Had he ever wanted to kill a man as badly as he wanted to kill these two? If so, Jake couldn't remember it. No fury he had ever felt before matched what he was feeling now. No fear equaled the fear that was eating at him from the inside out.
Good God, if he hadn't come...!
"H-hey, now just a minute, mister," Fat Cal stammered. It took a conscious effort not to let the lump in his saggily fleshed throat bob too much. Any movement, no matter how slight, could sink that blade right in there. "Listen, f-friend, we wasn't gonna do nothin' to the woman."
"Right," Thin Billy agreed nervously. He shifted from foot to foot, licking his fear-parched lips at regular intervals. "We was just—we was just gonna keep her busy till you got back is all. Ain't no crime in that."
Jake's gaze stabbed through the thin man. "You don't call rape a crime?" he said, his gaze sliding contemptuously from the top of the man's dark, wispy head to the tattered toes of his boots. A cold, satisfied grin curled over his lips when he saw Thin Billy take an instinctive step backward.
"Rape? Wouldn't've been no rape," Fat Cal huffed. "Hell, no." He grunted when the arm around his waist tightened. The air whooshed from his too-full lips. After a full minute of the pressure, his cheeks took on a bluish tinge.
Jake angled his head so his lips were close to the fat man's ear. The stench of Fat Cal's body was strong, but not nearly as strong as Jake's fury. "You don't call rape a crime?" he repeated slowly, precisely.
The arm that threatened to snap the fat man's ribs loosened enough for Fat Cal to swallow a gulp of air. The hallway filled with the sound of the fat man's gasping and wheezing. The raspy noises almost masked the sound of the thin man's steps. From the corner of his eyes, Jake saw Thin Billy easing his way toward the stairs, clinging to the wall, to the shadows. The expression on his gaunt, haggard face said he was praying to get away undetected. Pity it was too late.
Jake's gaze swung to the side, freezing Thin Billy in his tracks. The small man shivered, molding his back against the planked wall. "Come here, Billy."
For a second, Jake expected Thin Billy to make a run for it. And then the little man's gaze shifted to the blade poised against the folds of his fat friend's throat... and he saw the big copper hand that looked more than capable of ending two lives in just as many strokes.
Thin Billy sucked in a deep, shaky breath, then cautiously eased closer to Jake.
Had Fat Cal guessed what Jake's intent was, he might have tried to make a run for it. As it was, the hand wielding the knife left his thro
at for only a fraction of a second—just long enough for a rock-solid copper fist to slam the hilt of the knife into that sweet spot between Thin Billy's lanky shoulder and neck—before it returned in lightning time.
Thin Billy's eyes rolled back in their sockets, and his body slid quickly down the wall as his knees buckled beneath him. He slumped to the floor with a thud that sounded hollow, and not nearly satisfying enough to Jake. For now, it would have to do.
Fat Cal still hadn't caught his breath. The air cut through his lungs with choppy, raspy sounds, but his sudden whimper was distinct enough to drag Jake's attention back to him.
"Last chance to answer, Cal. Do you call rape a crime?"
"I-it ain't... rape when ya take... a woman like that'un," the fat man managed to wheeze. "Any gal who'll... give it to a breed'll—"
The too-soft body pressed against Jake's front began to tremble—undoubtedly because the copper hand wielding the knife had increased its pressure. The blade sliced like butter through the top layer of the fat man's skin. Deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to sting like a son of a bitch and to leave a scar... but not deep enough to kill. Yet.
Blood trickled down Fat Cal's neck. It was absorbed by his grimy collar.
Jake uncurled his arm from around the fat man's waist and grasped the man's tattered shirt collar in his fist. Before Fat Cal knew what had happened his back had been slammed up against the wall. The back of Fat Cal's balding head collided with the wall hard enough to make the wood vibrate. A strangled gasp rushed past his lips. And then the knife was back at his throat, and Fat Cal thought better of making any sound at all.
Jake had to look down to meet the fat man's gaze. The eyes that stared back at him were narrow, the irises a swamp-water shade of greenish-brown. His flabby cheeks were fear-reddened, and the folds of skin sagging beneath his jaw shook with the violent trembling of his big body.
"Look, mister, we didn't mean no offense. If'n ya want to be paid for the whore's time... well, that's fine by me. I got me some gold dust."
Cautiously, Fat Cal's hand inched toward his pants pocket. He made it only halfway before Jake's words stopped him cold.
"The woman's mine. She can't be bought."
The swamp-green eyes widened. "Yours?"
"Mine," Jake growled, angling his head until their noses almost touched. Fat Cal's breaths rushed past his parted lips, blasting over Jake; the feel was hot, the smell stomach-rolling sour. "And make no mistake, I protect what's mine."
"I... well, yeah, I can see that ya do, b-but—"
Jake found that yanking Fat Cal away from the wall by his collar, then slamming him back against it hard, shut him up fast. "Damn straight I do. Want to know something else, Cal?"
"N-no." If he hadn't been trembling before, the furious glint in the steely eyes glaring at him, and the steady, capable fist curled around that knife, would have set Fat Cal shaking in his boots.
"I swear," Jake said, his tone low and edgy, "I'll kill any man who lays so much as his rancid breath on my woman. You dare touch her, you dare to so much as look at her again, and I'll kill you. Very slowly, very painfully. Do you understand me, Cal? Do you?"