by Nico Rosso
Jack lashed out with his right hand as she fell. His bottom two fingers wrapped around her wrist. Twisting his arm, he activated the springs and pistons in his mechanical hand to fully grip her.
Muscles burning, he swung her toward him. She slammed into his chest, knocking him back into the side of the building. He wrapped his other arm around her waist. Her fingers curled into his gun belt, pulling her tighter against him.
The last of the broken stairs clattered against the rocks below. Jack and Anna sighed together. Then she winced.
He immediately turned his wrist to release the metal fingers from around her. She rubbed at the spot. “Hell of a grip.”
“It’s not made for flesh. Last thing I’d want to do is hurt you.” Her fingers uncoiled from his belt and he loosened his arm around her. But she didn’t step away too quickly.
“Beats the alternative.” She kicked a wood chip off the steps and they both watched it skip against the rocks. Slowly, she slid away from him, staying close to the intact part of the steps. “Besides, I’ve had worse. Had to kick Pete Glenn unconscious with one hand shackled to a house beam.”
They started up the stairs again, single file this time.
“Don’t tell me he got you with your own shackle.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips barely moved as she spoke. “Let’s just say I didn’t know he had a bounty on his head until after we’d …”
“But you still brought him in.”
“Let it be a lesson. Don’t keep your own wanted poster, no matter how proud of it you are.” A small laugh brightened her face again.
“Only if I know you’re coming to collect the bounty.”
They reached the top landing. The Chinese neighborhood was visible below the hill. Beyond that were the straight lines and sky-rail trollies of San Francisco. A gentle breeze moved the trees above the building, shifting shadows like darting fish.
There was another door, same size as the one on the ground floor. Anna reached for the handle, then paused.
She looked him straight in the eye. “Thanks.”
He drew his pistol and nodded toward the door. “I’ll cover you.”
“For stopping my fall.”
Trust was hard to find in their line of work. Easier to pry a skeleton made of diamonds out of the beak of a twenty-foot-tall vulture. Genuine thanks sometimes revealed weakness and were rarely given. He knew how hard it was for her to tell him. Just as hard as it was to say how far he’d go for her.
“I’ll cover you.”
It felt like the world held its breath. No breeze. No birds. Just Jack and Anna standing on the landing, not knowing what was entirely behind each other’s eyes.
Easier to face whatever danger lay on the other side of the door.
She tore her gaze from Jack and gripped the door handle. Again, it turned without a sound. After quick nods to confirm they were ready, she swung the door open. There was no wall this time and Jack slipped quickly inside, his .44 leading the way.
Waves of humidity thickened around him. The room seemed larger than it should’ve been. Redwood paneled walls extended past the roofline; it must have been dug into the side of the hill. The only piece of furniture was a large wooden tub set into one corner. Two or three people could be hiding in it, and he approached cautiously.
He felt more than heard Anna behind him, keeping watch on the door as she stalked into the room. With the two of them covering all the angles, no one could escape. And if they fought back, they wouldn’t survive.
Edging close to the tub, he saw that it was already filled with water. Wisps of steam danced across the still surface. If someone was in there, they’d been holding their breath for some time. He’d seen all kinds of tenacity from fugitives. Climbing trees, living in the desert. The extremes of human survival. But it never worked. No one was more determined than he was.
At the first bubble, the tiniest ripple, he’d fire. One step closer. The tub was empty.
“Son of a bitch.”
She clicked her tongue, disappointed. “If that ain’t the best. Nothing in here but that tub and these rocks.” Along the base of the walls was a six-inch trough filled with black river rocks. “Wooden nickel says he’s hiding in there.” She stalked to the trough and kicked it with frustration.
Turning through the room, he saw no other doors or compartments, no more secrets to be pried out. “As secretive as that waiter was being, I thought we were on to something good.”
“A thousand-dollar dessert.”
Her need for the prize was deeply ingrained in him as well. It was how they rated themselves—how many ruthless men and women they bested and brought in. The money helped prove their skills. But spending this time with Anna, his equal, shook those values. She wasn’t impressed by who he beat on the draw or how many dollars filled his pockets. The bullets, the coins, didn’t matter. He had to be genuine with her.
Dead ends had a way of cooling the thrill of the hunt. But Jack’s blood still ran hot, and it wasn’t the humid lodge room. The echoes of the meal with Anna wouldn’t go away. Warm food and her laughter put him in a better mood than he’d ever remembered. The hazards of the hunt had passed for a moment and they were alone.
He took one step toward her, and the danger came back with a fury. The floorboard slipped on its joint, activating a metallic click below. The building rumbled to life. Machinery on the floor whirred and churned.
Anna was first out the door, Jack right behind her. Guns ready for whatever was coming, they scanned the inside and outside of the building. The sound of a hundred snakes hissing rose out of the top room.
He drew the quad shotgun from his back. “Clockwork diamondbacks?”
The tension had built so high that Anna laughed in loud peals. She rested her hand on his forearm. Where there was no metal, he felt the heat of her skin.
“It’s a bathhouse. A sweat lodge.”
Inside, sheets of steam billowed from the stones in the trough. Little quartz lights glowed yellow on the ceiling, like constellations just before dawn. No longer still, the water in the tub bubbled with gentle jets.
Her laughter died down and she holstered her gun. She kept her hand on his arm.
The danger was gone and he lowered his weapons. But the tension remained. Every step could bring death. What about life? He took the leap.
“I’m going back in there, and I’m taking off all my clothes.” Her eyes flared; she licked her lips. He holstered his .44 and put out his hand. “You coming with me?”
TAKE HIS HAND? Or walk down the broken stairs to chase a cold trail? Anna’s body was still buffeted by waves of sensation. The meal was an adventure she shared with Jack. Nearly falling from the stairs, only to be brought close to his body had been a rush. The hissing of the lodge was the last bit of danger, but it had passed.
The wet heat of that simple room was inviting. Her joints and bones ached for comfort. Deeper, she yearned for Jack. They’d been circling each other for years. The closer she got—hearing his voice, touching his skin, learning his history—the more the hunger increased. She didn’t know where it would lead her, but she had to find out. All she had to do was take his hand.
Anna slid her palm against his. Curled her fingers around him. He held her hand, staring into her eyes. She thought she’d known the man behind the legend and the metal and the guns, yet she now understood there were miles of territory within him she had yet to discover.
Their grips tightened. They drew closer. He leaned down to her. She pressed against his chest. In the sunlight, they kissed. Neither hid their hunger. She understood his need. His lips on hers strong, devouring. And she understood her yearning. Probing forward with her tongue, she led him into her.
And it wasn’t enough. Their first kiss could’ve taken them too far and she’d had to stop. Now, with Jack pressed against her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and lips against hers, too far seemed like the perfect place to be.
They pulled apart and, still g
ripping each other’s hand, walked back into the lodge room. Sheets of steam curled up the walls and filled the space, bringing the scent of the redwood paneling. The room seemed alive, breathing with her.
Jack cracked a small smile. “This guy Song, I like his style. Lot of inventors are drunk on tetrol. Half-baked ideas that don’t work right.” He held up his half-mechanical hand. “People wind up getting hurt.”
“Song knows his business,” she agreed. “So why the bounty?”
He leveled his gaze on her. It seemed the steam came from him, his intensity. “You want a cold trail or a hot bath?”
She took off her hat, holding his look and not backing down. “Hot. Bath.”
Burbling invitingly like a secluded brook, the tub waited in the corner. The steam softened its edges and obscured the walls around it. As if the room went on forever.
With the toe of his boot, Jack swung the front door closed. Only the small lights in the ceiling glowed. Warm night clouds now surrounded her. A gentle storm. And Jack was the lightning. Still gripping her hand, he walked her toward the tub, chuckling a little to himself.
“My last bath was at a lonely little stage-stop hotel in Camarillo.”
The buckle on her gun belt was hot from the steam. “I’m overdue.” She undid it and held the rig in her hand.
“I’m guessing you picked up Malone’s trail sometime after the Sierras, so it’s been a few hundred miles for you, too.”
It took her a second to track her path backward. “Beatty, Nevada.”
“Rough town.” He let go of her hand so he could undo the straps and belts that held his own weapons.
She hung her gun belt on a wooden peg on the wall next to the tub. Easy to reach if she had to. “A little less rough after I left.”
His pistols and quad shotgun took their place next to her weapons. He was unarmed. But still deadly. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs. Dark, blazing eyes. And the smallest smile.
They came together again, this time without the clang of gunmetal. The heat of the room had soaked through her clothes, bringing a light sweat across her skin. She felt every fold of fabric, and every ridge of his muscles. Her hands ran over the cords of his neck, pulling him to her mouth for another kiss.
Nerves yearned for sensation. Dust storms had chafed her flesh. Ice-cold rivers had woken her up and she’d slept in the rain while waiting out a fugitive. She needed pleasure. And Jack was the only man strong enough to bring it to her.
But all those damn clothes were in the way. Without breaking the kiss, she ran her hands over his chest until she found the buttons of his vest. Undoing them wasn’t enough. Pulling open the snaps of his shirt brought his skin to her hands.
He growled into her mouth as her fingers traced over his chest, along the ridges of his ribs and stomach. Dark hair traced a broad line from the base of his neck to below his navel. She teased through the curls, giving a little tug and drawing out more sounds deep in Jack’s chest.
His lips were on her cheek, her neck. He tugged at her jacket and drew it from her shoulders, piling it on the floor. With his dexterous left hand, he undid the buttons of her shirt. It joined her jacket. Moist heat made the thin chemise cling to her skin.
Leaning back, he took her in, growling again. His flesh fingers were hot on her side as he gathered the fabric of her chemise. Even hotter, the metal fingers drew a short gasp through her lips.
He started to pull away, but she grabbed his wrist and brought his hand back to her. “Burns good.”
It wouldn’t blister her, or leave a mark, but the metal’s heat sank deep into her flesh, bringing fire to long-dark places. More sparks skipped along her skin as he drew the chemise up and over her head.
Exposed to the air, to Jack’s gaze, her breasts grew more sensitive. Her nipples hardened. It seemed if anything touched them, she would collapse into flames. And if every nerve wasn’t fed, she’d die of starvation.
Raking her fingers across Jack’s chest, she pushed his vest and shirt completely off his shoulders. Her chest pressed against his, skin to skin. She moaned. He whispered a curse or a prayer. Rubbing her nipples against him, she built the fire larger.
She licked along his collarbone. He was clean salt. She bit into the base of his neck. He was solid muscle.
More and more of her body came alive. Her own moisture gathered between her legs.
He whipped off his shirt and vest. She saw for the first time that his metal climbed higher, ending in a mechanism midway up his biceps. His shucked clothes disappeared into the steam. But she would always be able to find him. Same as before they’d even spoken, if he was within a mile, somehow she knew. Much closer than a mile now, the smallest gaps between their bodies seemed too damn far.
“Take off your boots.”
Without hesitation, he leaned against the side of the tub to pull his boots off. She dropped to one knee to undo the laces of her tall miner boots. They came off, along with her short stockings. The floorboards were hot on her bare feet.
“Now your trousers.”
He paused, lip curling in a grin or a growl. “You think you’re going to deprive me the pleasure of removing your dungarees?”
Not waiting for her answer, he brought his body close to hers again. She slid against his chest, moaning softly as her nipples gathered the sensation. His fingers played along the waistband of her jeans. She arched her back to bring her closer to him. An ache for pleasure centered in her pussy. She needed release. She needed Jack to touch her everywhere.
His mouth found the side of her neck, her shoulder. The buttons of her jeans were no match for his quick skill. He slid the dungarees and her drawers over her hips and down her legs. As she stepped out of the jeans, he bit into her neck, where it joined her shoulder. More fire ran up and down her body.
Jack stepped back to admire her. She was naked, but not shy. Unarmed, exposed, but not weak. She gazed back at the defined muscles of his chest and arms. And the outline of the erection in his trousers. Even without a shred of clothes, she still had power.
He rumbled, “The Almighty lost an angel.”
“What if he put a bounty on me?”
“He’d never collect.” Jack wrapped his arm around her back, bracing her body against his. “I’d see to it no one ever took you where you didn’t want to go.”
“I can handle that myself.”
His other hand glided up her thigh, traced the curve of her hip. “And where you do want to go? Handle that yourself, too?”
Higher, his hand moved over her ribs, past the scar from a horse thief’s homemade knife. The pain was long gone. She was lost in the steam, as if floating. And the only touch in the world was Jack’s.
He took her mouth with his. Cupped her breast in his hand. She pushed forward. The rough calluses on his palm and fingers teased sparks from her sensitive nipples. He kissed her with more hunger, swallowing every moan she breathed.
A rhythm moved her. The drumming of her pulse, or something else deeper, merged with him. Her hips swiveled forward. She needed more of Jack against her. He obliged, sliding his hand away from her breast and down her belly.
Despite the heat, she shivered.
She widened her legs. Gripped his arm to keep herself from falling into the clouds beneath her. The very tip of his finger drew a line along the edge of her hip. Further down the front of her thigh. They continued to kiss. She bit his lip and he smiled. His finger’s path turned, coming up the inside of her thigh.
The kiss had to stop. She pulled away just far enough to whisper the only word running through her head.
“Yes.”
He repeated the word back to her. Again and again it rumbled through his chest. With the same rhythm that moved her. She couldn’t answer back. Breath had left her. She only knew the very tip of his finger sliding ever higher.
When he reached her pussy, she sighed. Dug her nails into his skin. The length of his finger slicked along her. She leaned harder against his arm, opening furthe
r to his touch. Up and back, he gathered her moisture. Instead of feeding her need, it only increased. She ground against his finger. Spinning rings of heat radiated from her clit. Her muscles shook, wanting everything against and inside herself.
His words were steam, close to her ear. “You’re going to burn me down.”
“Take off your trousers.”
But this was Jack Hawkins. He didn’t follow her order right away. She didn’t have the breath to complain. His finger continued around her folds, teasing, drawing the hunger out. The rough pad rasped against her sensitive bud. Then his finger entered her.
Neither moved. Her blood drummed. He barely slid his finger out, then back inside her. She ground against his palm. The steam filling the room muffled her moans. She’d never felt so naked and free. She’d never had an equal like Jack. Iron to her flint.
And everything could burn. She knew that more than her flesh was wrapped up in the moment. This was what she was afraid of. Her defenses could crumble. The life she’d built could go up like a stick of dynamite soaked in tetrol. Too late.
She gently pushed against his chest and he released her. Even in the dark, his eyes were intense with hunger. She’d felt empty, too. At times the world seemed like a storm of hurt until death came. But not this day, in this steam-filled room with Jack.
Reaching forward, she took his half-metal hand in hers. The brass and enameled iron singed. It wasn’t pain. She was alive.
Locking eyes with him, she held up his mechanical hand between them and caught her breath long enough to ask, “Can you get this wet?”
Chapter Eight
* * *
THE LEGEND OF Jack Hawkins never spoke of his birth. He simply appeared in the Western territories, two guns strapped to his thighs and a half-metal hand. If Anna had to imagine what he looked like, stepping out of the smoke of creation, it was like this.
Naked.
His trousers were gone. He stood before her, hand outstretched to take hers. Shining with steam and sweat, his muscles looked like chiseled stone. Thick thighs and trim hips. His cock stood rigid and ready. Even with the dusting of chest hair, she saw all the ridges of his stomach and ribs. And the broad expanse of his chest leading to rounded shoulders. Scars from bullets and blades marked him, the truth behind the legends.
