Chapter Eight

Jess

After being pulled to his feet, the blindfold yanked off, and his hands untied, Jess had his first look in two years at Brad Huddleston. The man had changed dramatically in that relatively short time. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit; shoes shined to a black, gleaming polish that matched the slick glint of his perfectly coiffed, dark hair.

His heart was still working at a frantic pace as his new boss offered him a drink and a seat at an outside table as though he'd not held a gun to his head only minutes prior.

"Men, you are dismissed. Utah, you stay," Huddleston directed as he poured hefty doses of brandy from a crystal decanter. Jess accepted the sparkling glass offered to him with a hand that still trembled and felt tingly from the ropes. As commanded, the two who had dragged him to his false execution dispersed wordlessly.

Jess sat across from Huddleston and beside Utah, his hunched-over back and tensely coiled body in direct contrast to the relaxed demeanor of both men.

"Take it easy, Jess. You're off the hook, son."

Jess resisted the urge to bite back with a retort about being anything but the man's son. It was a struggle as he tried to regain his wits. It was imperative that he focus and play his role perfectly.

"Shakes a man, a bit; one minute havin' a gun barrel against his head, and the next gettin' offered a drink," he replied honestly.

Brad Huddleston smiled, showing off two perfect rows of chalk-white teeth beneath a pencil-thin mustache as inky and oily as his hair. His eyes had a blank, glintiness to them. Somehow, they seemed to watch everything and care about nothing.

"Well, it is all water under the bridge now. I am thrilled to have you back on board. I trust that your skills with a handgun have not diminished?"

"Not so's you'd notice. Though, I could use a front of some shells to practice with."

"Of course! As many as you need. I'll expect you to get those hands softened up, Jess. Wear gloves, no work around the ranch that will roughen them any further, understood? They look terrible and like they would slow you down with that magic you work with a gun."

Jess stared at his calloused and cracked hands he held tensely clasped in his lap and thought of how this man viewed them as tools of death, nothing else. "Yes, sir, but they ain't gonna slow me down," he cleared his throat and replied.

"Be sure he does just as I said, Utah. Gloves, no rough work, an endless supply of shells. I want him in top shape as soon as possible."

The two of them talking about him like that made him feel like a dog in training to attack and kill.

"Sure, boss. How'bout it, Jess? Think we can make them convict hands of yours soft as a woman's? Turn 'em into the death dealers they once was?" Utah taunted, his legs stretched out, ankles folded, completely relaxed.

His reply, if he'd even been able to formulate one, was interrupted by the arrival of dinner. The meal was unlike any Jess had ever had. It was brought a plate at a time, each dish arranged in a fancy, artistic manner. His nerves were strung too tight, and that blazing headache still plagued him too much to feel even the slightest bit hungry.

Huddleston alternated between asking him questions and discussing ranch business with Utah as they ate. Jess listened intently but was correct in his assumption that the men were far from trusting him with any implicating information. His attention was continuously diverted by the two women serving the meal. They were clearly mother and daughter. The daughter was young, close to his age, Hispanic, and strikingly beautiful. She kept her eyes down below thick, long eyelashes, remaining completely silent, even as Utah grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap.

"Pretty, ain't she, Jess?" Utah smiled lasciviously and toyed with the ties at the front of the girl's cream-colored blouse. The young woman sat obediently still and compliant but bit at her lip and furrowed her thick and finely arched eyebrows. She trembled, too. Her loathing and fear at being handled like a pet were obvious. Immediately, Jess felt his insides start to boil. It burned him ferociously to see her fear and the way she was being treated.

"Drink, Jess. Calm your nerves and relax," Huddleston took a swallow of the amber liquid and cocked an amused eyebrow at him. "I believe Utah asked you a question. Now, you wouldn't want to offend Raquel, would you, by not answering him?"

Jess forced down a swallow of the brandy. He detested the taste of that kind of liquor, particularly because it was Huddleston's drink of choice. He looked directly at the girl, and her dark brown eyes flicked up at him for the briefest glance. "I'd say you're about the prettiest woman I've seen in some time, ma'am," he directed toward her halfheartedly, although it was not a lie.

"Did you hear that, Raquel? Jess, here thinks you are a fine-looking woman. Now, I will expect you to properly thank him for that compliment tonight."

The girl's mother standing nearby and behind Utah, let out a small sound of distress at Huddleston's command. Keeping her head bowed beneath a faded red shawl, she made a sign of the cross at her chest.

"Our young friend has been incarcerated. Do you understand what that means, Raquel? Do you comprendes?" Huddleston asked mockingly with an exaggerated accent.

Jess hoped his face didn't look as red as the burning he felt likely made it.

Utah stroked the girl's smooth, brown skin with his long, dangerous fingers and tilted her trembling, unwilling chin toward Huddleston's question.

"Yes, mister Huddleston, I understand," she replied with perfect but heavily accented English.

"I am glad to hear that, my dear. It shows me that you are learning your place here, and your English is greatly improving, as well. But tell me, what is it, exactly, that you understand?"

Jess felt ready to explode at what the girl was obviously being forced into on his behalf. He fought to keep himself under control. The implications of what was happening horrified him, but it would worsen the situation significantly if he voiced his outrage. He tried a different tactic. "Mr. Huddleston, it ain't necessary. It don't seem as though the lady is willin'..."

"Stop right there, Jess," the man raised a hand and fixed wicked-looking eyes on him. "I will not be interrupted, and Raquel is well aware of the duties expected of her. Am I right, girl?"

"Yes, Mr. Huddleston," she replied immediately, although her voice shook. Utah felt the vibrations of that shake, no doubt, through the hand with which he caressed her throat.

"So tell me, then, what it is you understand, my sweet Mexican rose?"

"Meester Jess, he is been to the jail. I must p… please him, so he is not so solitario… please… I mean to say, lonely. He is not so lonely, now," she stuttered, her English much more broken than before.

Bile rose in his throat as Jess clenched his hands tighter from where he held them beneath the table. He had picked a spot on the table to stare at and focus on, afraid that he would not be able to stop himself from knocking either of the mens' perfect sets of teeth down their throats if he were to look at them or the terrified woman.

"Very good, Raquel. I am pleased that you corrected your mistakes without requiring a single reprimand," Huddleston purred demeaningly.

Utah tilted the woman in his lap and pulled her lips to his, kissing her roughly while running a hand the length of her torso. "Thought you deserved a reward for pleasin' the boss," he grinned before lifting her from him and smacking her on the backside as she hurriedly scurried away.

Jess saw tears brim in the corners of her huge, soft eyes as she left, and they tore at his insides. Whatever evil and nastiness he had been expecting from a man capable of murdering and scalping children, this was even worse than he had imagined. Raquel, God help her, was being treated as a slave.