upstairs, the sound—the pain— so much like the night Mama died, tremors rolled through Eden. Maybe a drink wasn't such a bad idea. Just one shot to help her sleep, to chase away the nightmares.
“ I do need a whiskey.” She tugged free of the major’s hand and marched through the swinging door into the bar room. A few men still lingered, drinking, waiting…
Silence fe ll over the room as they all stared at her.
She couldn't pretend to be nice to these men when one of them could be the rapist. “What are you all lookin' at? Get out. We're closed for the night.”
Chairs screeched across the floor and men scattered. All but one.
“ Well, I ain't done eatin'.” Len nodded to his steak. “And I ain't leavin' till I'm done.”
“ Get out, Len. Take your damned plate with you, but get out.”
He sneered. “Go to hell. Ain't no woman – no whore – gonna tell me what to do.”
Anger boiled through her. Len was a hateful bas tard. Mean. Just like Alexander.
“ I said leave.”
“ No.” He narrowed his eyes. “And when I'm done eating, I'm going to come behind that bar and give you what you're just begging for, a good screwin'. I'm sick and tired of a damned whore actin’ so pious.” Throwing his napkin onto the muddy floor he stood and stomped toward her. “In fact, to hell with eatin'. I'm going to give it to you now.”
Her heart jumped into he r throat. The look on his face, the same look Alexander had the night he’d nearly killed her.
She grabbed the shotgun from beneath the bar and pointed it at Len. “Get away from me.”
Len sneered. “You ain't gonna do nothing, nothing but squeal and holler just like the others. Takin' on you don't like it, but you will. You all always do.”
He stomped toward her, big, brutal. Threatening.
Blood rushed through her ears. Her vision swam.
He was the ma n who raped and killed Mama.
The man who raped Mary Rose.
Alexander.
Blam .
The blast rocked her back on her h eels. Len's eyes widened, his hands immediately on his chest, his gut, feeling, searching for blood.
Screams filled the upstairs and f ive female heads poked over the stair rail.
The kitchen door slammed open. “What the hell—?” Sinclair stopped short, his pistol aimed at Len, his gaze fixed on the slug hole in the far wall.
Eden cocked the second hammer. “Get out, Len. The next one will go through you.” Her hands shook, anger pulsing through her. Sweet, righteous anger. And power. God, the heady power of defending herself spiraled through her like sunshine, a split second of drunken freedom before the old fear returned and her hands started shaking.
Len pointed at the m ajor. “You gonna let this bitch shoot at people? She's crazy. Ain't you got someplace to lock her up? She tried to kill me!”
Sinclair holstered his pistol. “If she intended to kill you, you'd be dead about now.” He wrenched the gun from Eden's hands. “Now, get out.”
Len spit and started backing toward the door. “When she hurts someone, it's on your head. You hear? And don't think I won't be waiting to report this to your superiors so you will get full blame.”
“ Go or I'll shoot you myself.” Sinclair patted the shotgun. Anger radiated from him. He stood feet apart, the shotgun still aimed in Len’s general direction. “Go work on the Joy line, but don’t come back to Ladore.”
Len frowned but scuttled across the room like a dog with its tail between his legs. “To hell with you. You’ll be sorry.” He slammed out the door.
Taking all the air in the room with him.
Dear God, she'd almost shot a man.
Her knees wobbled and she gripped the bar for strength.
“ Are you all right?” Sinclair cupped her elbow. His chest pressed against her back, keeping her upright.
“ Yes. Thank you. You can go now.” She was going to fall apart and never recover. He couldn't see that, couldn't be here when that happened. No one could see.
“ No.” He placed her gun on top of the bar. “We're
“ I do need a whiskey.” She tugged free of the major’s hand and marched through the swinging door into the bar room. A few men still lingered, drinking, waiting…
Silence fe ll over the room as they all stared at her.
She couldn't pretend to be nice to these men when one of them could be the rapist. “What are you all lookin' at? Get out. We're closed for the night.”
Chairs screeched across the floor and men scattered. All but one.
“ Well, I ain't done eatin'.” Len nodded to his steak. “And I ain't leavin' till I'm done.”
“ Get out, Len. Take your damned plate with you, but get out.”
He sneered. “Go to hell. Ain't no woman – no whore – gonna tell me what to do.”
Anger boiled through her. Len was a hateful bas tard. Mean. Just like Alexander.
“ I said leave.”
“ No.” He narrowed his eyes. “And when I'm done eating, I'm going to come behind that bar and give you what you're just begging for, a good screwin'. I'm sick and tired of a damned whore actin’ so pious.” Throwing his napkin onto the muddy floor he stood and stomped toward her. “In fact, to hell with eatin'. I'm going to give it to you now.”
Her heart jumped into he r throat. The look on his face, the same look Alexander had the night he’d nearly killed her.
She grabbed the shotgun from beneath the bar and pointed it at Len. “Get away from me.”
Len sneered. “You ain't gonna do nothing, nothing but squeal and holler just like the others. Takin' on you don't like it, but you will. You all always do.”
He stomped toward her, big, brutal. Threatening.
Blood rushed through her ears. Her vision swam.
He was the ma n who raped and killed Mama.
The man who raped Mary Rose.
Alexander.
Blam .
The blast rocked her back on her h eels. Len's eyes widened, his hands immediately on his chest, his gut, feeling, searching for blood.
Screams filled the upstairs and f ive female heads poked over the stair rail.
The kitchen door slammed open. “What the hell—?” Sinclair stopped short, his pistol aimed at Len, his gaze fixed on the slug hole in the far wall.
Eden cocked the second hammer. “Get out, Len. The next one will go through you.” Her hands shook, anger pulsing through her. Sweet, righteous anger. And power. God, the heady power of defending herself spiraled through her like sunshine, a split second of drunken freedom before the old fear returned and her hands started shaking.
Len pointed at the m ajor. “You gonna let this bitch shoot at people? She's crazy. Ain't you got someplace to lock her up? She tried to kill me!”
Sinclair holstered his pistol. “If she intended to kill you, you'd be dead about now.” He wrenched the gun from Eden's hands. “Now, get out.”
Len spit and started backing toward the door. “When she hurts someone, it's on your head. You hear? And don't think I won't be waiting to report this to your superiors so you will get full blame.”
“ Go or I'll shoot you myself.” Sinclair patted the shotgun. Anger radiated from him. He stood feet apart, the shotgun still aimed in Len’s general direction. “Go work on the Joy line, but don’t come back to Ladore.”
Len frowned but scuttled across the room like a dog with its tail between his legs. “To hell with you. You’ll be sorry.” He slammed out the door.
Taking all the air in the room with him.
Dear God, she'd almost shot a man.
Her knees wobbled and she gripped the bar for strength.
“ Are you all right?” Sinclair cupped her elbow. His chest pressed against her back, keeping her upright.
“ Yes. Thank you. You can go now.” She was going to fall apart and never recover. He couldn't see that, couldn't be here when that happened. No one could see.
“ No.” He placed her gun on top of the bar. “We're
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