Facets. Part 27

Cutter pulled her down against the baseboard of his pickup. "What things?"

"Fire you."

"I'll quit first."

"No." She held tight to his jacket. "He'll fire the others-Jethro, the MacMorgans, Hugo Wall, all the men you fought for-and he said he's already sold the house."

"I haven't heard about that, and I would've. Word spreads fast."

"Maybe it's too soon."

"Maybe he's lying."

"You didn't see his face, Cutter! It was awful! The man is mad! He'll do everything he says!"

Cutter refused to believe it, but Pam clearly did. Tugging her shaking body to his, he held her tightly for a minute. Then he gave her a kiss that was rough, telling her of the h.e.l.l he'd been through for the last two days. When he raised his head, he was angry. "John is full of c.r.a.p."

"No. He'll do it. All of it."

"He isn't G.o.d."

"Close to it."

"He can't control us."

"But he does!"

"We'll escape him."

"He has everything covered, Cutter. I've thought and thought and I can't find a way out."

"We'll run away."

"He'll be right after us."

"We'll get married."

"I'm too young. He'll take you to court."

"No court will listen if you say you love me."

"His court will. He knows the judges."

"So we'll wait three months. You'll be old enough then."

"That won't do any good," she cried. "He'll ruin you!"

"There's not much left to ruin if I lose you."

With an anguished sound, she pressed her face to his chest, then looked up and reached for his mouth. He tasted the desperation in her kiss-or in his, he didn't know which, and it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were together then and there.

All but bodily lifting her, he opened the door of the pickup, slid her in, and followed. Pressing her flat on the bench seat, he kissed her and touched her until the December air turned hot and heavy between them. Then, disturbed by what she had said and needing a reaffirmation of her love, he began pulling at her jeans.

"G.o.d, no, Cutter!" she cried.

"I need you." He caught her mouth again and ate hungrily from it until his need surpa.s.sed that. Rising to his knees, he used both hands on her pants.

"Not here!" she whispered, frantic. "We can't!"

He tugged the denim over her hips. "We can, dammit. We can do what we want."

"If someone comes-"

"No one will." He unzipped his fly and released himself, then came down to her. "It's dark. No one will see." He entered her in a single strong stroke, then thrust again and again, grasping her bottom and lifting her to deepen the penetration until she cried out at the pleasure he gave her.

She came, clutching his shirt, murmuring, "I love you I love you," and he climaxed seconds later. But he stayed hard, because having her once was never enough. Her breathing had barely slowed before he was moving again. He pushed deeper, harder, and again she rose to meet him. The sound that tore from his throat when he climaxed this time came from deep in his soul. It echoed in the cab of the pickup long after their pa.s.sion was spent and their clothing repaired.

The chilly air seeped over them quickly. "What are we going to do?" Pam asked. Her cheek was against his chest. She was as curled around him as a human being could be on the front seat of a small truck, and he held her tightly.

"I can't give you up yet."

"He'll do something awful."

"Then we'll fight him."

"How?"

"I don't know, but there has to be a way."

"Maybe when I'm eighteen."

"I'm supposed to stay away from you till then?"

"If he catches us, there'll be h.e.l.l to pay."

"I don't care. I'll face him. Maybe it's time."

"But it's not just us," she insisted; and, much as he didn't want to, he had to listen. "There are others involved. Innocent people. He'll hurt them, too."

"Maybe he's bluffing."

"What if he isn't?"

"He can only hurt people so much before the hurt boomerangs."

"And in the meantime?"

Cutter thought about the meantime, and there was nothing comforting about it. He could quit the mine and leave Timiny Cove, but it was his home, the only place he knew. If he belonged anywhere, it was there, where he finally was respected to some extent. And the respect was two-sided. While it wasn't exactly affection he felt for the people, he recognized their struggles and felt loyalty to them. They depended on him in subtle ways. While he wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, he couldn't desert them.

Nor could he desert Pam. She depended on him too. Even if he hadn't loved her so much, he would have wanted to be there to protect her as Eugene would have done.

A spark of light came from his left. Pam whispered a frightened, "Oh G.o.d," while he peered through the fogged-up windows. "It's the security patrol." She pushed away from him. "I have to leave. If the guard finds me here with you-"

"Too late." Cutter caught her hand. He rolled down his window as the guard approached. "Evening, sir." He glanced at the wrist where a watch would have been if he owned one. "We still have some time, don't we?"

The guard aimed his flashlight into the truck. Pam held up a hand against its brightness, but she took Cutter's lead and calmly leaned over his thigh toward the window. "We won't be long. Another five minutes? It's freezing out here."

The guard, who looked far too old and wrinkled to protect active young women, gave a grunt. "I was thinking that myself when I stopped. But I never seen the truck here before, and it's my job to check."

"That's good," Cutter said. "I'm glad to know someone's looking out for her when I'm not."

Touching the flashlight to his forehead in a salute, the guard returned to his car and slowly drove off.

"He saw the truck," Pam gasped as soon as the window was up again. "He'll remember it now. Oh, G.o.d, I knew this would happen."

Cutter linked his fingers through hers. "Nothing happened," he said as smoothly as he could, although his heart was pounding. "As far as he's concerned, we're both happy and healthy. The old geezer's probably already forgotten he saw us."

"If he'd come five minutes earlier, do you know what he would have seen?"

Cutter grinned.

"You laugh!" she cried. "If we'd been caught like that, John would have strung you up by your heels."

"It's okay, honey. We weren't caught." But his grin was gone. Everything that had come before was crowding in on him. He started the engine.

"What are we going to do?" she asked again as he drove the short distance to her dorm.

He was asking himself the same question. The answer eluded him, but he knew one thing. "I won't give you up, Pam. Not on John's say-so. If you were to find someone else and tell me you didn't love me anymore, that would be different."

"I'll always love you."

"Someday you might not."

"No. Always."

His need to hear the words was enough to stop him from arguing more. "Then we'll find a way to see each other now." He drew her close for a kiss. "You're my life," he whispered. She ran her fingers over his forehead, across his cheek to his mouth, following with her eyes in a way that made him uneasy. "Don't memorize things, Pam. We'll be together next weekend." Still she looked at him as though her heart were going to break. "Pam?"

"Gotta run." The words were no more than a broken breath, but they hung in the air for a long minute. Then she came up the few inches to his mouth. Her lips were soft and hungry, desperate in the way they clung to his. In seconds, his own desperation had him taking ravenous control of the kiss, but his tongue had barely filled her mouth when she tore herself away. Seconds later, she was out of the truck and running toward the dorm.

He started after her, then caught himself and straightened behind the wheel. She was upset, it was late, and the eyes of whoever cared to watch were on them. If he followed her, it would draw unwanted attention. He'd call her later to make sure she was okay. Maybe by that time he would come up with a brainstorm.

The brainstorm didn't come during the ride home. Snow did. It fell gently, reflecting in his headlights to make the night look unnaturally bright. But the brightness didn't spread to his insides. He was feeling cold and bleak when he pulled up to his home and cut the engine. Head down, he trudged to the door, only to stop short when he felt a p.r.i.c.kling at the back of his neck.

His footprints weren't the only ones in the snow.

His head came up, eyes focusing on the shadowed figure that stood by his door. Before he could identify it, a second, larger figure materialized from the side and rammed a fist into his stomach. The force of it sent him reeling. He had barely hit the snow when he was hauled back up by a third man. Another blow caught him in the ribs. He staggered in pain and tried to deflect the next shot, but it hit him in the gut. When his arms automatically went to his stomach, he took a wallop in the jaw that sent him backward.

The pain was explosive. Time and again he staggered to his feet, only to be slammed to one side or another. He tried to fight back, but with each attempt the pummeling came harder. He couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't straighten. In sheer self-defense, he curled on his side with his arms covering his head, only to be kicked everywhere else.

At a low sound that he couldn't make out through the pain, the beating stopped. He gulped for air, unable to open one of his eyes, unable to turn over. That was done for him by the same booted foot that had inflicted such damage seconds before. The sharp movement made him cry out in agony. A lingering shred of sense urged him to catch sight of his a.s.sailants, but he was too dizzy to see much. He panicked when his jacket and then his shirt were crudely torn from him. Bare-chested in the December snow and hurting all over, he was dragged halfway up the steps.

"I'll take that belt now," came the voice behind him. "And hold him down."

Dredging for remnants of strength, Cutter wrenched free and stumbled down the steps, only to be caught and hauled back. This time two pairs of boots pinned his shoulders and upper arms to the snow-covered edge of the porch. He tried to get a foothold at the bottom of the steps, but between his bruised body and the slippery snow, his efforts were futile. He was aware of movement by the man on his right, the giant whose fists had wreaked such havoc, but all he could see was a hulking black shadow.

For a long, terrible moment, time stood still. Cutter tried to wake himself from the nightmare but couldn't. Deep inside, mixed with all the pain, was a stomach-churning fear as he waited in the quiet, snowy night for a punishment he didn't deserve.

The belt hit him then, and pain exploded across his back. He panted against it, broke out in a sweat, and barely had a chance to brace himself when it came again. The pain was excruciating, totally engulfing, simultaneously mind-blowing and numbing. Through a fog of screams inside his head, he heard the voice by his ear.

"In case you're wondering," it seethed, "this belt is covered with metal studs raised in rows of fives. It's going to leave some very interesting marks on your back. I wanted to tell you that now, because you might pa.s.s out before I'm done, and since there won't be any evidence of this visit left behind, I didn't want you wondering."

"You're mad," Cutter managed to whisper, although even that small effort cost him.

"And you're through," returned the voice, with less control now. "Out. As of this weekend, you've resigned your job at the mine. You won't tell anyone why, and you won't make any accusations. Your phone's already been disconnected. You'll take whatever piddling money you have and pack up and leave Timiny Cove, and if you know what's good for you, you'll never come back."

"Go to h.e.l.l," Cutter wheezed.

In the little time it took for the belt to be swung again, the five rows of metal studs raked another gully through his back. He made a guttural sound and convulsed against his bonds, but they gave no quarter. The belt found him again and again, driving him hard against the iced edge of the steps. Each crack was preceded by a grunt that, in Cutter's near delirium, sounded obscenely s.e.xual.

His back felt like it was on fire. He was shaking all over. He fought for consciousness, which came and went along with flashes of searing pain, stark terror, and nausea. Finally, wanting nothing more than escape, he let the darkness take him.

But escape wasn't to be so easy. A handful of snow in his face brought him back to nearly unspeakable pain. Through it came John's voice, filled with the anger that, once unleashed, could not be restrained.

"That's for s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my sister, you G.o.dd.a.m.ned son of a b.i.t.c.h." He pulled Cutter up by the hair. Through the haze of one slitted eye, Cutter saw the blade of a knife. "And this is what I'll use if you touch her again. I'll make it so you don't ever touch another woman."

"Should'a done it this time, boss," said one of the men.

"No way," John replied through clenched teeth. He pulled Cutter's head back in a way that would have hurt if Cutter hadn't been so far beyond pain. "If I did it now, he wouldn't want her. But he's gonna want her. He's gonna be rock hard with it night after night, and he won't have her, because he knows I'll do what I say." He tightened his hand in Cutter's hair. "You diddle with the St. George family again, and I'll close the mine, I'll cancel out Pam's inheritance, and I'll cut off your b.a.l.l.s. Got that, b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

He gave Cutter's head a shove. The last thing Cutter heard before he pa.s.sed out was so sick that only the words registered. Their meaning was left for another time.

He awoke to pervasive pain and tried to steel himself against another round of flogging. When it didn't come, he lay very still. His mind went dark again; he pulled himself back. Not moving a muscle, he listened for human sounds, but nothing disturbed the whisper of the snow falling around him.

Again he drifted. His body, drenched with snow, sweat, and blood, was so riddled with pain that he couldn't get his bearings. Reality held no meaning.

In time he felt the cold. He felt the racking shivers that compounded the pain. He felt a deep, dark loneliness. Then fury. Then, out of anger, he regained his will to survive.

Summoning fragments of strength, he struggled to his knees and painstakingly made his way up the steps. He collapsed at the top, but the memory of what had happened there goaded him on. Fighting nausea with jaw-clenching determination, he crawled to the door. He fell against it. When it opened, he fell inside.

Consciousness came and went. He managed to get the door closed behind him before he faded, then regained consciousness long enough to crawl to the bed before losing it again. He didn't give a thought to the wood stove, or heat, or the blood that covered his back. All he wanted was to bury himself under the down comforter and rest.

He was lying on the floor on his stomach, trying to find the strength to hoist himself onto the mattress, when something touched his shoulder.

Thinking that John had stayed after all, he whipped out an arm in rage and tried to roll away, but the movement cost him dearly. He gave an anguished cry, then broke into a spasm of coughing, and the agony of that was pure h.e.l.l. He was beginning to think that death wouldn't be so bad when he realized that the murmur above him was coming from b.u.mble.

He let down his guard and went as limp as his cold, cramped body would allow. b.u.mble was there. When he'd been alone and hungry as a little boy, she had come by sometimes with food. She would know what to do.

The hours that followed were harrowing. The pain was relentless, worse at times when b.u.mble bathed him, turned him, and put salves on his mangled skin. He floated in and out of consciousness, breathing shallowly, swallowing moans that kept coming and coming, but he let her do as she wished. He had neither pride nor modesty. The full force of his energy at any given moment was focused on surviving until the next.