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The man called Pearson looked from Cole, to Aida, to Monty, then over each member of both Monty’s and Cole’s crews that had come in.
“Pleasure, as always,” he said, his voice low and hard. He got to his feet, his eyes filled with contempt as he glared at Cole. Aida felt the air shift in the room as the man turned to Lawson. “You got the rooms upstairs cleared out?”
Lawson nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, sir,” he said.
“Good,” Pearson said and he trudged with heavy boots on the wooden floor, creaking to where a small staircase to the far right almost lay hidden. “Upstairs,” Pearson growled.
Aida felt Cole tug her along almost fiercely, his hand hurting hers, fingers crushed against the tenacious grip.
“You’re hurting me,” she whispered. Cole did not reply, simply following Monty and Pearson up the rickety stairs in stone-faced silence, though his grip lessened a bit.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Aida could see a hallway with several rooms. Cole gestured for Junior, Justice, and Doc to take a few rooms, while Monty’s men clambered into rooms of their own, until only Pearson, Cole, and Aida remained in the hall. Pearson turned to Aida.
“So pretty,” he said. “You’ll give me a turn, Cole.” It didn’t seem like a suggestion. Aida held her breath.
Cole chuckled mirthlessly. “You know I don’t share, Pearson,” he said.
The man’s lips turned down and he gave Cole a calculating look. “You still playing hero?”
Cole’s lips thinned as he glared back at Pearson. “You know why I’m here,” he said.
Pearson nodded quickly before giving Aida one more appraising look. “We’ll see about that,” was all he said, but as the sound of his retreating footsteps faded, Cole’s arm went to her waist. Aida’s thundering heart slowed just a little. The mere thought of this man touching her sent sickening shivers of dread through her. He seemed capable of anything. With a tug on her hand, Cole pulled her into the room and slammed the door.
Chapter Twelve
Love is merely a madness; and I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and whip as madmen do. ? William Shakespeare
Cole paced the room as Aida used the attached privy, freshening up. Her shoes were lined up next to the door and for some reason, the little shoes played at his sympathies. Aida was so young, so trusting… and could be so easily hurt. If Pearson ever got his filthy hands on her, he’d have to kill him.
The night was dark, the moon casting little light on the ground. Cole peered out the window, plotting what he would do next. If Pearson and Monty thought for a minute that Cole wasn’t who he said he was… Pearson already doubted him, had doubted him since a month earlier when Cole had refused to shoot an innocent woman in a raid at a bank. Pearson never dirtied his hand with the raids, but when word came to him that Cole hadn’t pulled the trigger, Cole knew then a seed of doubt had been planted. He had to work this perfectly, and if he did, Pearson’s presence here and now could aid his ultimate plan well. Very well. But it was a razor’s edge he walked until then.
A sharp knock came on the door to the room. Stalking over, Cole yanked the door open. Junior stood, staring at him with wide open eyes. Cole gestured for him to come in.
Junior fidgeted nervously as Cole shut the door.
“Heard Pearson,” Junior said. “Didn’t know I was there. I went to go check on the horses before dinner, and Pearson was in the stable with Monty.” He swallowed. Cole frowned, crossing his arms on his chest, but he gave Junior an encouraging nod.
Junior continued. “I heard Monty say you shared a bedroll overnight, and he thought you were fixin’ to make her yours. Pearson said if you showed yourself weak with a woman, you couldn’t be trusted, with what they have planned.”
Cole’s frown deepened. “Is that all?” he asked.
Junior nodded. “For now, yeah,” he said. “I just thought you ought to know.” Junior spoke in a low voice, with a subtle gesture that might’ve looked like he was swatting a fly, or flicking a speck of dust. But Cole understood, his eyes trained on the dark wooden dresser that stood between the rooms. Cole knew the implication, moving his eyes intentionally out the window so he wasn’t staring at the dresser. There was a peephole between the dark wooden dresser and the bed.
Cole clapped Junior on the shoulder. “Thanks for that,” he said, and Junior took his leave.
The door opened and Aida emerged. Her face had been scrubbed, her hair tidied, and her dress smoothed out. She still needed fresh clothing and a bath, but she was pretty as a picture as she was. Her eyes met his and for a moment unveiled, but when he reached for her hand, it was as if she remembered he was not to be trusted, and her eyes shuttered again.
“Come here,” Cole said, tugging her hand so that she was as close to him as she’d ever been, while purposely keeping them angled away from the peephole. “You listen to me, and you listen well. No matter what happens over the next few hours, you try to understand. Remember? Trust me, darlin’. Can you trust me?”
She glared at him, her jaw clenched.
“Trust you?” she asked helplessly. “Trust the man that took me from my home. Trust the man who whipped me over his knee. Trust the man who’s holding me hostage and planning to do who-knows-what to me?” Her face frowned in disgust. “I don’t trust you.”
Of course she didn’t. God, he’d been such a fool. He had her, right there in the palm of his hand, and now she’d turned from him again.
Spurred on by the need to make her understand what these men were capable of, he whispered in her ear, “You heard Monty talking earlier. You know what has to happen now. I promise I’ll make it good for you, darlin’. But you need to do exactly what I say.” He needed her to cooperate. She had to. “Do you have any idea what those men are capable of?”
Her eyes flashed. “Something worse than taking me against my will, whipping me, and holding me hostage?”
