Miracle Jones (41 page)

The third man shot Jesse an uppercut beneath his jaw.
Jesse’s skull exploded into stars.
The fourth slugged him in the chest.
He heard ribs crack and his legs buckled.

The fight was over before it had begun.
They carried Jesse downstairs.

Montana barely looked at him.
“Lila, come down here,” he ordered.

The slam of Lila’s bedroom door was her answer.

“Take him to the cellar,” Montana growled.
“Teach him a lesson.
Then get rid of him.”

He strode purposefully up the stairs.

Jesse struggled against his captors as they dragged him into a dark, dank, foul-smelling cellar.
He was flogged again for his trouble.
They tied ropes on his wrists, then stretched his arms straight out, lashing him to two beams so that his muscles strained from the effort.
Within seconds he had no feeling left in his hands.

“What do you want to do first, Gardner?” The short one asked the taller man, who seemed to be in charge.

Gardner smiled.
A thin scar ran down his left cheek.
“He’s awful pretty.
How’d you get so pretty, son?”

“The Danner curse,” Jesse replied sardonically, struggling to hide the pain of his broken ribs.
It hurt to breathe, but by God, he wasn’t going to let them know it.
He didn’t dwell on what they were planning for him.
He knew he’d be damned lucky to survive it, whatever it was.

“The Danner curse, eh?” Gardner guffawed and looked at a big man wearing a dirty black hat.
He was the one who’d broken Jesse’s ribs.
“Want to take care of that, Al?”

A hammy fist slammed into Jesse face, snapping his head around.
His knees sagged.
The ropes bit into his wrists.

“You’re not gonna be so pretty now,” Gardner pointed out.
“Let’s see.
What else did the lady like about ‘cha?”

“She liked him in bed,” the fourth man said, the eagerness in his voice cutting through the red haze in Jesse’s mind.
“Maybe we should make sure you don’t sleep with no one else.”

That shocked Jesse to his senses.
He yanked backward and kicked as hard as he could.
His boot connected with Gartner’s ear, ripping it open.
Gardner screamed in rage.
“Kill him, Al!
Kill him!”

Al’s fist broke Jesse’s nose.
Blood gushed.
It took two more punches and then Jesse mercifully fell unconscious.

He awoke with a bad taste in his mouth.
River water.
He wanted to spit, but couldn’t seem to get the muscles of his face working.
In fact, he couldn’t feel anything in his face.
It was numb.
He was aware he was alive, and that was something, but he assumed it was only for a short time.
Why they should have anesthetized his pain was something he couldn’t figure.
But there was no other explanation for the lack of feeling.

He lifted his right hand and groaned.
Hot needles of pain stabbed inside it.

“You’re awake,” a male voice said.

Jesse stiffened.
The voice was tight and clipped.
He tried to open his eyes but realized his whole face was wrapped.
Gingerly, he touched his fingers to the bandages.
Only his fingers hurt, not his face.
“Where am I?” he asked, and his voice was so garbled he could barely understand himself.

“You’re on Montana Gray’s ship,” the voice answered.

Hope died.
He was still captured.
“Why did you bother to wrap up my face?”

“What?”

He had to say it two more times before the man understood, and by that time Jesse was exhausted.

“Relax now.
Take it easy,” his captor said.
“Someone had to put you back together.”

“Why?” Jesse felt sleep taking him, but he had thousands of questions.

“I’ll explain later.
I’m no friend of Montana Gray’s, Mr.
Danner,” he said, his voice sounding like watery ripples on a pool as Jesse lost consciousness again.

Jesse woke the second time to a rolling movement.
The ship was under sail.
He wondered helplessly if, after everything else, he was being shanghaied.
But who would want him?
He was useless and would be for a long while.

A sudden memory of the
other
torture Montana’s men had planned made him struggle upward in fear.
Hands pushed him back down, firmly but gently.
“Don’t move too fast,” the now-familiar voice said.

“Who are you?” Jesse demanded more clearly.

“Ezekiel Thomas Drummond.
My friends call me Zeke.”

“Tell me—Zeke— besides my face, what other parts have been damaged?” Jesse felt no pain other than in his hands, and that’s what scared him.

“You’re all in one piece,” Zeke assured him.

“Everywhere?”

“Gray did a nasty job on your face.
That’s all.” He paused.
“You were lucky,” he added roughly, something in his tone suggesting someone else had not been so fortunate.

Relief washed over Jesse.
He moved slightly and realized belatedly that he did have feeling elsewhere.
Only his face was numb.
“I can’t see anything.
I want to take this bandage off.”

“There’s nothing to see.
We’re on our way to San Francisco, courtesy of Montana Gray.”

“He’s paid you to take me to San Francisco?”

“No.
I took the liberty of adding you to the passenger list.
Gray thinks you’re dead.”

“You— saved me?”

“I fished you from the Willamette River and brought you on board.
The ship’s doctor was appalled at what they’d done to you.
No one knows Montana’s responsible but me.
If Montana finds you again, my friend, he’ll make certain you die.
I figured the safest place for you was right under his nose, so I brought you here.”

“What have you got against Gray?”

There was a weighty pause.
“We have a score to settle,” was Zeke’s cold answer.

“Stand in line,” Jesse muttered.

Zeke laughed without humor.
He tucked the blanket close to Jesse’s neck.
There was something about the way he did that that sent warning shivers down Jesse’s nerves.
“Are you a girly boy, Zeke?”

“Certainly not!” he declared, snatching his hands back indignantly.

“Because I don’t give a damn if you are.
If you saved me, I’ll lay down my life for you.
But if you touch me, I’ll kill you as soon as I’m able.”

“You really don’t know when you’re at a disadvantage, do you?” Zeke asked with reluctant admiration.

Jesse sighed.
“Another Danner curse,” he muttered, sinking into oblivion once more.

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