Long Road to Freedom Ch. 02

2

Shanghaied

Beau's gelding snorted upon his approach, the animal's movements tired and lazy with the late hour. Together they waited atop their hidden vantage point until he saw the last embers of her campfire wink out of existence. In the stillness, his horse's steady breathing was the only sound. After another hour of patiently lurking, he was certain she was asleep. Unhurried, he packed his things, saddled up his mount, and rode down toward her camp. He was careful to take the long way around to hide the clattering sound of their approach.

He halted the black Quarter Horse a safe distance away and dismounted quietly, intending to close the remaining space on foot. His body was crouched and ready as he stalked toward her sleeping form. His eyes fell on her with a covetous hunger that almost always resulted in someone getting hurt. A woman who could handle herself was far more valuable than a quick and simple victim. She had a level of skill and knowledge that he would put to use, and she would undoubtedly be a delightful challenge to break.

Everything about her had stoked a deadly fire in him. It was the kind of obsessive focus he applied in life that made him lock on and never let go, the reason he always won. When he was finally hovering over her, he didn't move a muscle. He watched her rhythmic, deep breathing to confirm that she had fully succumbed to sleep.

The peaceful silence of the night worked as a heavy blanket, wrapping Nora in its snug embrace. Unexpectedly, her mare whinnied. The young woman pinched her eyes in annoyance and rolled fitfully onto her side. Beau nearly started. He concentrated on the woman's prone form, now dangling on the precipice between sleep and wakefulness. He whipped his head around to glare at the animal, who seemed to be staring back with mutual dislike.

Understanding that his time was running short, he reached into his duster for a length of rope he had cut for this purpose. As he descended, her eyes fluttered lazily open, catching sight of the man looming over her. Though she could not discern his features, she knew in an instant that it was him. As quick as a striking snake, her hand shot out for the pistol she had intentionally kept nearby.

The outlaw's reflexes, honed by over a decade of violence, were faster. He caught her wrist in a grip of iron before her fingers could close around the grip. His face was mere inches from hers, pale blue eyes shimmering with feral delight in the darkness. "Not so fast, sweetheart," he growled, his voice a deep rumble that resonantly filled the small space between them. He pinned her wrist to the dirt with a heavy thud. With a sharp tug, he maneuvered her onto her back and tied her wrists together with a speed that left her gasping.

In pain and shock, she cried out. Her eyes bored into him, flaming with white-hot rage that promised retribution. "You lowdown son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" she shouted and thrashed beneath him. He had made quick work of it, but that didn't stop her from lurching forward and biting into Beau's forearm with a ferocity that would make a coyote blush.

He hissed a curse as her teeth sank into his skin, but it was not enough to make him release her. He shifted his weight, pressing his considerable mass down to shove her against the hard ground. He exchanged his body weight for the more concentrated force of his shoulder to pin her more firmly. His expression was a mix of irritation and amusement. "Vicious little thing, ain't ya?" he snarled, the adrenaline of the fight igniting his veins. He could feel her heart hammering against him like a caged animal, begging for release to have one more chance to bite at him. He tightened the knot with a final, decisive tug, making sure she had no hope of slipping through.

A dawning horror spread across her features, and she temporarily stilled. "What do you want...?" she demanded, swallowing her terror as much as possible to put on a brave front. Deep down, she knew she would be lucky if all he wanted was to rob her.

He stood up, finally releasing the bruising pressure of his shoulder. He looked down at her with a detached sort of curiosity. Instead of immediately answering her, he reached down to pluck her small.31 caliber revolver from the dirt. He weighed it in his hand before sliding it into his own belt. "Well, that depends on how you behave, darlin'," he said, his voice devoid of the false warmth he had used during dinner. The idea of selling her to some house of ill repute returned to his mind as a fitting reward for the nasty bite she had given him. But as he stared down at her and her spirited gaze met him unflinchingly, he knew he could not let this one go, at least not for a while yet.

The fixed, cruel glint in his eyes made her blood run cold. Those eyes belonged to a much more dangerous man than the one she had met earlier. With an unyielding grip, he effortlessly hauled her bound form to an upright, seated position. He squatted down and grinned suggestively at her. She glowered back with all the concentrated vehemence she could muster. "If you think I'm ever going to stop fighting you, then you might as well kill me now," she hissed through clenched teeth, hoping to make herself seem like far more trouble than she was worth.

He let out a dry, rattling laugh. His eyes drifted to the fresh bite on his left forearm where a small trickle of blood was sluggishly seeping toward his fingers. "Kill you? Now, why would I do a thing like that when you're far more useful to me alive?" He reached out to graze a rough thumb along her cheek with a casual possessiveness that made her skin crawl. "You've clearly got a broad set of skills, Miss Mary, or whoever you are, and an amount of grit I don't encounter often. As such, I have taken the liberty of decidin' that you're coming with me. I think you'll make a fine camp hand and, when I feel so inclined, a bit of company on the road to Utah."

With a violent jerk, she thrashed her head away from his poisonous touch and spat at him. "Fuck you, I ain't," she shouted, her voice teetering on the edge of hysterics. "If you so much as dare touch me, I'll kill you, you pathetic, cowardly, piece of trash." Impotently, her hands flexed and clenched against the rough material of their indifferent jailer. While her demeanor was one of pure rage, her eyes were full of genuine, unfettered fear. This was the type of bondage that had set her to running in the first place. Though in truth, this was far worse than what she had faced back home.

He used the sleeve of his duster to wipe his cheek clean with one thorough movement. He found her inner fire captivating, but he knew a wild animal would only become useful once it understood the leash. "I've been called worse by better men, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping to a quiet, dangerous timbre. He grabbed her by the arm again, hauling her to her feet with an easy strength that reminded her how physically outmatched she was. "Now, you can spend the whole ride screaming, or you can be smart. Either way, you're leaving with me."

Wide, frantic eyes searched the dark, empty desert for any possible means of escape. Her breathing was shallow and panicked. Nora had risked everything for the hope of a life that would belong to her alone. She would not let this monster rob her of that. Once more, in an act born of pure desperation, she lunged at him. This time, she aimed a sharp kick toward Mercer's groin.

He saw the move in his periphery and stepped aside just enough to ensure her boot grazed the air. Instead of becoming agitated, he felt another surge of predatory delight that made the situation feel less like a violent crime and more like a contest of wills. He stepped into her space and gripped the back of her neck with a firm, controlling hold. With a tilt of his wrist, he forced her to look up at him. "That's a dangerous game you're playing, darlin'. I'm a patient man, but even my patience has limits," he warned in a low, threatening grumble. He steered her toward the horses with a rough, guiding pressure.

"No! No!" she screamed and struggled as he manhandled her away from the camp. Hot, angry tears silently streamed like twin rivers down her cheeks. With each step, she could feel all her hopes and dreams slipping out of her reach.

Her cries barely registered. He had heard men howl louder, occasionally by his own hand. He practically dragged her to the mare, who let out a piercing, indignant neigh at the sight of her mistress being mistreated. Once there, he swept Nora's feet out from under her, making her tumble to the ground in a breathless heap. Beau shot her a warning look, a silent command for her to stay put while he began to rummage through her things to determine what else he had won.

During his search, he found a glass tincture of iodine wrapped in a protective strip of cotton cloth. Beau eyed the seeping wound above his wrist with no shortage of annoyance. Luckily for him, only a few of the girl's teeth had broken skin. Even still, it was best not to let these types of injuries fester where treatment was sparse. He saturated the bite with iodine and used the cloth to bind it. He resumed his pilfering and pocketed a leather pouch heavy with coins.

When he found nothing else of interest, he began the process of packing her camp and tacking her horse. The woman's tidiness made the process simple as most of her gear remained neatly tucked away in either her saddlebags or knapsack. With a crude carelessness, he gathered her bedroll and collected any other loose bits and ends. He roughly shoved the collection wherever it would fit among her things.

Nora sobbed and gasped for air on the ground while she watched him work, her shoulders hunched and trembling. His dusty boots filled her vision as he strode back and forth as he packed. She thought about rising to her feet and attempting a mad dash. But she hesitated, not putting it past the man to brutally kick her down if she tried. Once finished, he secured the mare's bridle with one hand while the other grabbed Nora's arm with a painfully tight grip. She yelped as he all but threw her onto the saddle. He could feel her shaking violently, though whether from terror or rage, he couldn't tell, nor did he particularly care. "Stop the noise, girl. You're just wasting your breath," he muttered irritably.

Without the ability to grab the reins, it made riding away difficult but not impossible. But before Nora could attempt any daring escape, Beau used a longer rope to secure Sweetgrass to his gelding, ensuring there was no way to go but his own way. He didn't look back as he mounted his steed and clicked his tongue. The black horse ambled dutifully onward with their newest prizes in tow. The outlaw rode with a relaxed posture, though his sharp eyes constantly scanned the horizon.

The silence of the expansive desert was broken by the rhythmic clopping of the horses' collective hooves. He ruminated over how she had fought him with such indomitable spirit and sheer, unadulterated hatred. It made the future prospect of breaking her to his will all the more enticing. Behind him, he could hear her muffled sobs and the occasional curse. "I told you not to bother with all that, Mary," he remarked, even though her whimpering did not bother him much.

"My name is Nora," she replied through gritted teeth, unwilling to maintain a futile charade that no longer served her. Despite running out of tears to cry, her body was still racked with sobbing gasps. She had never been so terrified in her life, but blind fear would not keep her alive. So, she set about converting her terror into cold, calculating fury instead.

He didn't acknowledge the correction, although he smirked knowingly to himself. The desert air grew ever chillier as the moon climbed higher and cast long, skeletal shadows across the barren landscape. He could feel her eyes on his back, imagining the daggers she was throwing at him. Nora, he thought, cataloging her name to memory. It suited her better than Mary. It sounded a bit more grounded, like the sturdy earth she was made of. "Now, we're going to ride until the light hits the peaks," he explained with a slow, lazy drawl. "If you're smart, you'll keep your mouth shut and your head down. Then maybe, I'll be inclined to loosen those ropes whenever we stop for water."

In response, she said nothing. The instant he freed her, she would undoubtedly have the opportunity to try something new. She determined it was best to remain silent in the hopes he would give her such a chance. Meanwhile, she would use the quiet to try to calm her frantic nerves. In uneasy peace, they rode on until the breaking morning light began to touch the jagged edges of the ridgelines in the distance. Unceasingly, her eyes searched for the implausible appearance of a passing stranger or posse, but the northern Arizona brush was as empty as any desolate land ought to be. It was why she had chosen to hide here in the first place.

The first light of dawn brought some relief to the nipping cold that had seeped into their bones during the long night. Beau felt the familiar stiffness in his joints from riding too long. He glanced back to see Nora huddled atop her stout palomino, her face pale and drawn in her distress. He felt a flicker of something. It was not exactly pity, more of a recognition of the utter endurance she was displaying in the face of him. He pulled his horse to a halt by a narrow, rocky creek that cut through the dry scrub.

The water had been provided to the desert by the tapering monsoon season. It flowed with a quick, erratic burble. He dismounted and dug out his canteen before reaching for the rope that connected the horses and pulled Sweetgrass closer. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the mustang's rider. "And here we are," he stated flatly, his rough voice breaking the morning stillness. "I told you I'd loosen the ropes if you stayed quiet... And I'm a man of my word. You'd do well to remember that."

Exhausted and dehydrated, she stared back at him emptily, her eyes puffy and swollen. Beau maintained the connection between the two animals, trusting Nora's horse about as much as he trusted the woman herself. He led the horses to the flowing creek to allow them to drink their fill. With sturdy hands, he pulled Nora off the saddle and steadied her wobbling form with a firm grip on her shoulders. He appraised her condition with a clinical once-over before undoing her bindings. Her plan to raise hell the moment she was loose fell apart now that she found herself lacking energy to do anything worthwhile. She needed to bide her time for a better set of circumstances.

He watched her with a calculating gaze. While he had half-expected her to attack again, he recognized that she was just spent, her spirit momentarily dampened by the traumatic physical toll of the recent events. He dipped the canteen into the fast-moving stream and held it under until it was full. Instead of handing it to her, he held it out, allowing her to lean in and drink, ensuring he kept control of the vessel. She needed to understand that anything she received would be at his mercy from now on.

"Don't get any ideas about running, sweetheart. You're in the middle of a wasteland and I have all your gear," he remarked pointedly, his voice devoid of malice but hard in its ruthless logic. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction seeing her this way, defeated but not yet broken. It was a delicate balance he would enjoy for as long as possible, although he knew even her fiery spirit would eventually crumble to ash given enough time. As he watched her gulp down the water, he wondered how long it would take for her full strength to return and she lashed out again. He hoped for sooner rather than later.

Without a word, she glared up at him as she drank greedily from the offered canteen. The way he was feeding it to her was humiliating, but she had a sinking feeling that was the point. She added this to the ever-growing pile of wrongdoings against her. They would be the fuel in the inevitable explosion of her revenge. In the interim, she needed to focus on recovering her energy and keeping herself healthy. After hours of riding with her hands tied behind her, her neck and back ached horrendously. Gingerly, she rolled her shoulders and listened to the resulting litany of pops and crackles. Then, she soothingly rubbed at her raw, aching wrists.

He watched as she tended to herself, his expression unreadable. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small canvas bag containing his tobacco. Absently, he began to roll himself a cigarette. "You're a long way from any help, Nora," he noted, her name spoken with a slight mocking edge that made her bristle. "The only possible way out of this is making north with me. You might as well make yourself useful in the meantime, or this journey will be far less pleasant for you."

Her dark hazel eyes quickly focused on him. "If I help you get to where you're going... you'll let me go?" she asked cautiously, not daring to hope against hope.

He let out a short, amused huff, the kind of sound a person makes when they find a child's words quaint. He lit the hand-rolled paper and looked her over. He took in the smudges of dirt on her cheeks, the rope-burned skin of her wrists, and the fierce, unbroken fire still simmering in her eyes. He took a drag of his cigarette. "You've got a clear knack for survival. Reckon you can hunt. You obviously know how to keep a horse healthy in rough country, and God knows what else. That kind of help is worth more than gold to a man on the run," he mused, his voice a low drawl. He stepped closer, the scent of old leather and burning tobacco accompanying him. "Tell you what, darlin'. You keep your head down, make yourself a useful little companion, and if we make it to Utah in one piece... maybe I'll consider letting you walk away. But until then, you're mine to move."

She dropped her gaze but did not back away from his looming form. For a long moment, she considered his words. She did not like how he said the word 'companion' and all it implied. The hungry way he looked at her all but guaranteed it was not a purely utilitarian position he had in mind. Contrarily, the man seemed to take pride in the notion that his word meant anything at all. "Alright...," she agreed quietly, playing along for now. Even without looking, she could feel his intense gaze assessing her, and it made her skin prickle.

He liked how she yielded, even though he knew it was a tactical surrender rather than any semblance of a true one. They had plenty of time to get there. He gripped her chin roughly and tilted her head, so she had no choice but to look into his piercing blue eyes. His cigarette smoke curled around them both. "There's a smart girl. That'll save you a lot of trouble," he murmured, his rough voice softening with approval and faux warmth. He released her abruptly and stepped away, gesturing toward the horses. "Fill up with what you need and mount up. We move on in ten minutes."

She didn't say a word, but as soon as he turned his back, she let out the breath she had not realized she was holding. She worked hastily, her movements jerky and fueled by a mixture of adrenaline and resentment. She grabbed her own half-filled canteen from her saddlebag and trudged indignantly to the flowing creek bed. All the while, she noted the position of the sun and the landmarks around them, mentally mapping their position and trajectory. He may think he has her compliance, but she knew better than trust in any promises he made her. She resolved to keep sharp, learn his patterns, and find the exact moment she could get herself safely clear of this nightmare of a man.