Arms pulled him away from the older man. “We’ll search, brother,” Heath assured in his ear, “however, your anger isn’t helping Wisteria. Calm heads will prevail.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t true in this case, Mr. Jackson.” The feminine voice sounding softly in the emotionally charged room drew everyone’s attention.
“Miz Charlotte,” one of the deputies said. “This isn’t the time—”
“This is exactly the time, sir.” She addressed Luke next. “If you hurry, you can save her.”
“What do you know, Charlotte?” Aaron urged.
“I keep up with my competition, gentlemen. It’s important that I do to stay in business. Earlier this evening I got wind of an auction in another establishment in town. A parlor house providing, uh, well…” She tapped a gloved finger across her lips. “How do I put this delicately? Catering to customers with special whims should suffice.”
“Don’t be cryptic,” Heath put in. “What kind of auction is this?”
“Indeed,” she replied, inclining her head. “Tonight, the gathering is for men with a taste for mother’s milk.”
“Jesus, fuck!” Luke cursed, sounding tortured.
“The main item up for bid is a beautiful, raven-haired, purple-eyed young mother named Rose.”
“Tell me where,” Luke demanded, halfway to the door.
“It is to take place at seven o’clock before the crowds come in.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall, he announced gruffly, “It’s past six now.”
“Thus the need to hurry. It’s to take place at the parlor house on the corner of Fourth and Flint Street. Miss Josephine Brandt is the proprietress. Since her business is fueled by poaching innocent young ladies off the streets, I think you might find some of the young girls who’ve gone missing recently, unwillingly in her employ as well.”
Luke was at the door before she finished speaking, his brothers on his heels. As he passed, she grabbed his arm. “Don’t be surprised if your wife doesn’t know you, Mr. Jackson. I hear the unscrupulous madame controls them with opium.”
* * *
A quick and disturbing thought struck him as he spurred Track faster, taking the turn onto Flint Street at a breakneck pace. What if he was too late and she had been sold to some twisted bastard already and was beyond his reach? Fear tore at his gut. He’d rip the territory apart to find her if he had to.
The house was lit up in every window. He was off his horse before it fully stopped and shoving past patrons. As he pounded up the front steps, he drew his weapon.
“Easy, Luke. Bozeman and his deputies are right behind us.”
“Good,” he barked over his shoulder without slowing. “He can clean up what’s left of the bastards when he gets here, that’s about all he’s good for. I’m not waiting.”
“At least wait for Charlotte, brother,” Heath urged. “She knows what they look like.”
He turned, sparing only a brief second to explain with his hand on the door. “Wisteria might not have time to wait, brother.” His gaze shifted from Heath to Aaron, who stood by his side. A sheer, black foreboding chilled him to the depths of his soul. It must have billowed off of him in waves, because Heath clapped him on the shoulder, stating firmly, “We’re getting your wife back, brother.”
“After we do,” Aaron added determinedly, “we’ll make the bastards pay.”
Their confidence bolstered his resolve, as did the fact that they both drew their weapons and moved in closer beside him. No further words were necessary as Luke turned and walked through the door.
In the entryway, the three brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, studying their surroundings. The main floor was packed with patrons and parlor girls, laughter and loud, raucous music surrounded them.
“There are a lot of unfamiliar faces,” Aaron said, speaking loudly to be heard. “Charlotte said Sanders was tall, black-headed, with a bushy mustache. That matches the description of at least five of these men.”
“Look for his partner,” Heath advised, already scanning the room. “A stringy redhead, short and thin.”
“Or, we could go kick the shit out of the two at that corner table draping diamonds around those two bawdy girls.” Before he finished his suggestion, Luke was already on the move, shoving customers and parlor girls out of his way as he went. At the corner table, he barked, “Zeke Sanders?”
He knew he had his man when the dark features of the man, twisted in irritation at the interruption, emerged from the bare bosom he was enjoying and snarled his way. “Who wants to know?”
Luke’s fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head back as the last word left his mouth. Seeing red, his hands gripped Zeke’s collar and, as if he weighed no more than the slight woman who scrambled off his lap and out of the way, he hauled Zeke out of his chair and sent him flying into the wall. Cursing a blue streak, Sanders didn’t have time to right himself before Luke pinned him to the wall with an iron grip on his throat. He struggled for breath, his hands pulling at the restraining hand, his legs dangling a foot off the floor kicking frantically, but Luke’s hold was as inflexible as iron and didn’t budge. After a moment, he reduced his grip the slightest bit, allowing only a small, inconsiderable gasp of air, only to slam the fucker back into the wall—hard—his head bouncing off it with a solid thud.
“Where is she?” he demanded, the cold-edged harshness of his fury unmistakable.
“Who?” he choked out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Wisteria Turner, now Jackson, you son of a bitch. My wife. You took her and you’re gonna tell me where she is or I’ll tear you apart, rearranging you piece by piece, until you’re pissing through your nose and shitting through your eyeballs.” He released him, slamming a hard fist into his paunch. When he bent over and gripped his belly, Luke followed it up with a bone-jarring upper cut. Zeke’s teeth snapped together, his head whipping around as blood and spittle flew from his mouth.
Luke had him back against the wall, ready to inflict more damage in order to get what he wanted, when Sanders cried out, “Upstairs! I done sold her to the madame.”
Luke dropped him, spinning and storming across the room toward the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Heath had the redhead pinned to the wall and was tying his hands behind his back. Aaron had hold of a third man matching Fordy’s description, or as best as he could tell with his jaw and eye beginning to swell and turn purple.
In the foyer, the door burst open as the sheriff and six of his deputies rushed in.
Luke didn’t stop, hearing Aaron barking orders behind him. “Bozeman, get Jeremy and Lawson to take custody of these three straight away. I want these lowlifes out of here before my brother comes back and turns them all into buzzard bait. Lock ‘em up for kidnapping, assault, and theft to start with. I’m sure we can match up the stolen goods with the robbery reports in the morning and I’ll have a slew of federal charges to add for good measure.”
Luke didn’t stick around to hear anymore as he tore up the staircase to the second floor, pushing by shocked and gawking patrons and parlor girls as he went. He began to search, opening every door, ignoring the women’s screams and curses from the men as he proceeded from room to room. At the end of the hallway, when he threw open the last door and found it empty, a sick and fiery gnawing ate at his insides.
Infuriated and frustrated at yet another dead end, Luke roared, his thunderous bellow loud enough that the window panes rattled. He began to shake as he stood staring at the mussed, empty bed, fear-filled images building in his brain. As he breathed in deeply, trying to regain his composure, he caught a whiff of a sickly sweet scent lingering in the room. He stepped in further and inhaled again. Opium.
Charlotte’s words haunted him. She controls them with opium.
Boot treads skidded to a stop behind him. Without turning, he knew it was his brothers.
Luke wasn’t intimidated, pushing by his brothers regardless, intent on making the bitch ta
lk.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“I have a houseful of women, Mr. Jackson. You’ll have to be more specific about what she you are referring to.” Josephine’s tone was guileless and practiced, and none of them believed her innocent act.
In his agitated state, her tone set him off further and he charged for her. Woman or not, he was going to get answers. His hands were shy of her throat when Heath’s arms came around him and drew him to a halt. Fear flickered across her face as she took a step back, not as sure of her safety as she’d once been. He fought against Heath’s hold as the slow-witted bodyguard stepped in front of his mistress.
Aaron voice cut through the tension, ringing sharp with authority. “We have witnesses in custody who have admitted to selling Wisteria Jackson to you. We also know you have plans for an illegal auction here tonight. Slavery has been outlawed in the United States, and that applies to its territories as well, in case you’re unaware. Confess to her location and you might get leniency.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. My girls are here of their own free will, marshal.”
“She’s lying.” The accusation came from a young woman in the doorway behind her. By Luke’s best guess, she was no more than eighteen. Pale and barely able to stand, she gripped the door frame for support. Without it, Luke was convinced she would have crumpled to the floor. Gaunt, with sunken cheekbones, she looked like she hadn’t had a decent meal in a month. Her body trembled, although it didn’t look like she was fearful; it was more sickly in nature.
The madame whirled around swiftly and snapped, “Get back to your room, Bessie, this is not your concern.”
“No!” she said forcefully, even though in her weakened condition he suspected a mild breeze could blow her over. In supplication, she lifted a shaky hand toward Aaron. “Marshal, please…”
“She’s sick,” Josephine offered in explanation. “Amos, put her back to bed.”
The hulk of a man moved toward Bessie, who flinched as he reached for her, dodging his beefy hand. Amazingly, the frail girl slipped by him, lurching into the hall. “No,” she cried as the madame’s henchman grabbed her and dragged her back. “Don’t let her do this to me anymore. I want to go home.”
Envisioning Wisteria in the same state if he didn’t find her soon, Luke managed to shrug off Heath’s hold and draw his weapon. He took aim at the big bruiser as he thumbed back the hammer. “Let her go,” he ordered, the words cracking like a whip and echoing in the hallway.
Two other weapons were cocked and sighted at the brute when he released the girl and raised his hands, backing up a few steps down the hall.
As Bessie rushed forward, the madame attempted to block her way. “She’s out of her head with fever. A delirious young woman doesn’t know what she’s saying. Can’t you see that?”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Step away.” Aaron’s voice, though quiet, held an unmistakable edge of authority. As Josephine complied, he shifted his weight, moving in time to catch Bessie as she slumped forward, her legs too weak to hold her any longer. Heath and Luke came to stand at his side. With Heath’s weapon still trained on Amos, Luke’s swung toward the madame, the look he gave her daring her to move.
“Go on, Bessie, you’re safe with us,” Aaron urged. “Tell us what’s going on here.”
“I was like the girl tonight, like Rose. Pretty, although not nearly as beautiful as her with her long shiny black hair, but I had a beau at home, and a life. Madame Josephine stole that away just like she did me.”
Luke growled, barely recognizing the noise he made, sounding more like a feral animal than a man at the moment, and feeling as savage in nature. Bessie flashed him a frightened look.
“Ignore him, darlin’. You’re safe as can be. He’s my brother, and Rose’s man. He’s out of his mind with worry and wants her back. Tell us what happened to you, and to her, if you know.”
“The madame drugged her, like she did me. That’s how she gets us to go along with what she wants and to play all the dirty games the men want to play with us. She gives the unwilling ones more and more until we crave it so bad, we’d do anything for it, even whore for it. Once she has you hooked, like me, she isn’t as generous, doling it out sparingly.” She held out her hand, clenching it into a fist as it trembled. “I get enough to keep me working and to keep from getting sick. Without it, I get so sick. Please,” she begged, her hands clutching at his shirt, bunching the linen in her fists out of desperation. “I don’t want to live like this no more. I’d rather die.”
Luke couldn’t bear to hear any more. With an unwavering hand, he lined up his sights square in the middle of the madame’s chest. As he pulled back the hammer with his thumb, the bullet engaged, making an ominous metallic click. “I’ve put up with all that I’m going to, bitch. Where the fuck is my wife?”
As fast as Luke moved, Heath did also, lifting the muzzle of his own Colt and taking aim at the madame’s protector; from the angle he’d targeted him right between the eyes. The big man shrank back. “My brother has no qualms about shooting a woman,” Heath said in a cold, deadly tone, “especially a kidnapping, opium-peddling, slave-mongering whore. And I have no misgivings about taking out the three-hundred-pound piece of horseshit that works for her.”
Josephine swallowed audibly. “Marshal,” she demanded, her spirit returning now that she wrongfully thought the threat was eliminated, “are you going to stand by and allow them to threaten me?”
Aaron didn’t hesitate as he replied, “Fuck, yes.” He had his hands full with Bessie, who was sagging in his arms, and he was apparently fine with his brothers taking the lead on this. “These men are deputized as of now. So if they shoot you, it’s in the line of duty, which is much easier than housing you and your thug in my jail through a trial and possibly a hanging.”
She gasped, visibly shaken by that prospect and growing pale.
“Don’t act surprised. Surely you know Judge Wilson is a family friend. He married Luke and Wisteria, and me and Janelle.”
“And Jenny and me,” Heath added. “Our family is so close, we called him Uncle Frank growing up.”
This last was a blatant exaggeration on Heath’s part, but neither of the brothers disputed it. The quicker the madame disclosed Wisteria’s location, the better. Whether out of fear, coercion, or at the end of his Colt, he didn’t care. It would be faster than searching.
“Yes,” Aaron nodded as though remembering. “Dear Uncle Frank, you’ll get no favors from him. Or me. You see, he listens to me and on this I’ll give him an earful, and when I do, woman or no, I’ll recommend that you hang.”
“They don’t hang women!” she protested.
“No time like now to start,” Luke growled. “Talk. Now.”
“Upstairs,” her man blurted out without hesitation.
“Shut up,” Josephine hissed.
“She had me move her to the attic when you came bustin’ in downstairs.”
“Damn you, Amos,” the madame screamed.
“If she’s harmed, so help me,” Luke ground out.
“Go to her, Mr. Jackson.” The soft voice was accompanied by heels on the planked floor as Charlotte approached. “If you’ll provide me with a pistol, I’ll keep an eye on Josephine since your brothers’ hands are full.”
“How can you side with them?” the madame demanded. “We’re friends.”
“Friends!” Charlotte practically spat the word. “That’s laughable. While under my roof you were nothing but a pain in my ass. You were rude to the customers, stealing most of them blind, and you stole from me too. Worst of all, you peddled your poison, addicting three of my girls. That’s the only way they would leave the safety of the Red Eye for your shady enterprise. We might run a brothel, but Fen and I treat our girls well, they earn a decent cut of the profits, get a clean place to ply their trade, and most of all, are protected from vultures like you.”
“My, my, who knew a soiled dove could be so self-righteous? Wrap it u
p in whatever pretty package you like, it’s still sin peddling and you, Saint Charlotte, are no better than I.”
“Kicking you out wasn’t good enough. I should have let Fenton take care of you as he wanted and will regret for the rest of my days that I convinced him not to.” She lifted her chin, looking upon Josephine with palpable disdain. In a blink, her expression changed, her lips tilting up in a determined smile. “There’s nothing that says I can’t try to make up for my mistake. And there’s no time like the present.”
Out of nowhere, the usually unflappable co-owner of the Red Eye drove her fist into the madame’s breadbasket, bending her double. Josephine wheezed, her chest heaving as she collapsed to her knees on the floor. Charlotte wasn’t satisfied, however, and twisted her hand in her hair. It seemed to Luke she was going to yank her head back to say more, but to everyone’s surprise, her hand came away with a mass of Josephine’s brassy red hair.
Charlotte gaped at the wig first, then declared with a smirk, “I suspected all along it was fake. No human has carmine red hair.”
Still coughing and gasping for breath, the madame covered her netted head with both hands. When Charlotte dropped the hairpiece back in her lap like it was tainted, she scooped it up and tried to put it back in place, appearing more concerned over being exposed than the gun still aimed at her head.
Luke passed Charlotte one of his six-shooters, anxious to be done with this and find Wisteria. “Here. Take this. If she moves, shoot her.”
“Is it bad of me to hope that she does?” she asked, taking the weapon with confidence, as though she’d handled one many times before.
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” Luke replied, already moving down the hall in search of the stairs or an access door to the attic. Midway, he got impatient and turned back. “Where are the stairs?”
Wild Wisteria Page 22
