Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was dark when Marston slipped from Buck's back seven days later. He was somewhere in the middle of nowhere in northeastern Texas and the night sky was clear and dotted with stars.

A lantern was glowing in the window of the shack in the distance and two horses were hitched outside. Marston knew Gilliam was here tonight and he had one of his collection of whores no doubt laying with whoever owned that second horse.

All Marston could think of—all he'd thought of for days—was Rose and the hell that this man had put her through. His blood had long since turned to ice in his veins and there was no room left in his mind for doubts. Was this cold blooded murder? Yes. Was it justified? Damn straight.

Marston left his rifle in the saddle and slipped through the shadows. He wouldn't be needing a long range weapon. Marston wanted to be up close and personal when he took Gilliam's life. He wanted to cause the man as much pain as he could before he let his heart stop beating.

Approaching the cabin, Marston crouched beside the open window and listened. Two men were arguing inside and he could hear a girl sobbing.

Girl—not woman.

Damnation! Gilliam had another girl. Marston glanced through the window and recognized Gilliam instantly and the man he was arguing with was Vincent Sharp. Vincent was bare from the waist up and he wore a bloody handprint on his chest.

Marston's eyes went past them to the tiny bed in the corner and the young girl who was curled up there naked and bleeding. She couldn't be any more than ten or twelve and she was pale skin pulled tightly over bones as she trembled violently.

Suddenly Marston felt a bone deep shame fill him. A shame that the life he had led for so long had had him traveling roads with men like these. These men were monsters and Marston sent up a prayer that God would forgive him for every wrong thing he had ever done and every innocent person he had ever harmed. He didn't ask forgiveness for what he was about to do because as far as he was concerned there was no wrong in it.

Marston pulled his revolver, took a deep steadying breath and then kicked the door with all his might. With a splintering of wood the door flew open and Marston fired a shot directly into Vincent's chest. Without sparing the man another glance, Marston leapt toward Gilliam and brought his revolver down hard on his head. Gilliam crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Marston smiled as he hogtied the man and tossed him in the corner. The smile faded when he turned his attention to the girl on the bed. He realized just how much had changed in that moment. The Marston he'd been before Rose and Langley would have barely spared the girl a second glance. The Marston he'd been before would have shrugged her way, chalked it up to bad luck in life and walked away.

But he wasn't that man any longer.

Marston walked toward her slowly, approaching her with his hands up just as he would a wild animal. The low lamplight revealed that her physical state was poor. Her blond hair was knotted, dirty and limp around her gaunt face. Each and every bone in her bare body jutted out roughly against her pale skin—skin that was covered in wounds and scars just like Rose.

The girl whimpered and wrapped her arms around herself tightly as she shied away from him. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you." She didn't look the least bit convinced by his promises.

"Where are your clothes, girl?" Marston asked, glancing around.

The girl's green eyes were wary but Marston could see hope beginning to light them. She held out one thin arm and pointed toward a chest in the corner.

Marston walked to the chest and pulled out a yellow gingham dress and underclothes. He tossed them on the bed beside her. "Can you dress yourself?" he asked, hoping the answer was yes.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice frail.

Marston turned his back to her and gave her as much privacy as the tiny cabin would allow. When she was dressed, Marston pulled his bandana from his pocket and held it out to her. She frowned and he pointed to her cheek which was cut and bleeding.

The girl pressed her fingertips to her wound and winced before looking at the blood covering them. She took the offered bandana and held it over her face.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Kaitlyn."

"Do you have a home? A family?"

Kaitlyn shook her head. "Gilliam adopted me."

The girl was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm so Marston grabbed a scratchy wool blanket and laid it over her shoulders. "Yeah, well, I don't think he's gonna be in any shape to be your pa after tonight," Marston assured her and the ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

Marston led Kaitlyn out of the cabin and took her to Buck. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked, placing his heavy revolver in her hand.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. "You just pull the hammer back, aim the revolver and squeeze the trigger slowly," he advised. Kaitlyn nodded. "Stay right here and wait on me."

Marston left her standing there as he slipped off through the night once more and returned to the cabin. He strode across the tiny shack to Gilliam and found the man awake and staring at him with pale blue eyes.

"What are you doing, Marston?" Gilliam snapped. "Untie me now and bring my daughter back here!"

Marston simply shook his head and smiled as he pulled his knife.

Gilliam's eyes widened and he tried to scoot away only to smack his head against the wooden floorboards. "Marston, what are you doing? You've lost your damned mind!" Marston took a step forward and Gilliam blanched. "I've never done a damn thing to you."

Marston paused and nodded. "You're right. You haven't." He put his knife away and left the shack. He took the whip from the saddlebag of Gilliam's horse. He held that braided piece of leather in his hands and imagined the pain it had inflicted on the woman he loved—the pain it had dealt to that innocent little girl in the woods.

Once again rage flowed through his veins like blood itself. His fist clenched around the handle and an animalistic growl rumbled from his chest.

"What are you going to do with that?" Gilliam gulped when Marston reentered the shack.

Marston snorted. "I'm going to hit you with it obviously."

"Why would you want to do that?!" Gilliam's voice rose with hysteria.

"Why would you want to hit Rose with it?" Marston countered, his temper rising.

"W..who?" Gilliam whispered, recognition dawning in his frightened eyes.

Marston grinned as he tossed the whip over his shoulder. "I know you're dumb as a brick, Gilliam, but even you must remember your own daughter. Rose? Tell me, was it that red hair that made you pick her out of all those other girls? Or was it her deep blue eyes that you figured men would like?"

Gilliam swallowed hard and his eyes darted about the shack as if hoping someone would come out of the shadows and save him. "Why do you care?" he whimpered.

Marston clicked his tongue. "Because Rose is mine now and I don't much like thoughts of what you did to her."

"I never did nothing to that girl but make her earn her keep!" Gilliam countered.

Marston growled. "Wrong answer." He snapped his wrist and the whip cracked through the air, landing sharply across Gilliam's chest. The man's shirt tore and blood quickly seeped through.

Gilliam's cry of pain echoed through the shack.

"Hurts doesn't it?" Marston mused as he once again laid the whip gently over his own shoulder.

Gilliam was sniveling at Marston's feet and pleading for his life. Marston sneered down at the man and spit at him feeling an overwhelming disgust ash over him.

This man at his feet took pleasure in hurting those weaker than himself. He used his fists, his knives and his whips to prove he was tougher and stronger. He starved them, beat them and used them up until they had nothing left. Yet when that man was faced with someone he couldn't so easily control, he folded like a whipped pup and sobbed like a babe.

"What do you want me to say?" Gilliam whimpered as fat tears rolled down his rough cheeks.

Marston glared down at him with pure, unfiltered hatred. "You might as well be honest about what you did to Rose. It won't save your worthless life but it might just cause the almighty to take a bit of pity on you."

"And what about you?" Gilliam whispered, pleading at Marston with his eyes. "Will you have mercy on me? Will you make it quick?"

Marston chuckled. "Not a chance."

***

Marston joined Kaitlyn at Buck's side after more than an hour of being away. "Are you ready to go, little one?"

He heard her gasp at the sight of him and he glanced down at himself and saw that he was covered in blood splatter. He could feel those same crimson drops drying upon his face and he realized he should have attempted to clean up at least a little before returning to her.

Marston had been told on more than one occasion that the look in his eyes after he murdered someone was cold enough to freeze hell. He didn't want to scare the poor girl who already trembled like a leaf. Marston closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then opened again and smiled comfortingly.

"Are you ready to go now, Kaitlyn?"

She spared a glance at the cabin and nodded as she bit her lip. "Is he dead?"

Marston took his revolver from her hand and holstered it before sliding onto Buck's back. He helped Kaitlyn up behind him and waited as she adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.

Marston glanced over his shoulder and saw her green eyes darting in every direction as she gnawed at her lower lip. "You don't have to be scared anymore," he assured her. "He won't be coming after you ever again."

She nodded and pressed her cut cheek against the back of his duster coat. Marston urged Buck forward and patted her hand where it rested on his middle. "How old are you, Kaitlyn?"

"Eleven," came her quiet response.

Marston growled. What was it about little girls that made men like Gilliam want to steal their innocence?

"I have a boy about your age. I'm sure you and him will get along just fine."

Her head raised. "You're taking me home with you?" she gasped.

Marston heard that same awe in her voice that had been in Langley's when they'd first met and it made Marston feel just as damn awkward as it had when Langley had done it. Hell, he didn't want people looking up to him—he didn't want them thinking he was something that he wasn't.

"That's right. My wife Rose will be happy to have another woman around. She's always sewing, cooking or cleaning something."

"Yes, I can help with those things!" Kaitlyn vowed, sounding almost happy about the prospect.

Marston hoped that meant he'd rescued the girl before she'd been damaged too badly. "Good," he replied with a nod.

His heart swelled when Kaitlyn's tiny arms tightened around him. It looked like he'd ridden off looking for vengeance and was coming home with a daughter.

***

"Hello the house!"

Vincent Sharp moaned upon the blood soaked floorboards of the cabin when he heard the voice calling from outside. He dragged himself several feet to the open door. "Hello....." he called weakly.

"Holy hell!" a man exclaimed as he jumped from his horse and ran to the shack. Vincent collapsed once again, all his energy spent. "What the hell happened here?"

The man's eyes went past Vincent and he gagged and covered his mouth with his palm when he saw Gilliam in the corner. Vincent had been doing his best to not look at Gilliam too often. The man was an unrecognizable mess of shredded flesh and blood.

"Get me to a doc..." Vincent pleaded, dragging the man's attention away from the dead body.

"Who did this to you?" the man asked as he pulled Vincent up and dragged him toward the waiting horse.

Vincent felt hatred burn in his gut. "Marston Jacobs."