Shamus barked, “You best not be cheatin,’ Angel. If you got this hand rigged in one of your fancy plays, I’m tellin you it’ll be last goddamn game you ever play.”
Gabe allowed his smile to widen. “Hell, Shamus, there’s no need to cheat when I face such piss poor competition.”
“You smart-assed little fucker,” Shamus spit out. He rose an inch or two out of his chair, his face tight with anger. He started toward Gabe. Then, seeming to decide against a more aggressive move, he slunk back down, clutching the corner of his hole card. His furious glare warned the dealer him to deal a good card.
But first came the last shared card; Shamus’s face lit up when the ace of hearts hit the table. He looked like a banty rooster ready to strut across the barnyard. If he could have crowed, he would. His eyes focused on the pile of chips in the middle of the table and he licked his moist lips, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth.
Gabe took a lazy drag off his cigarette and nodded to the dealer to deal each player their last card. As Shamus had ordered, it was a down card to each man.
Without waiting, Shamus leapt to his feet. With a triumphant roar he flipped over the ace in his hand and put it beside the one on the table. He pranced around his chair, his fat rump swinging from side to side, a revolting dance of rippling flesh.
When Shamus reached out to grab the pile of chips chortling in excitement, Gabe held up his hand. Taking a drag off his cigarette, he nudged the queen of spades into the center of the table. As silence descended over the room, he flipped up one and then the other of his hole cards, placing each of his two holecard queens beside the one in the middle.
Shamus’s roar, an agonized “Noooooooo!” shattered the silence. He made a dismal effort to control himself, to save face. But it was no use. His body trembled with rage. His beet-red face swelled, ready to explode. Gripping the edge of the table, he sunk back in his chair. He turned in fury to Gabe and spit out the challenging threat.
“You’re a cheater, Angel, a goddamn fucking cheater. You hear me? I’m callin’ you a cheater.”
He added with a taunting sneer, his hand snaking under the table to where his gun rested. “What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?”
Gabe quirked a brow. His ever-ready grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“It seems as though I don’t have a choice, Shamus. I’m gonna have to take you down.”
The muscles in Shamus’s neck tightened, his beady eyes darkened with hate.
“Take me down? How you gonna do that, Angel? Shoot me? You’re kinda outnumbered, pretty boy.” He gloated, glancing at his men. His face paled slightly, however, when all four avoided his stare and gazed at the table. Shamus swallowed hard, but his reckless fury overcame his caution.
“Guess it’s between you and me, asshole.” Shamus pulled himself up, reaching for his gun.
“Guess for once you’re right, Shamus,” Gabe agreed.
No sooner were the words out of Angel’s mouth, than a flash of a blade sliced through the air, landing in Shamus’s throat. His eyes widened in shock. With a gurgle, the little man pitched forward. His forehead smacked the table, shooting blood from the horizontal gash in his neck.
The silence in the room seemed to last an eternity.
“Damn, Angel.” Pete, one of Shamus’s henchmen, spoke for the rest of them, his voice a shrill squeak, “Holy mother of God! I never saw your hand leave the table.”
Sean’s voice shook when he quaked, “And for Christ’s sake, you’re still smokin’ your goddamn cigarette.”
Before the shaken men could recover, Gunnar’s firm voice rang out. “Hands on the table, assholes, if you value those jewels hiding in your trousers.”
To underscore his partner’s order, Eagle clicked the hammers on both guns he held in his hands, aiming at the cowering men at the table.
Ignoring the disbelieving stares from the four traumatized men, Gabe unwound himself from his chair, his six foot four inch frame towering over the table.
Jerking his chin at the man sprawled on the table, a widening pool of blood seeping from his throat, Gabe spoke to Pete.
“Tell Rory: the next time he steals from a rival gang, he better know who they hired for protection. You can add that the blast that took out his six month store of booze, is courtesy of Angel.” He added, his voice rich with irony, “Hell, I probably did him a favor. Better I blow it up, than all those Micks he hires drink it up.”
Reaching over Shamus’s head, Gabe grabbed the pouch to keep the oozing blood from staining the leather.
He leveled the gangsters with a fierce stare. “Now, all of you, get the hell out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t stop riding until morning.” He added as an afterthought, “You can also tell Rory that if I ever again hear of him forcing fathers to pay off their debts with the bodies of their daughters, I’m gonna burn that chippy joint of his to the ground — with him inside.”
The four men jumped up from the table, knocking their chairs to the floor behind them. They scrambled to the door, jockeying each other out of the way trying to be the first one out.
Gabe watched their retreating backs, disgust flooding him. At the sound of a frightened animal-like moan, he looked up to see Sadie staring at the crumpled body of her now -dead tormenter. Her hands were fisted in her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
Gabe eased over to her and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Tell you what, Sadie, you take this.” He held out the leather pouch full of gold coins to the terrified woman.
She stared at him, then jumped back. She shook her head from side to side, her hair flaring out in stringy clumps.
She protested. “No, Angel, no! I… I couldna ever do that. No, no! You won it. Fair and square.”
When he shook his head, pressing the pouch toward her, a knowing gleam flashed across her face. Her eyes widened with understanding.
“Oh, ‘course. I hears you, Angel. I understand. You wantin’ what mens always want.” Her sallow cheeks pinked slightly. With a shy nod, she added, “Well, sure, Angel. You sure nuff earned it.” She glanced at the table, “Uh, you wanna do it here, Angel? Or… or we could go in the back room if that’s your preference.”
Taking in the resigned expression on the pitiful woman’s face, Gabe’s gut clenched. Bile bubbled up in his throat. Goddamn, he wished he’d beaten Shamus to death. A blade in the throat was too easy a death for the despicable animal.
He kept his voice as gentle as his smile. “Ah, Sadie. Girl, you’ve had enough from big bad men tonight. Go get some rest.”
She looked up at him in surprise. Shooting a longing glance at the pouch in his hand, she stammered, “You… you mean I don’t have to… to do nuthin’ to get it?”
“Hell, Sadie,” Gabe sighed with a fierce glare at the body lying on the table, the blood beginning to cake, “You earned what’s in this pouch a thousand times over, just being in the same room with that piece of scum.”
He tried to hand her the pouch, but she still resisted.
Sadie looked up at him, a faint flush coloring her sallow cheeks. “I… I… not that I’d mind, Angel. The wimmen at the Bunny Hutch say you really know how to please a girl.”
Gabe grinned, his eyes twinkling with false modesty, “Ah, Sadie, don’t believe everything you hear. Hell, compared to men like Shamus here, a rabid dog would be a welcome change.”
Sadie stood up taller, her cheeks flushing brighter. Desire brought back a little of the provocative glow that a couple of years with Shamus must have beaten out of her. Her face cracked with what could have passed for a flirtatious smile.
Dipping into her Irish brogue, she teased, “I dunno, Angel. The poker players call you Angel. But from that dancin’ light sparklin’ in them bonny green eyes of yours, I’m bettin’ you’re more of devil between the sheets than an angel.”
Gabe laughed and winked at her, a sure signal to confirm her suspicions.
Gunnar called him from the doorway. Gabe shoved the pouch in Sadie’s hand and gave her fingers a little squeeze. “Excuse me, Sadie. I have to see what Gunnar needs.”
Gabe joined his partners in the yard. The light of the moon flickering through the clouds lit the full saddlebags Gunnar and Eagle had packed on their horses.
The three of them exchanged a satisfied smile. Gunnar spoke for all three. “This may be some of the easiest money we ever made. Hell, we get the money Dominquez is paying us and then you skim off over $10,000 playing poker with those misfits. I gotta ask, Gabe, how the hell did you know you could take him in that last hand?”
Gabe grinned. “Ah, Gunnar, you know the cards speak to me. Hell, this time they were screaming. They were as eager to thwart that asshole as I was.”
After their celebratory laughter died down, Gunnar turned to Gabe, “This is the first chance I’ve had to give you this message. Chao Li wants you to come to his villa. Says he needs to see you in person.”
Gabe frowned. “Must be something serious. Chao’s never called me to his home. We’ve always met at one of his offices.”
While Eagle went to get their horses, Gabe’s thoughtful frown deepened. He turned to his partner. “Gunnar, you and Eagle go ahead. Scout it out. See what you hear. Chao’s gotta be in trouble.”
Gunnar nodded and mounted his horse.
Gabe flung one strong leg up over his black Arabian stallion. Seating himself easily in the saddle, he took the reins Eagle held out to him.
He turned back to see Sadie in the doorway. Already the lines around her eyes were softer, her expression less pained. Gabe gave her a little salute. “Get some rest, Sadie.”
As the three partners headed out, Gabe pulled up and called back over his shoulder. “And, Sadie, a little advice. Stay away from poker players. I hear they’re a bad lot.”
Chapter 1
Ana shoved her fist into her mouth to swallow her scandalized gasp. Sucking in a shallow breath as she peered into the barn, she scrabbled for air. She squinted hard, not believing what she saw, or heard. But there was no denying it: Molly’s bare white arse was hiked up over the sawhorse, her legs spread wide apart. Even if Ana could mistake the sight, there was no mistaking the sounds. Spellbound by the shocking display, Ana inched closer, clinging to the stall railing, hunting for cover. At the sound of a low manly groan, Ana ducked into an empty stall and huddled against the wide boards, taking tiny silent sips of air.
Her face burned. She struggled against fear, shame. She was horrified, but couldn’t force her eyes to look away. Shielded by the stall door, she choked back her embarrassment and peeked through the slats, mesmerized by the sight.
Even though Ana couldn’t see her face, there was no question it was Molly. Ana had never seen her naked, but there weren’t many maids with that broad a bottom. Her arse looked like dimpled, fleshy lumps of bread dough. The man’s large hands, his fingers spread wide apart, couldn’t contain the soft spongy spread. And that was definitely Molly’s giggle, her throaty come-hither laugh. The one that made the ranch hands hitch up their trousers and growl in anticipation. Yes, it was definitely Molly. Who else — except maybe Caitlin — would let someone copulate with her in the barn in broad daylight? Even thinking the more descriptive word shocked her. But, damn, Ana thought, there was only one other word to describe what the man was doing to a very willing Molly, and Ana didn’t dare say it — even to herself.
As appalled as she was at the sight of Molly’s bare butt, Ana was stunned by the man. She had never seen him before. He was tall, dark. A stranger. Even bent over Molly’s naked backside, he looked huge. His shoulders were broad, his muscular legs strained against the tight warp of his pants. Ana noted with a start that, incongruously, the big man was fully clothed. Unlike Molly, whose arse and legs were bare to the world, her breasts overflowing the twisted bodice of her dress, he even had on his cowboy hat. Well, not fully dressed, Ana corrected herself. She didn’t need to see the front of him to guess at the exposed appendage wringing desperate guttural pleas from Molly.
Glancing up at the rafters, Ana throttled a gasp. Not only were Molly’s legs spread wide apart, held open by his strong thighs, but her hands were tied at the wrists. The rope manacling them was hooked over the tack clamp hanging from the center beam. For a whisper of a second, Ana wondered if the man was hurting Molly, forcing her to do this disgraceful act. But if Ana needed evidence that Molly was an enthusiastic participant, Molly’s soft, grunting pleas were evidence enough.
“Ah, yes, me man. Like that! More, harder!” Molly begged.
The man seemed more than able to meet her breathy demands. His voice was low, an amused rumbling sound. As though he was teasing her, manipulating her groaning passion, he pulled back then pressed forward, plunging in and out of Molly’s impatient flesh.
Ana might be naïve, but she wasn’t stupid. She had seen plenty of animals mating. And she knew what the ranch hands did with the maids at night. She overheard the maids giggling about their escapades, sharing bawdy tales, comparing the physical traits of the eager men who traded them like marbles in the schoolyard. But this? Even the coarsest of the hands wouldn’t dare to do what this man was doing in the middle of the day. Her father would fire him, after having him whipped. Ana knew Molly was a slut. But for God’s sake, it was mid-morning. Molly was supposed to be working in the kitchen, scrubbing floors, washing the sheets, ironing her clothes, not… not allowing, no encouraging… begging! a strange man to… to… fuck her in the barn.
Even from behind, Ana could tell this man was different, not like the other cowboys she knew. He was powerful, strong. But it was his voice, low, crooning, and commanding, that sent shivers coursing through her body. She tried to ignore the sensations flooding her. This was wrong. Bad. Who was he? How dare he come to a strange place uninvited and behave so disreputably? She chided herself. I have to get out of here. I must leave. What if he sees me? But she couldn’t go. Instead, she moved closer. Dammit, why couldn’t she look away? Why did she want to get closer, press harder against the stall gate to hear what he was saying? Why did need to know the words that were making Molly beg, and pant, and groan? And, damn, why couldn’t she take her eyes off the rope that held Molly exactly where the big man wanted her, a willing prisoner to his lewd demands.