D
akoda had imagined the outlaws would be living in squalor not far above that of the cell she and Jesse had been imprisoned in, so she wasn't surprised when confronted with the reality.
The cabins the men occupied were plain and simply constructed, hearkening back to the days when the first white settlers had began to invade the mountains in search of gold. Water was still drawn from hand-powered pumps and electricity was nonexistent. Most of the lamps inside were older standbys, filled with highly flammable kerosene.
The operation was a lot less sophisticated than Dakoda had imagined. The outlaws clearly worked to keep a very low profile, doing nothing that would attract attention to their activities. By keeping it simple, they could pack up and vanish without a trace. It didn't take a professional to guess poaching generated a profit. Animal products, such as hide, ivory, horn, teeth, and bone, were sold to dealers who make clothes, jewelry, and other trinkets. In other countries, animals had religious value and were used as totems and in witchcraft. Many animals were killed for ceremonial purposes.
What these men had stumbled on to was far more valuable, a thing so precious and rare as to almost be priceless.
No doubt they could demand any priceâand probably get it.
Dakoda swallowed her fear as she and Jesse were ushered past the outer rooms and into some sort of private inner sanctum. A short Asian man wearing an expensive suit waited for their arrival. Well groomed and manicured, he appeared to be in his late forties. By the look of him, he hadn't done a hard day's work in his life. Head tilted at a haughty angle, he carried a crop, the kind used in horse riding. His smile was straight, and shiny white. Ratlike beady eyes observed everything.
A shiver scurried down her spine.
The showroom
, she thought, casting a glance around the sparsely furnished area.
This is where they sell the merchandise
. Another shiver followed on the heels of the first.
And we're the product
.
Taken from their cell, they'd been led like dogs across the compound. No chance to run, or fight back. Rusty's rifle was trained on their backs with every step they took. He was ordered to shoot first and ask questions later.
Still dressed in the breechclout and leggings he'd ridiculed earlier, Jesse Clawfoot stood stiff and straight. He was doing his best imitation of the silent, stone-faced Indian, saying nothing as he stared off into space. By the look in his eyes, he was a million miles away, far removed from the humiliating proceedings.
Suppressing her anger, Dakota wished she felt as calm and composed. Her trembling knees barely held her weight, threatening collapse at any moment. Tension knotted her guts.
The Asian man smiled. “They are both very nice.” He cocked a brow. “Authentic?” He spoke in an abrupt clipped way, his words bitten off into small, precise chunks.
Willie Barnett nodded. “The male is one hundred percent Cherokee, Mister Kamai. Just like your buyer requested.”
The man identified as Kamai spoke. “And her? She is native as well?”
Willie Barnett chuckled. Walking over, he caught Dakota's chin, wrenching her head to a better angle. “Look at the skin color an' the cast of her face. She's got a little mutt in her, but most of it's Indian.” He showed her the way he would some inanimate object, accentuating her positive points while downplaying the negative.
Kamai made a quick gesture with his crop. “My buyer wants pure blood,” he said, his accented voice sharp.
Willie Barnett shook his head. “Do you know how scarce women are in these mountains? Layin' hands on any stray female, Indian or not, is a lucky break.” He chuckled obscenely. “You can be happy, though. They seem to like each other a lot. Since we got 'em together, they've been fuckin' like, well, wild cats. That's as good a breedin' pair as you're goin' to get.”
Dakoda felt heat creep into her cheeks. Having her sex life set out in front of a bunch of strangers made her feel filthy, degraded. Their captors were discussing her and Jesse as though they were little more than animals, incapable of understanding or thinking for themselves.
Her hold on self-control snapped. “Don't you get that we're human beings?” She rattled the chain attached to the collar around her neck. “I'm a goddamned ranger, or can't you tell that by the fucking uniform I'm wearing?”
Willie Barnett's hand immediately shot out, clouting her soundly. “I warned you about talkin',” he snarled. “Unless he asks you to speak, you don't say one goddamned word.”
Dakoda's senses reeled as multicolored stars jetted behind her eyes. Skin burning hot, she tasted blood from the lip he'd split.
Hands clenching into fists, Jesse stepped up. “Keep your fucking hands off her,” he snarled viciously.
Barnett easily delivered a second strike, punching Jesse in the solar plexus. “And you keep your goddamned place, animal,” he barked back.
Choking out a gasp, Jesse's face hardened. He didn't budge an inch, even though the hit must have been painful. Face twisted with rage, he stood face-to-face with the outlaw. “Don't ever turn your back on me.” His voice was deadly and low, the kind you didn't want to ignore. “If I ever get the chance, I'll gut you like a fish.”
Barnett's hand shot toward his hip. Drawing the knife sheathed there, he pressed the sharp blade against Jesse's bare abdomen. Handcuffed and chained, Jesse didn't have a chance. “We'll see who guts who.”
Jesse's expression was as cold and set as granite. “Do it now, and do it fast.”
Dakoda's blood pressure sank faster than a thousand-pound weight in quicksand. If Jesse's plan was to get himself killed, he was doing a damn good job of accomplishing his goal. Apparently staying alive and staying together wasn't part of his plan, after all.
Dakoda wasn't ready to die. Not today, anyway.
She also wasn't willing to stand by and stay silent. Sucking the blood off her busted lip, she spat, sending a wad of phlegm toward Barnett. “Kill us and you kill the sale,” she snarled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Barnett backed off. “If it was just you an' me,” he said, sheathing his knife. “I'd go ahead an' take you out.” A laugh bubbled from his lips. “But seein' as you're worth cold, hard cash, I guess I'll have to restrain myself. No use killin' the goose just because the gander's in a flap.”
Observing it all, Kamai suddenly laughed. “They've got fight. I like that.” He gestured with his crop again. “Let me see more of her.”
Barnett turned to Dakoda. “Strip,” he ordered, removing her cuffs.
Dakoda's jaw dropped. “You mean as in naked?” she gasped out. There was no time to consider she'd broken the rules again. Hand cocking back, Willie Barnett delivered another fast, roundhouse slap. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered. “Now!”
Her senses were rocked to the core; a multitude of sparks flew behind her eyes again. She should have known her protest would earn her another hit. That didn't make it any less painful, or any less degrading.
Barnett grinned at her discomfort. “If you don't get them off.” He patted the Bowie knife like a trusted friend. “I'll cut them off. You won't have a shred left on by time I get finished.”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. She cut a quick glance to Jesse. Gaze skittering away from hers, he slowly nodded. The meaning behind his gesture was clear.
Cooperate
.
But bending for the sake of survival was not breaking.
Sliding off her jacket, Dakoda lifted a hand to the top of her shirt. She fought to keep her hand from trembling, to make her fingers work at her command as she unbuttoned. What the hell? She had nothing these men hadn't seen before. Resisting the order would only make it worse for her and Jesse.
Discarding her shirt, she kicked out of her boots, then stripped off her slacks. Her bra and panties were all she had left on.
“Everything,” Kamai ordered, sensing her hesitation.
Dakoda forced herself not to blink when she unhooked her bra, letting it fall away from her breasts. Without bending, she dropped her panties down her legs, then stepped out of them. All she had on was the skin she'd been born in.
Willie Barnett's eyes widened with appreciation. A low whistle escaped his lips. “Oh, that's one nice-lookin' piece of pussy,” he leered, rubbing the front of his grimy jeans. “I might still give her a fuck or two before I sell her off.”
Dakoda tensed. Her heart pounded in long, jarring beats against her rib cage. She'd scratch out the bastard's eyes before he'd lay another hand on her, even if it meant she'd be put down like a rabid dog in her tracks. Throat thickening with emotion, an unwelcome thought crept into her mind.
Maybe Jesse was right
â¦.
Kamai immediately shot the poacher a contemptuous smile. Displeasure slit his beady eyes. “You fuck her, you keep her,” he sneered. The Asian's own intrusive gaze slid over Dakoda's skin like razors. “I want no contamination of the bloodline. If I'm going to buy them for my employer, I don't want to have to abort your bastard child first.”
Mouth dry as sand, Dakoda breathed a sigh of relief. She'd already had her go-round with Barnett once. The thought of his big piglike body pressed on top of hers made her want to puke.
Barnett backed off. “The only one that's been fuckin' her is that tomcat,” he reaffirmed.
Kamai rose from his chair like an emperor over his subjects. Crop in hand, he circled Dakoda, examining her from all angles. As he walked, he ran the tip of his crop over her skin, skimming her curves.
Goosebumps dimpling her exposed flesh, Dakoda rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She glared at the Asian when he stepped in front of her. Man, she'd love a set of cougar's claws right about now.
All the better to scratch his eyes out
, she thought.
A lascivious glint crept into Kamai's gaze. Reaching out, he cupped her left breast. His thumb brushed the tip of her nipple, bringing it to instant erection.
Repulsed by his touch, Dakoda tasted the tang of burning acid at the back of her throat. Having taken two hard slaps, she wasn't inclined to take a third. She allowed herself a sneer.
Kamai's thumb slowly circled her areola. “Very responsive,” he said approvingly. “Does it make you wet when a man fondles your breasts?”
Forcing herself to silence, Dakoda stared straight through him. Kamai might have warned the outlaw against taking advantage of her. But as a buyer he might think himself well within his rights to liberally sample the merchandise.
She sent a glare his way.
Drop dead
, she mouthed silently.
Kamai ignored her. Like an equestrian inspecting a nice piece of horseflesh, his intrusive touch skidded over her rib cage, then across the flat plane of her belly. Dakoda barely managed to bite down on her scream as his hand pressed between her thighs. Cool, slender fingers located her clit, rubbing slow circles around the small hooded organ.
An unintended moan slipped past Dakoda's lips. “Don't,” she gasped hoarsely. “Pleaseâ”
A smile crossed the Asian's pinched face. “Ah, she is very damp.” He probed, dipping a finger into her sex. “And very tight.”
Face burning hot, Dakoda barely heard the man's comments. Just when she was sure she'd go screaming mad, his cold touch fell away. Grunting with disgust, she shifted uncomfortably to cover her exposed parts. She felt sick, diseased by his unwelcome invasion of her most private places.
Kamai nodded his approval. “She will suffice.” He turned toward Jesse. “Now the male.”
Barnett prodded Jesse. “You heard the man. Get naked.”
Mouth twisting with rage, Jesse said nothing as he stripped off the few pieces of clothes they'd allowed. As an act of defiance, he threw each piece toward Waylon Barnett, an expression of utter contempt on his face.
Refusing to cringe under scrutiny, Jesse pulled back his shoulders, standing exposed to everyone's view. “Take a good look,” he snarled. “This is everything you'll never be, you little bastard.”
Just as he'd inspected Dakoda, Kamai looked Jesse over from head to foot. Though he didn't fondle, he did take note of Jesse's flaccid penis. “Very impressive,” he stated with approval.
“Foreign fucker,” Jesse gritted under his breath.
Kamai immediately stiffened. Swatting Jesse with the crop, he laughed. “In my country,” he said, drawing out each word for emphasis. “You will be the foreigner.” Stepping back, he eyed them both. “The flesh is acceptable. Now I wish to see what makes these people so rare.”
With the stubbornness of a mule, Jesse shook his head. “No.”
Rusty, who had been standing silently behind them, lifted his rifle. “Don't start actin' up now, Jesse,” he warned. “Just do what the man asks.”
Jesse dug his heels in deeper than an unruly child on the first day of kindergarten. “What are you going to do?” he challenged. “Shoot me?” Given a fair hand-to-hand fight, there was no doubt he'd walk away the winner, but in these circumstances, resistance was futile. However sharp, a pair of claws had little chance against gunpowder and hot lead.