Hello, all! Happy Monday. With the holidays coming up, I might have to officially shift my posting day to Mondays. Still trying to get everything organized and whatnot.
But my goal is to have the final chapter up by the new year. Fingers crossed.
Anyway, that's enough babbling. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Seat belt warning still in effect.
Linny
Chapter Thirty-Seven
His head throbbed from the blow Zorro had given him to the head. Anger thrummed like fire in his veins. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He wasn't the one who was supposed to be in chains. He shouldn't be the one facing death.
His plan had been flawless. Yes, Estevez had suspected that he was up to something, but he couldn't have known exactly what. He'd paid his men handsomely. He'd considered it an investment in the future. They were supposed to help him conquer Los Angeles and destroy the peace of the tiny, pathetic little hamlet.
After which their rule was supposed to slowly spread until they had control of all of California. Once it was in their possession, it should have opened up doors for even more power.
Instead, now he was in irons and was facing the possibility of a firing squad.
How could he have failed?
He knew why.
He hadn't counted on The Marshals coming to the rescue or even the fat and lazy Dons risking their selfish little lives to save their oh-so-precious home. They'd joined together to fight against his army. They have even been outnumbered three-to-one; they should have been easy to defeat. Yet, they fought as if they were one unit, taking down any of his men who might rise against them.
He'd even tried to focus his attention on their workers; tried to draw them away to fight against their own masters. His money should have been good enough, yet they were loyal to rich men who would always be rich. They owed them nothing. Yet, they still stood by their sides.
He couldn't understand it.
He blamed that blasted bandit, Zorro. He had more influence in the district than he gave him credit for. The people loved him. They admired him. They fought for him. What did they stand to gain in the end? Nothing!
So, then why fight alongside a bandit?
Then, there was The Shadow. He was not yet done with that one. The bastard had taken his eye. It should have been the perfect justice for him to take his life in recompense.
Yet, he and Zorro were working together.
He silently cursed his enemies and struggled against his chains. Under the cooperation of Sergeant Garcia and The Marshals, they had turned the Captain's office into his own private jail cell. They'd even affixed a set of irons on the wall and chained him up like a dog.
That was fine. They could keep him away from his men. It didn't matter anymore. He was done with Los Angeles and their pathetic quest for a quiet and peaceful existence. He would find a way out of that room and then he would move on to control another territory.
But, before he left, he would make certain that everyone would pay for what they had done to him. And he would make sure they would suffer for it.
He would start with the soldiers still loyal to Estevez. If it hadn't been for them, Zorro would never have been able to catch him by surprise. It had to be because of them that Zorro had been able to find a way inside.
He smiled as he thought about all of the ways he could kill them. Perhaps slit their throats in their sleep. Yes, that would suffice.
Then he would work his way through The Marshals. At least whichever man decided to stand in his way. There were far too many of them to take them on all on his own. And as much pleasure as it would give him to dispose of the Dons as well, it would be pointless.
No, instead, he would focus only on one particular household.
De la Vega.
They had been hiding out that treacherous bitch, Olivia Walker for weeks, now. He had known, yet he hadn't been able to act. Now that his identity had been revealed, he would go there and hunt her down.
He now knew why her serendipitous appearance in California was no mere coincidence. Not only was she working with The Marshals because of her brother, but she was also working with them because of one other reason. It was something he had recently discovered.
He had discovered that she was the one wearing the black hood when he used her own knife against her. It was quite ironic. He had intended to use that blade on Zorro when they faced off again after their sword fight in this very room. He was even going to blame The Shadow for his murder.
It was just a shame that he hadn't aimed higher. Then she no longer would have been a problem for him. And that could still be a possibility, he thought to himself. He would relish the feeling of wringing her little throat until she no longer breathed. Taking her life would make all of his struggles well worth it in the end.
Now, all he had to do was find a way to free himself from these damned chains.
They were all exhausted. The remaining soldiers and The Marshals had been working hard to round up all of the prisoners. The jail cells were packed so full that they had begun to lock them up in the lower rooms of the barracks with a small army of guards to prevent any escape.
They'd locked their leader up in Capitán Estevez's office to keep him as far away from his men as they dared without having to leave the garrison. Don Tomas still could not believe that it had been Lieutenant Allende that had caused all of this chaos. Yes, the man was absolutely cold and callous, but he was a military man. He was supposed to have principles and defend his posting.
But, instead of stopping it, he had been the one to initiate it. He was the one who had created this entire mess.
According to Don Alejandro, his name wasn't even Allende. That was an alias he went by and that he was a man only known as El Camaleón to the authorities.
When his friend had been telling him all about it, he could only feel stunned. Stunned by what he had been told and just how much Alejandro had known about it.
He had then said that it had been Zorro who had informed him of it all and had instructed him to rally the Dons. He hadn't been able to question him much after that. He'd only done what was asked of him, because if it was Zorro who was doing the asking, then he would do it.
He had never had the pleasure of meeting the man, but he had been the one to save Olivia from her kidnappers. He owed the outlaw for that.
Over her stay in Los Angeles, he had grown quite attached to the young woman. Working closely together with her to win over a few of the landowners, she had easily become like a second daughter to him. In fact, he could swear that his wife had worn a tinge of jealousy every time he spoke of her.
She had nothing to fear, of course. The nature of their friendship was nothing more than that; a friendship. He had sat with her while she had shared with him about how her parents had died in a fire when she was just a girl. His heart had broken for her and he had vowed to himself to be a shoulder she could lean on.
She had so few people in the world when she arrived in California. That count had more than doubled once they had been introduced as she also had his good friend Alejandro and his son, Diego, to look after her as well.
And from what he had gathered, young Diego had even become quite smitten with her. He knew she certainly had begun to feel a certain way about him. Somehow all of their conversations had always managed to involve Diego de la Vega in some way.
He wondered if a romance was budding between the two of them.
"Don Velasquez," one of the men posted outside of the guardhouse approached him. He was a young man with light blonde and a silver star shining off of his brown jacket.
"Sí?" he questioned. He fought back a yawn of exhaustion as he came closer.
"Your wife is outside the gate, señor."
His brows practically disappeared into his hairline with surprise. "Dorotea?" It was the middle of the night. "What is she doing here?"
The young man—a boy, really—shrugged. "She didn't say. She only announced that she was your wife."
Odd, he thought to himself. "Very well. Show her in." He frowned as he retrieved his pocket watch. It was nearly two in the morning. Why would she be venturing out at this time of night?
He stood and waited for the gate to open. Dorotea rode in like an ethereal vision on horseback. Each time he set eyes on her, he thought about just how lucky he was to have her. Her grace and her beauty were only superficial qualities that constantly drew him to her. Her caring heart and sense of adventure were what had made him fall in love with her.
"Mi amor, what are you doing here?" He hurried to her side and helped her down from her horse, Coqueto. The animal had been his present to her the year Marisol had been born. "The hour is so late. You should be in bed."
"How am I supposed to sleep without you, my love?" she asked, her almond-shaped eyes warm as she gazed upon him. "You left in such a hurry, telling me that Alejandro had summoned you to fight in some sort of battle. I couldn't just sit and wait for you to return home." Her tone had turned slightly icy and she'd begun to poke him in the chest to get her point across. "What were you thinking? What if you had been killed? Would you leave me a widow?"
He could hear snickering coming from some of the men around him, but he didn't pay them any mind. They didn't have a wife like Dorotea in their lives. They didn't know that every moment they spent together only made him happier. "Forgive me, dear heart," he soothed her with soft words. "I was only doing my duty."
"Hmph," she grunted. Whether that was a noise of acceptance or not, he couldn't be certain. All he knew was that she was still angry. "Well, fine, then. While you were here doing your duty, I was doing mine." She turned back to Coqueto and untied a large basket from her saddle. "I figured that all of you hard-working men could use some sustenance." Flipping open the latch, she lifted the lid of the basket to reveal it was packed full of empanadas. She waved the basket around so each man could bear witness to what was inside. "You all must be famished." Each man she passed grabbed at least two. "Please, take as many as you would like."
Seeing as though the Captain's office could not currently be used, a table had been set out in the middle of the yard. Sergeant Garcia had been stewing over a large map of Southern California with one of the Deputy Marshals.
From what Tomas understood, they were trying to find the right route to transport El Camaleón down south to the prison in Mexico. That was where he would face trial for his countless crimes.
"What about you, Sergeant?" she asked, waving the basket in front of his face. The pastries smelled sweet and fragrant as she showed them to him.
"Hmm?" he questioned, finally looking up at her. "Oh, Señora Velasquez!" He looked shocked to find her standing there. "What are you doing here at such a late hour?"
"I just thought I would offer you and your men a few of my apricot empanadas after such a difficult night, Sergeant. It is an old family recipe and I made them myself."
Tomas frowned at his wife's words. What did she mean that she made them herself? Dorotea hardly even ventured into the kitchen. She always told him that was why they had a cook on staff. He was certain that it was because her family had been poor while she had been growing up. She had worked very hard to put that part of her life far behind her.
Something suddenly caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. On the one side, he saw Sergeant Garcia reaching into the basket. On the other, he watched as each man who had taken an empanada crumple to the ground. They were all grasping at their stomachs and groaning in agony.
He quickly slapped the pastry out of the Sergeant's bloated hand. "Don't eat that!"
"Don Tomas..." Garcia sputtered in utter shock as he stared after the fallen treat, "... why did you do that?"
He turned a puzzled expression to his wife. Still as beautiful as the day he married her, but now as he looked at her, he saw something completely different. "We don't grow apricots on our rancho, Sergeant. Dorotea, what are you doing?"
"I don't know what you mean?" She cradled the basket closer to her body now as if to shield herself from him. Reaching inside, she produced another. "Here you are, Sergeant." She then glared at Tomas in silent challenge. "Perhaps my husband has forgotten that our cook purchased a basket of apricots from the market just yesterday."
No, he hadn't forgotten. He couldn't have because that was something that hadn't happened. What was going on here?
"Gracias," Garcia was grateful and raised the fresh empanada to his lips.
Tomas quickly snatched it away and tossed it onto the ground. "They're poisoned, aren't they?" He had listened to Olivia when she had told him to get rid of the oleander on his property and had done so immediately. He could still remember its flowers' sweet fragrance. Like apricot.
"Poison?" Garcia's jaw fell agape as he stared incredulously at Tomas. Of course, he would think him to be insane, given who it was that was handing out the sweet treats. "Oh, no Don Tomas," he tried to excuse the man's wife.
"Look around you, Sergeant. Where are all of your men?" He kept his gaze focused on his wife—the mother of his child—and watched as her warm smile turned into a cold sneer. They were the only ones still standing.
With a roll of her eyes, she reached once again into the basket, but instead of a pastry, she produced a pistol. Garcia cried out in surprise at the sight of it. "Give me the keys to the office door," she ordered.
"Doña Dorotea," the Sergeant began to try to reason with her.
"Do it, Sergeant. I warn you, I won't hesitate to shoot you." She pulled back the hammer and aimed her weapon at the large man standing beside her husband.
"Why are you doing this?" Tomas asked.
"Because I don't have a choice." he noticed the way tears had filled her eyes as she looked at him. He could see the love that she still had for him, yet she continued to stand there and point a gun at him. "It is what needs to be done."
What did she mean by that? How had she gotten tangled up in this extremely messy situation? He wanted answers for her sudden deception. She owed him that at least.
"You won't get far," he warned her instead. He could now feel tears burning the backs of his own eyes. They began to flood his vision until they breached his lashes. He felt first one and then another stream down his cheek. He knew she could see them by the way she blinked her own eyes to keep hers at bay. "There is still one guard inside the office. He won't let you in without proper authorities." And there were only two men who had that, currently. Sergeant Garcia and Deputy Walker; one of which was out at the moment.
She seemed to think about what he was saying, which allowed him to take a step closer to her. If he could only get close enough, then he could get the pistol away from her. "Don't," she whimpered to him. The pistol shook as her hand trembled. She dropped the basket by her feet and used both hands to steady her weapon. "Don't make me shoot you, Tomas."
He braved another step toward her, very aware that she could kill him with the slightest movement. "I don't understand..."
She sniffled, her expression turning cold once again. "I don't expect you to." She turned her attention back to the Sergeant, an eyebrow raised in question. "Well, Sergeant? Where are the keys?"
Garcia didn't immediately answer. Instead, he glanced toward Tomas, though the older man never took his eyes away from the woman standing before them. With the last bit of hope inside of him dashed to oblivion, he turned away from her. "Give her what she wants, Sergeant."
"But, Don Tomas," Garcia tried to argue. "I can't just give them to her."
"Fine, then, Sergeant. You will open the Capitán's office door and let me inside," was her counteroffer.
"Doña Dorotea," the idiot again tried to argue.
"Just do it, Sergeant," Don Tomas ordered. He didn't know what else to do. He felt utterly defeated. His entire world was crashing down around him and he was helpless to stop it. He wouldn't fight her. Even if he was twice his size, she still held the advantage of having that gun in her hands. By the time he drew his sword, she could very well shoot him dead. He slumped against the table Sergeant Garcia had been working at and crossed his arms over his chest in defeat.
Aggravated that he hadn't been able to stop this from happening, Sergeant Garcia did what was asked of him. Tomas watched as he brought out his large ring of keys and, with a frown marring his usually jovial expression, led her to the Comandante's office.
"No tricks, either, Sergeant. Your back makes an excellent target."
"Sí," he murmured under his breath as he worked on the lock of the door.
When the lock clicked open, she waved him toward the door. "After you."
He made a grumbling sound under his breath before he reached for the latch.
The sound of the door to his prison opening surprised him. They had questioned him for nearly an hour after they'd reclaimed the cuartel. Surely, they couldn't have more questions for him. Especially since he hadn't answered any of their previous ones in the first place.
There was a lone guard inside with him; one of The Marshals. He looked to be just as surprised by this late-night visit as he was. Interesting.
The door opened wide, allowing Sergeant Garcia to waddle inside. The door slammed shut behind him, but he had never reached for it. Behind his large form, there was a much smaller one. This one was more slender and delicate. It belonged to the dark beauty of a woman who had come to rescue him.
The guard noticed her just as quickly as he had and raised his musket toward her. "I don't think you want to do that. One more movement toward that trigger and the fat sergeant is my next target to practice on. I suggest you drop your weapon and back away."
He admired how she stood her ground and noticed that her hand didn't even shake while she threatened the life of the soldier she was using as a human shield. He never dreamed she would have had it in her to do such a thing.
The guard seemed to be struggling internally. If he had been in his place, he wouldn't have hesitated. He would have taken the shot and damn whoever else would be hurt in the process. But, then he remembered that this man wasn't one of his own. He had scruples and morality that he found utterly sickening.
"Unlock his irons," she commanded of the Sergeant when the man with the musket followed her order and set his weapon on the ground, and backed away.
He wasn't surprised by her demanding tone. She had always been a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. She had a commanding presence that usually brought him to his knees in utter devotion to her. No matter how fleeting it could be at times.
The Sergeant shot a glance toward the guard, silently asking for assistance in stopping this, but both men were at a loss for what to do. The Marshal could shoot at her, but he could miss and then the Sergeant would be dead. Or he could try to get the gun away from her. But then he might be dead. Either one was a scenario that wouldn't end in tragedy.
"Do it, Sergeant," she ordered again.
The large, lumbering soldier thundered over toward him, his expression one of pure frost as he did what was commanded of him. He was such a simple man. He couldn't even take out a single woman. It amazed him that they had lost control of this posting in the first place. If the Sergeant wasn't willing to do what was necessary, then who was in this damned desert?
Yes, she was married to a wealthy Don, and taking action against her would have been unheard of. But she was also acting against the interests of her government, which made her a criminal in the eyes of the law. Her social standing had very little to do with her actions, yet it just might help her get away with them.
Garcia continued to follow her commands and unlocked the chains around his prisoner's ankles first, then did the same with the ones around his wrists.
Finally, his arms and legs were free to move again and he was able to rid himself of the gag they had placed over his mouth.
"Back away," she directed the fat, useless soldier over to the corner. Garcia did as she said, but the Marshal suddenly became very stupid. He made his move toward his discarded rifle.
Taking the pistol from her hands, he didn't hesitate to fire the shot that would make the other man fall.
She gasped in surprise as she watched him crumple to the ground. The blood pooling on his white shirt told them all that he was dead.
Throwing the useless pistol to the side, he picked up the rifle and aimed it at the Sergeant when he became just as stupid and tried to move toward them. "Uh-uh, my fat friend. I am a much better shot than the señora and I will be certain not to miss."
"I am a soldier of His Majesty's Royal Army. I do not fear anyone. Even you." He practically spat on the floor at his feet when he spoke to him. It was quite a surprise. He'd always found the man too stupid to have an angry bone in his body. It looked like he was mistaken.
"Then, what is it that I see in your eyes?" he countered as he unlatched the Sergeant's belt and relieved him of his saber. "Lock him up." He waved toward the irons still hanging on the wall and instructed her on how to secure them. The chains rattled as the soldier fought against them.
"When I get out of here-"
He blocked out the angry threat that was coming from the fat man's lips. He didn't care. Because he was in complete awe of the woman at his side. Pulling her close, he admired not only her beauty but her cunning. She had managed to breach the garrison and relieve him of his chains without firing a single shot. "You did beautifully," he whispered into her ear and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.
She didn't react like he thought she would. Glancing at her, he found her to be a great deal paler than she previously had been. Her eyes were wide, her pupils like pinpricks. Her slender form trembled against him as the shock of what she had just done seemed to finally sink in.
Lifting gentle fingers to her cheek, he tenderly stroked her skin until she was finally able to look at him again. "Soon, we will have everything we have ever dreamed of," he reminded her.
That seemed to bring her back to herself. She relaxed against him, leaning against his chest as she gazed off into the distance. "Where would we travel to first, I wonder."
"Anywhere you desire, my love." He moved them toward the window and he brushed aside the curtains to look outside. The yard took deserted except for the men laying motionless on the ground. Just what had she done to them to gain the advantage, he wondered.
Still, being a man with the tactical knowledge that he had, he knew a trap had been set. They weren't going to be so foolish as to just allow her inside without some kind of plan.
"We are going to have to make a run for the gate," he told her. "Look at me," he urged when she looked like she was about to panic again. He grasped her firmly by the shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. "I'll need you to stay as close to me as possible. Can you do that?"
She nodded, though she still looked uneasy.
"We are almost in the clear," he reminded her with a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We are almost free."
"Free?" That word caught her attention.
He smiled when he recognized his woman once more. "Come now. We must move swiftly."
She nodded and tightly grasped his free hand while he carried the rifle in the other. He made certain it was loaded and ready to fire before he tore the door open. They were met with silence as they stepped outside. It was a silence that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. It didn't feel right.
Keeping her close to him, he turned the corner leading to the main gate. There, they were met with a half dozen men with muskets. One of them being her husband.
"Tomas, no," she murmured when she saw him standing there.
He gave her arm a sharp tug so that she would stand behind him when he faced off against the last defense of the garrison. They were only meters from the gate; mere meters from freedom. Now was not the time for her to get cold feet and regret her actions.
He aimed his rifle right between the eyes of the man who was his biggest threat. Don Tomas. With him still alive, she would be wracked with the utter grief of leaving him. There was also the chance that she would crawl back to him, searching for forgiveness.
He couldn't allow that. Don Tomas would just be one more obstacle that would need to be circumvented for them to finally be together.
"Give up!" the saintly Don ordered him as if he was someone he could command. "You are outnumbered."
That might have been true, but he had a weapon that none of them would have been brave enough to use. Grasping at Dorotea, he pulled her in front of him now. He wrapped his arms around her while still cradling his rifle. Either both of them were going to get away from here or only one of them was. It was going to be her husband's choice.
"What are you doing?!" she cried incredulously and tried to struggle out of his hold.
He was using her as his means of escape. What did she think he was doing? "Forgive me, my dear," he whispered into her war as he edged them closer to her husband. "It's your choice, Velasquez."
Panic filled the love-struck Don's eyes at what he was witnessing. "Don't shoot!" he commanded his small band of troops as he motioned to them to lower their weapons. He threw his rifle off to the side and threw his hands up in the air. The others quickly followed suit.
He was surprised at how well that had worked. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for."
"And you are more ruthless than I gave you credit for," Don Tomas countered. "Let my wife go!"
"Of course. As soon as we are well away from the pueblo without the threat of The Marshals following. Understood?" She made a noise of protest, but he quickly shushed her whimpering. She would understand his actions soon enough.
He began to move them toward the gate, his rifle shifting from man to man as he passed by them.
"Open the gate," Don Tomas commanded with a growl of anger.
The two men at the back quickly moved to open the gate, which allowed him to walk out into the open air of freedom. Just a few more steps and he would be free. He only had one last thing to deal with first. Raising his musket, he aimed at his main target once again. "Say adiós," he instructed her as he balanced the barrel on his forearm and reached for the trigger.
"No!" she cried out, throwing her arms wide. The force of her pushing against him threw off his shot, sending it wide.
"Stupid bitch!" he cursed at her and shoved her away. She stumbled and fell to the ground in front of him.
He felt his anger stewing up inside of him. Why had she done that? Why couldn't she have just gone along with the plan? Why did she suddenly have to grow a damned conscience?
"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized.
He glared down at her as she began to stutter and plead with him for forgiveness. Who was this sniveling little worm he now saw before him? This wasn't the woman he had made promises of a future with. This wasn't the woman that he dreamed of each night. This wasn't the woman he would make love to in the moonlight. She was merely a coward that was afraid of her own fate.
And now, she was nothing but disgusting gutter trash. Something filthy and unwanted.
He realized that The Marshals were now arming themselves again. He needed to get away. "Forget you," he turned away and waved her off.
"Jorge?" she called after him as she struggled to get back to her feet.
He sprinted off, pausing once to glance over his shoulder to see two men descending on her, while the rest of the group began to fire upon him. He jumped into the saddle of a horse that had been tied up to a nearby hitching post and kicked it into motion. More shots were fired as he rode away.
As he left the city, he could still hear her screams as she cried out for him.
"No! Jorge!"