Page 47 of Deadwood
He spun, keeping me in his grip as he faced whoever spoke. “We’re not sharing.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water and sand from my eyes to focus on whoever it was that was speaking. I recognized the voice, but I couldn’t pinpoint from where.
The man stepped out from the shadows of the tree line, dagger in hand as he picked at his nail with the tip of it. My heart picked up its pace as I instantly recognized him.
“Doesn’t look like she wants to be shared,” Bowen said, not bothering to look up from his dagger.
“She’s having a grand ol’ time. Aren’t you, honey?” the short-haired man asked, jostling me a bit. “Just a bit of foreplay.”
I breathed furiously through my nose, not giving him a response.
Bowen looked up from his dagger, his eyes immediately landing on me, like he, too, was waiting for a response. “See, I have a hard time believing that,” he finally said. “It looks to me like she was putting up quite the fight.”
“She just wanted to play, is all,” the bald man said from behind me.
Bowen cocked his head slightly. “Are you having fun, Princess?”
Short-haired man tightened his grip on my hair in warning, so rather than shaking my head, I tried my best to plead with my eyes. Bowen wasn’t buying their story, but I wouldn’t survive if he walked away.
Bowen flipped his dagger a few times, his eyes following it as he tossed it into the air. “One chance, boys. Let the girl go.”
“We ain’t scared of you,” short-haired man said.
“That’s unfortunate.” Bowen didn’t hesitate as he gripped the handle of his dagger and threw it directly at us. The man holding my hair yelled out as he dropped his hold on me. My palms hit the grass as I coughed from the impact, the short-haired man falling to his knees in front of me. My stomach twisted at the sight of the dagger protruding from his wrist, and I frantically crawled away as the bald man darted toward Bowen.
In the blink of an eye, Bowen produced another dagger, taking aim and landing it directly in the side of the man’s neck. He fell to the ground, not moving as blood spurted into the grass like a fountain. The one with the broken nose tried to stand, slipping in the wet sand, but he barely made it a foot before another one of Bowen’s daggers lodged itself into his shoulder. He screamed out in pain as Bowen landed another in his hand where he’d reached to grab the knife.
I crawled backwards, fear threatening to lock my muscles and shut me down, as Bowen approached the group. My shoulders hit the trunk of a tree, halting my retreat. The pungent scent of iron hit me like a fist to the chest.
Blood.
Myblood?
“You see, boys”—he grabbed his dagger from the one man’s neck, wiping it on his jacket—“if a woman doesn’t say yes”—he straightened, admiring the blade to be sure it was clean—“it means no.”
He turned on the short-haired man with the blade still sticking out of his wrist and approached him where he sat holding his arm. Bowen brought the tip of the dagger to his jaw, forcing the man’s chin up, then shoved it through his skin. Blood poured from the man’s mouth as Bowen removed the blade, wiping it on his shoulder pad. The man fell back in the grass, and as Bowen stood, he didn’t bother turning around as he threw his dagger at the man by the shore. It landed right in his heart, and he fell face-first into the sand.
I hardly saw as Bowen approached me. As my eyes moved from the bodies to him, my feet scrambled in the dirt, but my back was already scraping against the bark of the tree. There was nowhere for me to go.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, slowing his steps.
“You expect me to trust you?” The words barely got out through my rushed breathing.
“I did just kill three men for you,” he pointed out.
My fingers dug into the dirt as I pressed my back harder against the tree. “Please. Just— don’t come near me.”
He held his hands in the air, palms out. “Okay.”
We stared at each other for a moment. A slight crease formed between his brows as his gaze scanned my face before he asked, “Are you hurt?”
“N-no.” But it hardly sounded convincing, even to my own ears.
His eyes fell to my dress, and I looked down to find the front of it had torn. Instinctively, my arms wrapped around my torso in a poor attempt to cover myself. I hadn’t realized how hard I was shaking, how cold my skin now was.
He shrugged out of his jacket, and I instantly stiffened at the ink swirling along his muscled arms. The blue hue from the glowing flowers by the pond illuminated the way the tattoos wound up his arms like rivers on a map. With his bulging veins, his sculpted muscles were silent proof of the strength he’d just showcased by killing three men without so much as breaking a sweat.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
