in front of
the door, Tobias stood rooted to the spot. His gaze darted to his right.
Perez turned to his left in time to see Bernardo, glassy-eyed and grinning
