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“You don’t know nothin’ about me,” she says, defaulting to the words people always use when they’ve been caught out by a near stranger, revealing something about themselves they wanted to keep hidden.
Even if I believed her, which I don’t, there’s nothing about this girl which says quiet little homemaker. The way she handled the gun and the way she took that shot says outlaw, not to mention the attitude she’s been giving, make me think she’s capable of making enemies of the kind who like to do things like leave mouthy brats for the train to collect.
“Who was your husband then?”
Her eyes slide to the left, then to the right before coming back to me. “John Brooks.”
“He just happens to have the same name as the stencils on those slug crates?”
I glance pointedly toward the crates stacked on a nearby porch outside the general store.
“Uh… yeah,” she says, apparently deciding to go ahead with her lie.
“So you were going to marry an eighty year old slug farming millionaire? Because that’s who John Brooks is.”
“More than one person can be called John Brooks,” she says, squirming visibly.
“Sure, but they’re not, are they. You’re lyin’.”
She’s lying through her teeth, but I don’t actually mind. I’m learning what her tells are, and they could be invaluable in the future, next time she lies to me.
“Even if I am lying, what does it matter? You’re Orion Steelbane.”
“I am.”
“I’ve heard about you. Everybody has.”
“Alright, and that means you can lie to me, does it?”
“It means you don’t care about things like truth or the law or…”
“I’m going to stop you right there, little lady,” I say. “I don’t care for Imperium law, but I have one of my own, and one of my laws is scrappy brats I pull off train tracks have to tell me why they’re there, and if they lie to me, they feel the consequences.”
She smirks at me, and in that smile I see all the reckless disrespect of someone who isn’t going to keep that expression on her face another damn minute.
“One last chance,” I growl, knowing I’ve already given her way too many. “Or this starts to hurt.”
She shrugs.
“We’re doing this the hard way, huh? Fine by me,” I say, grabbing her by the wrist. I stand up and start walking toward the saloon. She traipses along after me quietly enough until I toss a bill on the bar and ask the keeper for a room upstairs.
“Hell no!” She gasps, suddenly coming over all ladylike. “I told you I wasn’t a saloon girl!”
She pulls back against me, scratching and hissing and carrying on, but I have no intention of letting her go. She’s had her chance to do this easy. I’d never have laid a finger on her if she’d just told me what I need to know, but I can’t have an unknown quantity around me.
Josie’s screaming her head off as we get to the stairs. It’s harder to pull her up them so I end up tossing her over my shoulder. She kicks and shrieks like a banshee, but nobody pays her any mind. The music keeps playing and the men and girls keep drinking. A man dragging a woman into a room rented for an hour is a sight seen far too often in this neck of the woods, and nobody gives a damn.
Josie
Oh god. What have I done? What is he going to do to me? I know what these rooms are for. This is where women sell themselves sometimes when they want to, and sometimes when they don’t. I don’t. My stomach is clenched, I’m sweating from every pore as Orion drops me on the floor, turns around and shuts the door behind him. His back is to the only exit, except maybe for the window. I glance at it, considering if I can throw myself out it. We’re only two stories up. I might break an arm or a leg or something, but it would be worth it.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Then start talking,” he growls. “It’s a simple set of questions, Josie. I want to know who put you on those tracks, and I want to know why.”
“I can’t tell you either of those things,” I say. “Just let me go. You’ve got your problems. I’ve got mine. Let’s leave it there.”
“Not an option.” His arms are folded over his chest. They’re big and strong, even the machine one. Maybe especially the machine one. I can still feel the memory of the grip of his metallic fingers around my upper thigh. He’s impossibly strong, and on some level, I know that resisting him is stupid and maybe not even something I can do.
“You talk,” he says. “Or I keep going.”
Now his hands are at his waist. He’s going for his belt, pulling the thick leather free of the loops. I swallow, knowing that what comes next is going to hurt. I would bet good money on Orion Steelbane being an absolute monster of a lover. I’ve never been good with men, and I don’t know how to handle one like him. Orion was made for one of the sly women downstairs, the cat-eyed seductresses in their low cut gowns who sway around the dirty saloon floor and make it look like a ballroom. Why is he doing this to me?
