Bred by the Bushmen

Damon and Caleb were worth the sacrifice.

****

He felt like a caged beast, pacing back and forth in his mind, waiting to strike. Opal said Caleb was outside. His brother was capable, but Damon refused to sit back and let his woman get manhandled. Growing up, Caleb had always been stronger and able to get things done. Damon had a soft streak and would rather keep the peace than speak his mind. All bets were off when it came to Opal.

Damon had played nice, allowing these assholes to force him back to the cabin in order to give Opal time to escape. Then he’d sat on the chair with his mouth shut, biding his time. The second that nasty fuck put his hands on his woman, Damon was out of his seat with his arm around the fucker’s neck faster than anyone could react.

“Damon!”

Opal cupped her hands over her mouth and nose, fear blazing in her eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said. “See that gun on the table? Bring it to me.”

She did as told while he increased the pressure on the man’s neck. His coarse beard prickled Damon’s forearm. At any minute his buddy could walk through the door, so time wasn’t on his side. Luckily size was.

The bastard started to gurgle, clawing at Damon’s arms.

“Get the gun from his belt,” he said, keeping his voice calm and controlled. He didn’t want Opal more spooked than she was. Seeing her vulnerable and scared turned something primal on inside him, something fierce and protective. She was more than sex and companionship. He loved her, needed her, and wanted to build a family together. Her safety was his personal responsibility.

Once the man was stripped of his weapons, Damon’s desire to kill was still strong. He wanted to gut the bastard for touching Opal and trying to steal from them.

“Damon, you could have been hurt,” she said, touching his shoulder from behind.

He shook his head. “Nothing can kill me, sweetheart. Get me that twine hanging by the door.”

When she gave him the twine, he got the old man bound securely to the wooden chair. “Not one fucking word out of you, got it?”

He nodded.

Damon exhaled, the rush of adrenaline washing away. He turned to face Opal. She looked pale and shaken. He held out his arms, and she didn’t hesitate to rush into his embrace. Damon held her tight, holding her head to his chest, loving the feel of her soft curves against his hardness. He never wanted to let her go. Her quiet sobbing shook her body. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m here, baby. I’ll never leave you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said. “The White men don’t take commitment lightly.”

They’d moved to the edge of the world it seemed, but they couldn’t escape trouble. Why couldn’t people leave them the fuck alone?

When she’d calmed, her breathing regular, he leaned her back. “Where’s Caleb?”

“He said to distract the men for a little while so he could figure things out.”

“You did real good. He wouldn’t have sent you if he thought they’d hurt you,” said Damon.

“I know, but I’m worried about him now.”

The other drifter still hadn’t returned with the moonshine, so something could be going down outside. He grabbed the handgun, checked to be sure the clip was full, then placed it in Opal’s hands.

“What? No.”

“Like this,” said Damon, training the gun on the man in the chair. He maneuvered her fingers and hands in the right position. “If he moves, shoot him.”

It was time to finish this, to take back their home and their land. Damon peered out the windows, then quietly slipped out the front door.

The air was frigid, the outdoor floodlight creating a cone of light over the snow out front. It sparkled like a million diamonds. He gritted his teeth, pissed off that these criminals were trying to steal his peace and happiness.

He listened for sounds, but only the hush of the evening and low howl of wind could be heard. It was too quiet for comfort. Damon trudged through the heavy snow along the side of the house, creeping into the shadows. He saw the outline of their snowmobile and sled, but no sign of the other man.

Where the fuck was Caleb?

When he heard the brush of fabric behind him, it was too late. The bottle came down full force over his head, the bitter sting of hard liquor raining down over his face. He dropped to his knees, his head swimming. He fought to keep conscious, but he couldn’t get his bearings long enough to focus. Damon slipped in and out of a dream-like state, memories from the past playing in his head.

He remembered the day Caleb had found him drunk at sixteen. Damon needed to dull the pain of losing his family, and alcohol seemed the easiest choice.