Chapter Twenty-One

Zachariah stepped out of the livery with his horse saddled and ready. Craig was still sleeping but Zachariah was done waiting for help that was taking too long to arrive.

Wyatt had been gone for five full days and they had been the longest and most miserable five days of Zachariah's life. He had begun to accept the fact that his sister was probably going to die, or at the very least, be a broken woman and never the same as she had once been. But to think they'd do the same to Wyatt....

It was unbearable.

And it was all Zachariah's fault.

He ever should have let Wyatt go alone to the shower.

Hell he never should have let Wyatt come along at all. He had known from the beginning that it would be dangerous. He had known there would be a chance that Wyatt would die. What Zachariah hadn't planned on, what he hadn't seen coming, was that along the way he'd fall in love with the silent outlaw. Zachariah had never imagined that Wyatt would come to matter so completely.

He was going to go get his man back.

Zachariah had started the mission alone and he would finish it alone. Zachariah had always worked better on his own. From the corral a horse whinnied loudly. A glance in that direction revealed Wyatt's antisocial Appaloosa staring hard at him and stomping her hoof.

Pain twisted in Zachariah's gut as he remembered the night Wyatt had returned with the horse and the pride he had beamed with.

Zachariah walked to the corral and reached out his hand. He patted the agitated mare on the neck. Surprise filled him when she leaned into his touch instead of snapping at him.

"I'm gonna go get him and bring him back," Zachariah assured her. "I promise you that."

He turned away and hopped onto the saddle of his black gelding. He started down the road but stopped suddenly when three figures on horseback turned the corner and started his way.

Instantly Zachariah recognized the Crane Gang.

***

Wyatt's pain grew by the day. He'd been hoping that he'd manage to gather a bit of strength to aid him in freeing Eleanor and himself but the opposite was holding true.

He'd been tied up in a dark, dirt-floored cellar for what had to have been days and days after traveling several days to reach their destination. He hadn't seen Eleanor since arriving but he had seen Clint. The man showed up quite often with other men in tow and they would beat him, kick him and hurl insults at him.

Wyatt had no idea if help was coming and, in a way, he hoped it wasn't. He didn't want Zachariah or Craig to die just to save his life... or Eleanor's. Wyatt wanted to get himself and the lady out of this mess without endangering anyone else... he just wasn't quite sure how.

A rat poked its nose out of a hole in the dirt wall and squeaked quietly before scurrying out into the open and dragging a piece of moldy bread to the corner. Wyatt watched the rat gnaw at the rotten food with its yellowed teeth and felt his own stomach growl.

Food wasn't something these bastards seemed to think Wyatt needed much of. The scraps they'd tossed his way hadn't done much to ease his hunger during his time here and, just now, Wyatt would settle for stealing that hunk of moldy bread from that hungry rat.

But the shackle connecting him to the pipe on the wall made even that impossible.

Wyatt's attention was quickly diverted from the rat's fine meal and redirected toward the heavy wooden door on the far wall as it swung open with a creak.

"How are you today, quiet man?"

Wyatt rolled his eyes as two of Clint's right hand men entered the room. Wyatt had no idea what their names were but neither was real bright—that didn't stop them from having diarrhea of the mouth however.

Wyatt missed Zachariah—he missed the quiet campfires at night. He missed sitting with the other man and enjoying the calm quiet of his company. Wyatt wondered if he would ever again get to enjoy that.

When he received a sharp kick to the leg that sent shockwaves of agony through his body, Wyatt decided that yes. Yes, he would get to enjoy Zachariah's quiet company again.

"Come on, quiet man, talk to us. Or do you think you're too damn good to talk to the likes of us?"

Wyatt glared up at the skinny, rotten-toothed bastard sneering down at him. What he wouldn't give to have a voice for only a few moments so he could tell the other man exactly what he thought of him.

"Well come on then, negro," the man said, taking Wyatt's arm roughly and yanking him to his unsteady legs. Pain ricocheted through his head as Wyatt struggled to hang onto consciousness and blood rushed into his lower body.

The second man undid the chain holding Wyatt to the pipe and removed the shackle from his wrist. Wyatt was in no shape to offer much resistance or put up any kind of fight in hopes of escape—and these men knew that.

"Clint says he wants you to join him upstairs for a while," the first man added as they began dragging Wyatt to the door. Wyatt barely had the strength to hold his head up as he was pulled up a flight of narrow stairs and led down a short hall to a wide sitting room complete with sofa, fireplace, arm chair, chess board and large barred cage in the corner.

Wyatt's eyes widened when he caught sight of Eleanor within the cage. She'd been given a new green dress and her dark hair was pulled up neatly—but her eyes were full of pain and fear and her cheek was split and bruised.

When she caught sight of Wyatt, she let out a cry and attempted to walk toward the door to the cage, only to be stopped by the chain around her ankle.

"Negro, you're looking a little rundown. You really should take better care of yourself," Clint's snide voice came from behind Wyatt and the men turned him around to face him.

"Do you want us to put him in the cage, sir?" one of the men holding Wyatt asked.

"Yes, that will be fine."

Wyatt found himself shoved into the cage roughly. His legs were too weak to hold him and he tumbled to the ground, hitting his head sharply against the stone floor.

Instead of attempting to sit up, Wyatt chose to lay there as the door was locked behind him.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you up here," Clint mused, running his fingers over his thick mustache. "The answer is simple. I want revenge on Zachariah and I saw with my own eyes that you are something special to him. But you are dead weight for me. At least with pretty little Eleanor, I am able to enjoy myself. But you.... I don't quite feel the same attraction for you that that savage does. So... I know he's on his way here. I know he's coming. He's a smart man—smarter than most give him credit for. So, instead of dragging both of you with me, I'm going to leave you shot up in this cage and let Zachariah find your dead body while the rest of leave with his dear sister."

Shot up... Great. Wyatt had that to look forward to.

'Zachariah will kill you. All of you. You'll wish you'd never crossed paths with him once he's through.' Wyatt warned.

Clint laughed. "You're wasting your time. I don't speak dumb negro."

He pulled his gun and walked to the cage. Eleanor shook her head and tried to put herself between the revolver and Wyatt. The chain on her leg made protecting him impossible.

"Don't kill him," she whispered weakly. "Please. Just take me. You've hurt Zachariah enough by having me. Please, don't kill him."

Wyatt shook his head and forced his battered body to his knees. He met Clint's gaze full force. 'You'll leave her alone.'

"Now I might not speak dumb negro," Clint chuckled. "But even I know a threat when I hear one. You shouldn't be threatening me, mute. I hold all the cards just now."

"Clint!" Another man ran in, one that Wyatt hadn't seen before. He looked like Clint but a few years older. Wyatt knew it must be his brother.

"What is it, Reg? I'm busy right now," Clint replied, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder.

"A fella just rode in. He says he's looking for a job. I had an ad put out a while back wanting some hired guns. You want to come take a look at him?"

Clint grumbled and sighed as he holstered his gun. "Fine. I could use a few new guns. That goddamn injun has put a hurting on me lately."

He grinned down at Wyatt's defiant expression. "Just wait right there, negro. I'll be back shortly to finish up our conversation."

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