Her Outlaw Daddy

by Jane Henry

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  More Stormy Night Books by Jane Henry

  Jane Henry Links

  Her Outlaw Daddy

  By

  Jane Henry

  Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Jane Henry

  Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Jane Henry

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Henry, Jane

  Her Outlaw Daddy

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by The Killion Group and 123RF/Mykhaylo Pelin

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Prologue

  Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is. ― Marianne Williamson

  Cole took a final drag from the stub of his smoke, tossed it down, and ground it out with the heel of his boot, watching as the remains easily blended into the soft dirt. Blowing the smoke to the side, he watched with narrowed eyes several yards ahead as the man hired as guard lazed back, his heels upon the stone wall that surrounded the Perkins estate. The guard’s hat fell over his face.

  “Couldn’t see a hand in front of his eyes,” Cole scoffed. He despised laziness. It was a damn good thing the lazy son of a bitch watchman didn’t answer to Cole.

  If the guard had any idea who lay waiting in the shadows of the forest, he wouldn’t be lying back napping either. He’d hold that pistol that lay on the terrace by his feet with both fucking hands. More than likely, though, he’d run screaming for his life like a schoolgirl.

  Cole shook his head. It’d be like taking candy from a baby. It was too bad, really. He much preferred a struggle.

  Maybe he’d get lucky tonight. Maybe the girl would put up a fight. He cracked his knuckles, a slow, wicked grin revealing white teeth against tanned skin. He’d taken a good look at her earlier, her skin as white and unblemished as newly fallen snow, her cleavage full and welcoming atop the bodice of her fitted dress. How he longed to run his dark, wicked hands through her soft blond curls and yank that hair, making her scream. Just watching her run her silver hairbrush through her long tresses as he hid in the shadow of the veranda made him hard as hell.

  Her daddy would pay dearly for what he’d done.

  He turned to the darkness and raised a hand, giving the signal. Four shadows moved to obey, Cole ahead of the pack. He was the one they answered to, and the largest of the crew. They’d traveled hundreds of miles to get here. And now the moment had come.

  It was time to enact justice.

  Judgment and damnation for all. And if things went his way, there would be pain.

  Chapter One

  Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody. ― Mark Twain

  “Make a sound, darlin’, and you’ll regret it.”

  His voice was deep and raspy, sending a chill of fear through Aida. She gasped as she sat up in bed, instinctively scurrying backward, but with two large strides he was upon her, pinning her back down upon the bed, one hand grasping her wrists as a second whipped a bandanna from his pocket. He released her hands and tied the bandanna quickly around her mouth, the knots so tight she winced in pain. The rough fabric smelled like tobacco and bacon, and her stomach twisted. Her eyes flitted around the room, trying her best to find a means of escape. One small man stood behind her captor on the left, and a taller, thinner one on the right. She was overpowered and outnumbered, but she would not go down without a fight.

  Even if she’d had warning, she never would’ve been able to fight off three full-grown men by herself. Swatting away flies from her lemonade on a hot summer day was about as fast and furious as her little hands had ever swung. Her eyes flew open in the darkness as her worst fears became a reality.

  The blood rushed through her ears, her heart thudding, as she kicked out her foot and happily connected with her captor’s stomach. He doubled over in pain, cursing, as the other two moved toward her. Swiftly, her hands momentarily freed, she grasped the glass of water on her nightstand and whipped it at the small man on her left. It hit him with a thud, water splashing all over him and the wall, as the glass fell to the floor and shattered. As the third man moved to close in on her, bending down to restrain her, she kicked her right foot out and hit him straight in the face. He howled, both hands covering his face, but the first man had already recovered. With one swift move, he pinned her wrists down on the bed, deftly tied them with the length of rope, and to her shock, twisted her over on her side, smacking his palm against her thinly clad backside. Half a dozen vicious, searing swats took her breath away and made tears come to her eyes. She cried out, but couldn’t escape, the bandanna gagging her screams, the rope making her helpless to fight him.

  His arms came around her, lifting her straight off the bed and over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. Unable to defend herself with her hands, she kicked her feet as best she could, but one arm tightened around her legs as his hand came down again, blistering her backside.

  Later, she would remember that he never lifted a fist to her, but only the palm of his hand on her backside.

  “Y’all right?” he hissed into the darkness to the other men. But the two she’d managed to attack had recovered already and they now moved as one, following their leader to where the large window opened to the balcony, the curtains billowing in the wind. Panic rose. They were going to kidnap her. She had to get away. But even twisting with all she had, she was helpless against his grip, restrained against most movement. Shouts and the sounds of shattering glass could be heard in other parts of the house as they moved swiftly. She had two thoughts at once—first, that Lucille, her tutor and only friend, who’d been sent from them the week before, had been spared in the melee, and second, a fervent wish that someone even more savage had come for her father, and in the struggle, killed him.

  * * *

  As Aida woke, she kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t remember at first where she was or how she’d gotten there. As her eyes remained shut tight, she lay still, trying to assess the situation as best she could. It all came back to her at once.

  Beneath her back she felt warm, soft blankets, some type of Indian animal skin, perhaps. Her wrists were still bound tightly, and the rope chafed against her tender skin, along with the gag around her mouth. The chemise she’d been wearing when taken from bed felt like it was intact, though it offered her little protection. And as she lay on the ground in the dark, she could still feel the stinging on her backside, an immediate reminder of the cowboy’s vicious palm the night before.

  “Wakin’ up, darlin’?” crooned a voice by her side, and her eyes flew open. It was her captor fr
om the night before, the leader of the group. He still wore his bandanna over his mouth, and his eyes were trained on her. She tried to sit up, but was tied in too awkward a posture, so she struggled. He reached over, yanking her up by the shoulders so she could slouch into a seated position. He sat on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest, his arms resting lazily, but one hand reached to his waist and removed a gleaming pistol. She glared at him as he watched her, his eyes as dark as coffee, brooding and calculating.

  “You sit there like a good little girl,” came his low drawl as he pulled his bandanna down from his mouth. His voice was so deep and raspy it made her hair stand on end. “Now that I’ve gotten your attention, you’ll listen to me. You listenin’, darlin’? You nod that pretty little head if you’re listenin’.”

  She glared at him.

  He placed the gun on the ground and crawled over to her. Fear made the hair on her arms stand up as he reached a hand out to her, but it was only to unfasten the bandanna from her mouth. As soon as it was released, she sucked in a deep breath, pulled her face away from his hand, and spat at him, hatred boiling up inside her. She wanted to grab the bandanna around his neck and twist it around his neck. He flinched as her saliva hit his cheek, his fingers going to the back of his head and whipping off his own bandanna. He bunched up the fabric and swiped it at his face, tossing both bandannas to the ground.

  He sat back, glaring. Now that his mask was removed, she was able to fully take in his appearance. His hair was dark brown, matching his coffee-colored eyes, thick stubble covering his square jaw. His features were even and rugged. If she wasn’t so filled with fury at her captor, she’d consider him an attractive man, every bit a toughened cowboy or gunslinger. His jaw was clenched, his lips a thin line, as he spoke to her in his low, raspy voice.

  “I know who you are,” he said. “And you’ll listen to me now without a fight. I’ll tell you exactly what I expect of you, and you’d do well to do as I say, or I’ll take that strap I have hangin’ on the side of my horse, and tan your backside. You understand me, Aida Marie Perkins?”

  The use of her full name and the threat of the strap made her stomach clench. She looked to the saddle of his horse, where a folded piece of sturdy leather did indeed hang, next to a stout riding quirt, ready for use. She wondered why he had it and how often he used it. He eyed her thoughtfully for a minute, his eyes filled with steely conviction. She knew in her gut he would indeed make good on his promise. Glaring at him, she nodded.

  “My gripe ain’t with you,” he said, “but with your father. You’re comin’ with us as our captive, ransom against what your daddy owes us. We have a long, dangerous journey ahead of us, and there are rules you’ll be expected to follow. You hear me?”

  Aida shifted, still glaring, and refused to answer. His eyes rested on the strap. Noting the silent threat, Aida felt fear claw at her chest for a quick minute. She nodded.

  His eyes focused on hers for a moment before he continued. “You’ll do as I say. Everyone in our company obeys me, you and the other four men I have with me. There’s no room for disobedience or disrespect. That means you’ll eat what I feed you, come when I call you, and do what I say. Anything short of complete obedience, and I’ll punish you.” He paused as his words sank in. “Soundly.” His eyes darkened. “And I’ll expect you to treat me with respect. Understood?”

  She glared at him, hatred a live, pulsing heat between them. Her words were a low hiss. He could whip her, he could tie her up, he could make her obey, but she’d let him kill her before she’d ever give him respect.

  Though her mouth was dry, she used up what she had left as she spat again on the ground with vehemence. “You filthy scoundrel!”

  He watched her through eyes so narrow they were no more than slits before he shifted up and drew even closer to her, while she cursed furiously. Though her heart thundered in her chest, she still did not regret refusing to submit. He reached a hand to where her long, wavy blond hair hung loose about her face, grabbed a fistful, and yanked so hard she felt the piercing pain along her scalp and spine. She cried out involuntarily as his mouth came to her ear.

  “I gave you a choice, little girl, and I gave you one chance to do this the easy way. I’ll have you know it’ll be my immense pleasure to whip your gorgeous backside raw while you scream for mercy. Darlin’, you just gave me exactly what I came for.”

  Chapter Two

  Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. ― William Shakespeare

  “Up!” shouted Cole, his deep voice ringing through the early morning air. He signaled to Junior standing guard a few yards in front of where the horses were tied, and watched as the other men rose around them. Aida stumbled as he tugged her along with him, and his hands reached to her waist to steady her. It was almost a shame how easy it was to hold her. He held her by the scruff of her neck, the way an angry schoolteacher might haul a naughty child outside to be punished. With his free hand, he snagged the strap and snapped it against his leg, both to frighten her with the sound of it and to also remind him of how badly it stung. He’d used the strap to bring many men to their knees, but he’d never whipped a woman, and he was conscious of her more delicate skin and constitution. Whipping a man’s toughened back wasn’t the same as the lovely backside he planned to punish. Instilling fear before he whipped her would go a long way in aiding his ultimate plan. She needed to fear him. She needed to tremble in awe. She would hate him, but she would obey.

  Junior turned to watch them.

  “Y’all right back there, Cole?” he asked.

  “Someone decided to defy me already,” Cole said, dragging Aida and the strap to a wooded area. “And the sooner we get our rules straight, the better.”

  Junior was slight, with blue eyes and tufts of blond hair creeping out beneath the Stetson he was still growing into. His innocent looks belied his true character. The youngest recruit of Cole’s, he could be tough as nails when push came to shove. Cole’d seen him pistol-whip a man twice his size in the last town they’d visited, and threaten to cut the fingers off a man who’d had the nerve to touch a lady of the line in a saloon they’d stopped at the week prior. The man hadn’t asked permission, Junior had explained later, when Cole had to wrestle the knife out of Junior’s hands. Junior was vicious, but his weakness was pretty ladies.

  “Already?” Junior asked, frowning. “Can’t you just—”

  “You leave off, Junior, and don’t you get in my way, unless you want a taste of the strap yourself.”

  Junior’s eyes widened slightly. Cole had taken the strap to him once, when he was still a new recruit, only eighteen years old with much to learn. He’d gone behind Cole’s back and stolen a gold pocket watch from a traveling salesman, simply because he’d liked it. Cole didn’t allow defiance and didn’t abide theft, unless he authorized it. Junior had taken his whipping like a man and made amends. He’d never defied Cole again. But he well knew Cole meant what he said. Holding his hands palm up, Junior backed off in surrender.

  The other men didn’t budge from their stations as Cole dragged Aida deeper into the woods. They all knew when Cole pronounced a sentence, it was best not to interfere. The pretty blonde within his grip screamed at him and swore as he hauled her to where a large tree served a perfect whipping post. He chuckled mirthlessly.

  “Well, now, ain’t you pretty puttin’ up a fight. Care to repeat that last phrase, pretty girl?”

  She kicked her feet and struggled against his grasp, but it was no use. He was far stronger, and enjoying every bit of the struggle.

  When they got close enough to the tree, he dropped the strap to the ground. He deftly swung her around and checked her tied hands, ignoring the hatred in her eyes. He didn’t care about the hatred. What he needed to see was compliance.

  She’d get there.

  When she was good and secured, he leaned her up against the tree, thankful she wore nothing but the thin cotton garment. There’d be no need to remove it. He knew
how to swing the strap expertly so that it would fall in just the right way, delivering a satisfying burn. The strap was a softer leather than the horsewhip that lay back at the wagon, and was unlikely to welt her as easily.

  “Now, pretty girl, you’ll stand up against that tree and take your punishment, or I’ll have to hold you over my lap. And as much as I’d like to have that lovely body of yours closer to my cock, we can get this over more quickly if you take your whippin’.”

  She seemed torn. Her eyes flitted to the side, as if to find an escape route, but there was none and that was exactly the way he liked it. She could either stand against the tree and be whipped, or be taken over his knee. In the end, he would get her obedience. If there was anything he could do expertly, it was extract compliance from those who were weaker.

  She tossed up her chin and glared at him. “You can tie me up and whip me,” she said. “But I’ll see you hanged for this.”

  Clenching his jaw, he grabbed her about the shoulder and tried to get her into position, but her foot shot out and kicked him in the kneecap. It stung like the dickens, and he swore vehemently as he rubbed at the pain, reaching for her bound wrists, but she was too quick. She spun away and tried to run but he snagged her about the waist. She tried to pull away from him, screaming at the top of her lungs, but it was too late for her now. He ducked her swinging fist, encircled her waist with his arm, and in one swift motion, dropped to the ground, hauling her straight across one bent knee. He lifted the strap and let loose a hard, whistling lash. She screamed when the strap connected with her backside. She kicked and hollered but couldn’t get away. Holding her tightly, he gave her another few measured swats with the strap. Her ferocity in fighting him still didn’t wane, though her voice caught now when she screamed. With nothing to protect her from the bite of the strap but her thin cotton chemise, he plied the strap against her thighs, and heard a whimper escape. Now he was getting somewhere. He spanked her again in the same spot. She yelped, pulling away and moaning, twisting her bottom, but he knew how to overpower her so that she could do little more than kick her feet. He was bigger, stronger, and meaner.