Paxton Pride (54 page)

Marquez sprang. Before Karen knew what was happening she had been knocked off balance and onto the ground. Scrambling, she felt an iron-hard hand grab her arm and flip her onto her back, then the cold bite of a knife blade against her throat. “Do not scream,
señorita,
” Marquez said, his voice choked, his body trembling with pent-up desire, unreleased now for too long. Brutal fingers dug into her breast, kneading the firm flesh with punishing, inhuman caresses. His mouth sought her shoulder and tore her shirt, his horrid lips lowering again to pull, to bite in a vile semblance of a kiss.

His head was gone! Karen jerked her eyes open. Jaco had grabbed Marquez by the hair and yanked his head from her, pulling him almost to his feet. From behind her a foot flashed over her face and buried itself in Marquez' stomach. The outlaw rolled over and off Karen, clutching his midriff and gasping for breath as he rose to his feet. The two renegades faced each other, twin slivers of steel gleaming evilly in their hands. Marquez' free hand fluttered near the gun in his belt. “There are Apache in these hills, Marquez. They would like to know where we are. Little good the
gringa
would do you with your skull roasting over a slow fire.”

Marquez cursed softly in Mexican but his hand fell from the gun, as quickly raised to parry Jaco's first thrust. Karen rolled from between them, pulled her torn shirt about her and crawled away from the fire. “The
puta
is mine,” growled Marquez. “I killed the Indian. She is mine.”

“Of what use is a woman to a dead man? You think because you are fast with the
pistolas
, you can kill Jaco? You are a fool. I bring you here for one reason only. Not to take the woman, but to die. The woman has been mine since I first see her. Do you think I would need a
gallina
to help me take her? Come,
amigo, gallina
. I hold your death. Let it embrace you. Come, little sparrow that would fly with the hawks.”

The soft whispers of death in the air behind her, Karen sneaked out of the camp.
They are animals … animals
. Stumbling and cutting herself on the thorns, she plunged in headlong flight, unheard by the single-minded combatants in the clearing by the fire. The horses were … where? There, by the boulder …“Shhhh … shhhh … it's me … only me …”

The horses reared, shied from her. She caught the sorrel's bridle and stroked his nose a moment, shushing and calming him. Jaco had unsaddled him and she lacked the confidence to cross the Rio Grande bareback. Quickly, her breath rasping in her throat, she swung the saddle onto the sorrel, tightened the cinch. The knot where the reins were tied to a tree was tight and she lost precious seconds.…
Don't let one of them win. Not yet
…
not yet … Vance! Help me
…
help me
…! Sobbing with bitter frustration by the time the knot finally loosened, she pulled the sorrel free. Gripping the pommel, she swung over into the saddle, but something caught her right leg as she cleared the cantle and her momentum, aided by a solid tug, pulled her over and off into Jaco's arms. His mouth covered hers with a bruising kiss, his powerful arms subdued her struggles. “The little
chica
would leave me. I don't think so. Not now. Not ever.”

Half fainting, she felt him carry her through the tangled brush back to the camp, drop her on the ground near the fire. There was something.… his hand clamped brutally over her mouth and stopped the scream. “Better this than the Apaches,
querida
. Remember that, always. You have not seen how Apaches treat
gringas
. I think you do not want to see. Remember.” Slowly, he took his hand from her mouth and she lay quietly, staring at Marquez' grotesquely twisted, blood-splattered corpse, throat slit from ear to ear. She tried to turn her head from the ghastly sight but Jaco wound his fingers in her hair and forced her to stare through terror-, tear-filled eyes at the dead bandit.

“Look at him,” he said, his voice curt and demanding. “See what I save you from. Now you are mine. I spill the blood of my
compadre
for you. This moment I could take you by force, plunder the ripe, rich gifts of your body. But I would have them given freely. You will learn to love Jaco, for there will be no other to help or protect you, save me. You will learn to love me,
querida
. I can wait.…” He released his hold and she curled up into a ball, sobbing. Jaco squatted near Marquez and filled a plate with beans. The fight had made him hungry. He ate with gusto, a man happy to be alive. The food tasted good, and much pleasure awaited him. “I can wait,
querida
. But not for long.…”

The next day they came to Rio Lobos.

CHAPTER IV

The floor was of dirt, the walls of dried mud. The tiny room in which Karen was incarcerated was her new world. A fireplace, a cot, a simple table and single chair. A bucket of water. A lantern. Exhausted, she slumped to the chair and stared out the door to the afternoon-orange plaza. Alone for the first time since Ted's death and the fall from the horse, the full import of her predicament descended and she succumbed to despair. There was no hope, no chance. Jaco had her, Jaco would keep her. For a full five minutes she allowed herself the luxury of wallowing in self-pity, of morbid fantasies of degradation and death. Then from somewhere, some hidden recess, she recalled Uncle Rutty's story of her father's reaction to the news his empire had crumpled about his feet. “Damn them, then,” he had said. “Damn them all!” She gathered strength from the dim, ravaged corners of her mind. There were a great many ways in which she despised her father, yet one thing she had to admit: he would never give up. And she was his daughter. There was nothing yet irrevocable about her situation, and she was damned if she'd hand herself to Jaco and his men without a struggle.

Alone in a squalid town, surrounded by alien, unfriendly faces, Karen dispassionately confronted her position in its entirety. She was a prisoner in Jaco's stronghold, his lair. Very well. As such, she had a simple choice to make: give in or resist. The decision came of its own accord. Never would she give in. She would resist with every power at her command.

What assets had she? Vance? He was out there somewhere, she felt sure, but there was little he could do in the face of such odds. Indeed, she prayed he not attempt any action lest it lead to his death. She had to depend on herself. She was in Mexico, beyond the legal jurisdiction of any and all American authority, even the free-riding rangers under Captain Alexander. The border lay somewhere to the north, and the path there led through the mountains, rugged, dry, cold and, for all she knew, teeming with unfriendly Apaches every bit as dangerous as Jaco's bandits. Somehow, though, she would have to try to escape and hopefully meet up with Vance before he tried to enter the town where she was kept.

“Damn them, then,” she repeated aloud. “Damn them all!” Her lips set, she rose to her feet and walked to the door, pausing inside the wooden jamb. Outside, the late afternoon sun lingered alone above the jagged hills. Across the plaza was another building, function unknown. The only person in sight was a young bandit standing guard outside her prison. Jaco had called him Manuel, and of him she remembered nothing but his eyes, deep-set and angry except when he looked at
el jefe
, his leader. That Manuel worshiped Jaco was obvious, and not in the least remarkable. Karen imagined the bandit's reputation made him a hero among the dissatisfied youth of the sparsely-populated and poverty-stricken mountain area. Squatting against the building, Manuel glanced back at her, his expression indecipherable in the dusk, save for an impenetrable aura of contempt which sent her backing away from the door, her new-found resolve in jeopardy. Jaco had rightly placed the guard so close, Karen admitted sourly; she would have bolted immediately to the barren mountains rather than submit to the otherwise ignominious alternative—to be Jaco's subservient partner, to let him rut and sport in the ardent heat of her body, the warmth she had saved for Vance.

Footsteps sounded. Someone was approaching and a rapid flow of Spanish, of which Karen could distinguish only an occasional word, followed from outside the door. Manuel and a woman.… But who? The voice sounded familiar. She heard a short exclamation of delight, then a lithe figure bounded through the door.
Of course! I should have known.…

“
Querido …! Estaste …?
” Marcelina halted abruptly, her eyes wide with surprise and recognition. The one woman in the world she despised … here, waiting for Jaco! Howling like a wounded beast, Marcelina launched herself at Karen. Now she would tear the golden hair, shred the
gringo's
soft white skin with her nails. Biting and clawing, the Mexican girl vented her fury on the captive woman, screaming in rage and unspeakable frustration. But in the dim room she did not notice the darker, firm tone of Karen's flesh, the fresh, clear, hearty beauty who had replaced the earlier, pampered easterner.

The initial shock of the attack jolted Karen out of her lethargic state and she fought back. For the first time in her life she was in a real fight with another woman, a fight not of innuendoes and cutting phrases, but of fists and nails and teeth, flesh against flesh. Strangely, the sensation was exhilarating; finally she could strike back, exact revenge for the way she had been treated during the last few days. Hands tore at hair, seeking a hold. Karen broke from Marcelina's grasp and, clenching her hand into a solid fist, delivered a staggering blow that sent Marcelina to the floor where she squirmed and rolled away, coming up hard against the wall. Surprised by what she had done, Karen looked at the battered girl on the floor. Trained to pour tea, to write delicate notes, to accept the homage of gentlemen, to always be a lady, she had actually struck back. Delighted with the thought, she started for Marcelina, only to shrink away as the girl slipped a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh and, holding the blade before her, struggled slowly to her feet.

Face to face the antagonists stood, their shallow breaths the only sound in the room. Marcelina moved the blade back and forth in a short arc and Karen, eyes glued to the gleaming metal, glanced about for a weapon—any weapon. Suddenly the blade was slicing through the air and Karen leaped aside, backing away, searching for room to move, room to maneuver in the hopelessly small hut. Still backing, she felt the wall behind her, slid to her left toward the door, avoiding another slice of the deadly blade. Marcelina turned with her, now facing the door, the last rays of the sun lighting her face, contorted with a grotesque smile, a promise of death. “I kill you now,
gringa
. Now I kill you …”

A shadow darkened the room, moved quickly past Karen and tore the knife from Marcelina's hand as she stabbed. “I would not have you mark her, little one,” Jaco chided, shoving the enraged girl against the table.

“You! You bring her back to this place … our place!” Marcelina spat at his feet.

Jaco watched unperturbed, his face impassive. “Wait outside,
chica,
” he ordered flatly.

Marcelina's eyes flashed with fire. “
Putañero! Cerdo!
I hate you.…”

His hand, a blur only, flew to her throat and clamped there like a vice, cutting off her words. Marcelina's face grew taut with fear and she froze, afraid to move against the unbreakable grip which pulled her closer and closer. Gasping to catch her breath when he finally relaxed his hold, she slipped her arms around him and sought his lips while his hand lifted her dress and slid the flat of the blade along her inner thigh. Marcelina moaned deeply and thrust her hips and thighs forward into him, not even noticing when he slid the knife back into the empty sheath. “Wait for me outside,” he commanded again, gently pushing her toward the door. Marcelina posed briefly for Karen's benefit, flung a final, searing glance at her, and left. Jaco laughed, leaned back on the table. “So.… Once again I save you from a knife, eh,
querida?
”

“I am not your
querida
. What do you want with me?” Karen gestured with her head. “She loves you.”

Jaco shrugged matter-of-factly. “Many women love me. But you … you were Paxton's woman. I stole you. All my life he has what I want, now I have what he wants.
Señor
Paxton will now understand the empty years I have known. You will love me,
querida.
”

Karen turned from the word.
Beloved
.… She looked out the door to the hills where her true beloved had to be.
Vance
.

Jaco's voice continued behind her, closer, softer, the bluster missing, betraying a hint of a child's dream. “Who knows.… The people wish me to lead them, to be their general. Someday I will become
el presidente
. Then I give to you a fine palace where you live like a real
princesa
. A woman like you does much for a man. You will have fine clothes.” One hand stroked her hair and she whirled to face him, pressed her back against the wall and watched helplessly as his other hand touched the fringe of the shirt he had given her, traveled up.

“No.…” His fingertips sought her breast and she grabbed his wrist, tried to push away his hand, to no effect. Slowly, he caressed, massaged, teased until she gave up, stood rigidly with back to wall, eyes staring blankly. Inwardly she quailed as her flesh rebelled in spite of herself, as her nipples tightened under his persuasive, practiced fingers. And then he was closer, holding her in his arms, pressing her to him. He was a handsome—cruelly handsome—man, quintessentially male with the fire of countless battles glowing in the depths of smouldering eyes. It had been so long since a man had touched her … so long since she had touched a man … so long, the emptiness unfilled.… A hand cupped her buttocks and drew her up to press against his demanding loins and swollen manhood.…“No! No!” she protested frantically, turning away her head.