According to Hoyle (25 page)

Rose reached out and jerked him back into the cover of the corridor as the four men turned and simultaneously fired in his direction. “What are you doing!?” Rose cried as bullets splintered the wall around them.

“I was arresting them!” Flynn shouted in return over the blasts of the guns.

“Are you insane?” Rose shouted incredulously, covering his head as another hail of bullets shredded the walls around them. “Have you never heard of sneaking? Just shoot them from behind, don’t give them warning!”

“That ain’t honorable,” Flynn argued stubbornly as the shots began to taper off. At least one of the men was reloading, and Flynn ducked around the corner and fired off three quick rounds.

“Honorable,” he heard Rose repeat in confused frustration. Flynn fired a few more shots to keep the four men on their toes. Rose remained crouched with his hands over his head, muttering to himself.

Flynn ducked back behind the corner as the men returned fire once more, and he began to hastily reload. “This ain’t workin’,” he muttered.

“Tell me something my grandmother wouldn’t know, Marshal. It’s time to do this my way,” Rose hissed as soon they were granted another lull in the return fire.

“What’s your way?” Flynn panted.

Rose thumbed two shells into the shotgun and then held it up and cocked both barrels pointedly. Flynn opened his mouth to protest, but Rose lunged to his feet and stepped around the corner, shotgun slung low on his hip. He fired two resounding blasts as he stood in the middle of the corridor, and Flynn covered his head and looked away in expectation of the return fire. He didn’t want to see Rose blown away, no matter how much he still hated the man.

No return fire came, however. Flynn glanced up and looked at Rose, who still stood in the middle of the hallway. He peered around the corner cautiously and saw that three of the men lay on the ground, torn apart by the widespread buckshot fired in the enclosed area where they’d been bunched together and helpless. The fourth man, the small man who had been nearest the steps, was disappearing into the stairwell. Rose dropped the shotgun and drew one of his six-shooters to fire at him as he fled, but the man was gone.

The last shot left a reverberating echo in the small corridor, and Flynn’s ears rang from all the gunfire.

“I’ll be damned,” he breathed.

“Not just yet,” Rose drawled with a wicked grin.

One of three men was dead, another was well on his way, moaning and bleeding profusely from the wounds to his torn belly. The third was on the ground, badly wounded but frantically trying to reload his pistol and pull himself behind the heavy wooden door to the hold. Rose strolled toward them, calmly thumbing cartridges into his borrowed weapon. He sent two bullets into the head of the dying man, effectively putting him out of his misery. Flynn hung back, covering Rose and somewhat stunned by the cavalier attitude.

 He heard the cylinder of the wounded man’s revolver slam home. Rose turned to look down at the man, aiming his gun and firing two shots in quick succession.

The smoke hung heavy in the corridor, cloaking Rose and the men he’d killed around him. Flynn stepped forward despite the shiver than ran down his spine. He’d taken for granted that Rose was a fraud. He was anything but. Flynn was certain he’d never forget it again.

He surveyed the carnage indifferently. After what they’d done to the men inside that cargo hold, they’d deserved this as far as he was concerned. He nudged one of their hands and then bent down to take the gun clutched in it. Rose peered into the cargo hold and then stepped inside, disappearing for a long moment as Flynn disarmed the three dead men and collected the precious ammunition they carried. He shoved their six-shooters into his belt and vest and anywhere else he could conceivably carry them.

Rose came back several moments later, grim-faced and heavily armed. His expression told Flynn that no one inside had lived through the firefight.

“Still want to give them their gold and let them slide away into the night?” Rose asked him softly.

Flynn stared at him and then looked down at the blood on the floor. They hadn’t even given those soldiers a chance to surrender peacefully. They had no intention of leaving anyone alive.

He shook his head solemnly. “Let’s do this your way.”

B
AT
S
TRINGER
picked one of the luxury cabins at random and shoved Cage in ahead of him. He slammed the door closed behind him and stood with one hand on the butt of his gun as Cage drew up his shoulders and turned to face him.

Stringer’s mind raced, dozens of things he wanted to say bouncing around, but none of them seemed strong enough now that he had Cage here in front of him.

And damn the man, he still looked good. That fire in his eyes was something Stringer had sorely missed. He knew it was dangerous to be alone with him, but he didn’t care. He could handle whatever his old friend chose to throw at him.

They stood staring at each other as long minutes passed. The grand clock out in the salon began to chime the hour. The mournful tolling seemed appropriate to the mood in the elegantly appointed cabin.

“Only way both of us is leaving this ship alive tonight is if you tell me what I wanna hear,” Stringer told Cage after long tense moments, his words soft and heavy with their shared past.

Cage snorted at him and shook his head.

“You used to think it was funny,” Stringer murmured as he unbuckled his holsters and slid them off his hips. He couldn’t risk Cage getting a hand on one of those guns.

Cage raised his chin, defiant and stoic. Stringer stepped toward him with the same care one would approach a wild horse, reaching out to his hands as his eyes stayed on Cage’s. Cage didn’t move. He didn’t even blink as his eyes followed Stringer’s every move. Stringer took the cloth at Cage’s wrists, noting that it was loose. A few more minutes of working at it and Cage would have been free. Stringer smirked at him.

“I’m tempted to leave this on,” he told Cage as he yanked his hands. Cage was forced to take a tiny step forward to keep from losing his balance, and Stringer pulled at him again to bring him closer. They stood almost nose to nose, Cage’s measured puffs of breath ghosting against Stringer’s lips as they eyed each other warily.

Cage’s entire body was taut, like a coiled snake waiting to strike. Having him this close, looking into his angry eyes, Stringer could barely keep himself under control. He pushed his face closer, their noses touching and their eyes still open and locked on each other. Neither man was willing to blink. Stringer smiled slowly, enjoying the tension in the air and the rigidity in his companion. Anticipation for the sort of violent encounter this hostility might produce began to swirl through him. He jutted his chin forward and kissed Cage, enjoying Cage’s harsh intake of breath as their lips met. He didn’t react otherwise, his eyes still locked on Stringer’s.

Stringer smiled into the kiss and licked at Cage’s lips. He pressed himself against Cage, at the same time pulling Cage’s body flush against him. Cage finally gave in, parting his lips and dragging his teeth along Stringer’s tongue. Stringer grinned wider with the small victory. He grabbed at the front of Cage’s shirt and allowed his eyes to drift closed, letting himself sink into all the familiarities of the man.

It was his first mistake. He never saw the strike coming. Cage suddenly yanked away from the kiss and pain exploded just above Stringer’s left eye as Cage ducked his chin and then rammed him with the side of his head.

Stringer staggered back and shook his head as blood streamed down into his eye. He swiped at it with one hand just before Cage came at him again. They hit the wall of the cabin with all the force that Cage could put into it, and the air left Stringer’s lungs in a rush. He managed a few weak jabs to Cage’s ribs, but Cage had his shoulder jammed into the soft part of Stringer’s belly and was pushing him up against the wall, stealing his leverage, pinning him there. He was trying for the knife in Stringer’s boot, his fingers grazing the handle as he tried to keep Stringer immobile with his shoulder. Upon realizing that he was a dead man if Cage’s hands found a weapon, Stringer shook off the surprise and gave him a knee to the gut.

Cage pushed away from him, then came at him again with both fists balled into one like a sledgehammer. He had no choice with his hands tied together, but it made an effective battering ram. Stringer just barely ducked the blow, and Cage’s fists punched a hole through the wall where Stringer’s head had been. Stringer dove sideways for the gun belt he’d discarded as Cage kicked out at him.

He went sprawling, but his hand found the edge of the leather belt when he landed. He fumbled with the stiff leather, dragging it closer, but he had to roll onto his back and kick at Cage as the man attacked again. He found himself under Cage, a position he’d never really minded on past occasions, but this time had a decidedly different purpose. His saving grace was that Cage was still fighting the cloth tied around his wrists, and Stringer managed to wrap him up and rolled them. Cage slammed into the heavy desk chair near the wall and Stringer followed him, straddling him and grabbing Cage’s tied hands to hold them to the ground far above his head.

Cage looked up at him, chest heaving and eyes flashing. Stringer’s entire being ached with the desire to have him again.

“You couldn’t have done that after we had us a little fun?” Stringer asked him breathlessly as he blinked away the blood still oozing into his eye. “Damn, Boss, you used to have sense.”

Cage shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“Get up,” Stringer growled, and he clambered to his feet, pulling Cage with him. He made certain he had a good grip on him as he grabbed up his guns. He turned Cage and shoved him at the berth, stepping up behind him to crowd him against the edge of the thin mattress. He pressed against him, desire still racing through him. It was tempered now, though.

He didn’t know if Cage was the better man in a fair fight. They’d come out pretty even the last time. But he didn’t want to find out. Cage didn’t try yanking away from him, even as Stringer forced him to bend over against the mattress. He knew to conserve his energy for his next attack. Stringer had to make certain there wouldn’t be another one.

Despite how much he might still want the man, he had to make the smart choice here. Cage himself had taught him that.

He brought the holster up and pulled his revolver out. He was ashamed to see that his hand was unsteady as he aimed the gun. But it had to be done. Cage was too much of a handful if he didn’t plan on playing nicely.

First Cage, and then that bastard Rose.

C
AGE
heard the very distinct sound of iron sliding on leather and he tensed as Stringer drew his gun and placed the cold barrel against the back of his neck. He’d been expecting Stringer to resort to forcefully fucking him, but he hadn’t actually prepared himself for this possibility.

“You got any last words?” Stringer asked him grimly before pulling back on the hammer.

Cage turned his head and looked back into Stringer’s eyes, determined not to flinch when the gun went off. It was a small victory to see Stringer waver almost imperceptibly as he held the gun to the side of Cage’s head and looked down into his eyes.

They had been good friends. Trusted partners. Occasional lovers. Cage was morbidly curious to know if Stringer really had it in him to pull the trigger.

Fortunately, he didn’t get the chance to find out. The sound of gunfire coming from the decks below them drew Stringer’s attention. He tilted his head, not daring to look away. He eased off the hammer as he stepped back and cocked his head to listen. There was a short pause in the firefight, then there was more gunfire. Finally, two shotgun blasts sounded, followed shortly by another round of shots. After the echoes had died away all was silent aboard the riverboat.

Stringer sighed heavily. “Your Desert Flower might be buying you a reprieve,” he said in a low, almost relieved voice. “Get up, let’s move.” He accompanied the order with a twist of his six-shooter.

Cage obeyed warily, keeping his eyes on Stringer as they exited the cabin and headed back into the salon. Cage didn’t have another chance to make a move; Stringer stayed too far from him to grab at him, and his gun was forever on that hair trigger. Even the passengers being held in the large salon were quiet after the gunfire, the group seemingly holding its collective breath as they waited for something to happen.

The first thing Cage noticed was the look of intense relief on Wash’s face when he saw him.

“On your knees by your marshal friend over there,” Stringer ordered, his voice harsh and strained.

Cage briefly entertained the thought of another attempt now, while there were others in the room to distract Stringer, but the first one hadn’t ended well. He did as he’d been told, aided by a gun at his back.

Stringer glanced around at his men and frowned. “Any of them fellers have a shotgun with ’em?” he asked, though the tone of his voice made it seem like he already knew the answer. His men shrugged or shook their heads in answer. Stringer looked back down at Cage and narrowed his eyes. “Looks like your Desert Flower is puttin’ up a fight.”

Cage licked his lips cautiously and then nodded. Whether he said it out of jealousy or spite, Cage liked the sound of it regardless. Of course, they had no idea whether it was Gabriel down there or not. More likely was the possibility that it was the soldiers guarding all that gold bullion. But the thought that it was Gabriel made Cage feel better, and apparently Stringer was just riled enough to blame every twist in the wind on the English gunman now.

Stringer growled at him and strapped his holster back on with jerky, frustrated movements. “At least he’s proving himself worthy of you,” he snarled begrudgingly.

The words settled low in Cage’s chest and he very nearly smiled at them. He had to fight hard not to. If Gabriel really was free, he could easily escape the boat and be on his way now that Flynn had bigger things to worry about. If he was still on board, Cage knew it was because of him. The thought buoyed him, making him feel that if he could just live through the night, it might all work out.