Crux Untamed (Hades Hangmen 6)

I froze and snapped my head to Cowboy. His jaw was clenched. I felt the blood drain from my face. He was going to kill him. Juan was going to very slowly kill Cowboy in front of me. Just like he’d been going to do with Michelle before she took her own misery-ridden life.

“Don’t touch him,” I snarled as the Nazi walked closer to Cowboy. He had his knife in his hand again.

“Oh, I’m gonna touch him.” The Nazi stopped in front of Cowboy. “I was disappointed when I found out I only got you.” He twirled the knife in his hand. “I was told I was getting a mongrel.” My blood turned to ice. Cowboy’s tied hands clenched into fists behind him. The Nazi noticed. He glanced at me, then at Cowboy and asked him, “You a fag as well as a coon-lover?”

Fire flared in Cowboy’s blue eyes. “Yeah,” he replied defiantly. “Love sucking dick just as much as I love licking pussy.”

The Nazi’s lip curled in disgust. “As if being a fag isn’t bad enough, you chose to suck black cock.”

Cowboy smiled, a real wide smile, blood spilling from his wounds and dripping down his chin. “Tried white.” The Nazi froze. “They weren’t big enough to fill my mouth like I want.”

“Cowboy,” I whispered, begging him not to antagonize this prick.

The Nazi leaned down and held out his knife. “You like fucking the weaker, corrupted race . . . then we’ll let everyone know it.” My heart was in my mouth as the Nazi moved behind Cowboy and slit off his cut, then his shirt, baring his chest. The Nazi pushed Cowboy’s head forward and brought the knife to the top of his spine.

“No!” I shouted, thinking he was going to stab him. Instead, the sadistic fucker started carving. “Get off him!” I screamed when Cowboy’s eyes flared and his teeth gritted together as the knife was pushed into his flesh. The Nazi’s hands, his “SS” and “88” tattoos, were stained with Cowboy’s blood.

Cowboy shook as the pain clearly became too much. The Nazi stepped back, admiring his work. “Gonna get the message to your club that no one fucks with us.” He shrugged. “Your body will ensure that.” He smiled a twisted, cold smile. “This ‘23/2’ bladed into your back shows that you love black.” He shook his head then spat at the wound. “Races shouldn’t mix. White blood is weakened by the coons.”

Cowboy went to speak, but I didn’t want this asshole to hurt him more, so I cut in. “Then you better mark me too.”

The Nazi looked at me. I lifted my chin. “Sia,” Cowboy warned.

“I’m in love with a man of mixed race.” I could tell by Cowboy’s face that he was pissed at what I’d just done. But I stared at him too. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Cher,” he said in a graveled voice.

I looked at the Nazi. “If you mark him with whatever the fuck that number means, then you’d better do the same to me.” I smiled.

The Nazi came toward me. “I have orders to tattoo Garcia’s brand on you.” The black rose. The Nazi shrugged. “I can do both.”

He moved behind me and shoved my head down. I bit my tongue, tasting the blood in my mouth, when the first slice was made. I held Cowboy’s furious gaze as the pain almost made me puke. And I imagined Hush’s face. How the loneliness that lived within him for so long lifted when he was with us. Where he belonged. With us. His home.

“Twenty-three,” the Nazi said as my body started to shake, adrenaline spiking through me. “Is the alphabetical number for ‘W,’ meaning white. Two is the alphabetical number for—”

“B,” I cried out, as a pent-up breath escaped my mouth.

“Is for black,” he finished. “23/2, for those who fuck the inferior race. Mixing blood and creating freaks that should never ever be born.”

I thought of Hush and how he was no freak. How he wasn’t an abomination or a mongrel or a half-breed. Instead, he was perfect. One of the most honorable men I’d ever met, but broken by pricks like this cunt of a Nazi. Damaged, with such little self-worth that my soul cried for all that he went through . . . the daily hate he endured for just existing.

The Nazi moved away from me, giving me a break from the blade’s searing pain. I gasped for air, my body immediately draining of energy. The Nazi moved to the door and left. My head hung low, but when I looked at the floor, I saw Michelle, or the girl that used to be Michelle, lying lifeless. I lifted my eyes to see Cowboy, bruised and broken, face ashen, but his chin still lifted. Defiant until the end.

“Cher,” he rasped. “I’m sorry.” The agony of watching me being hurt was evident in his broken voice. I stared at this man, one half of the duo who swept into my life, changing my constant night into only sweet summer days. And I felt the strength I’d tried so hard to convey slip away like butter off a hot knife.

Because this man, this easygoing Cajun with the smart mouth and cheeky wink, was going to be taken away from me. Robbed of his life because of a man I met when I was seventeen. A man who couldn’t stand to lose, and would do anything to win.

“I’m sorry.” I glanced at the door, wondering how long I had left before the Nazi or Garcia himself would return to kill Cowboy, and with it, fucking shred half of my heart.

“Cher,” Cowboy started. His voice was strong, brave. But I saw his eyes shimmer. I heard the catch in his breath when he read my expression.

“I love you,” I whispered. I smiled, my bitter-tasting tears bursting on my tongue as they dripped down my face. It was surprising how quickly my heart had claimed both his and Hush’s. Like it had been looking for them, sifting through the few I had met, sleepily, until it had been awakened by a smooth-talking Cajun in a Stetson and a damaged soul with crystal-blue eyes. “I . . . I just want you to know,” I said softly, “that . . . that . . . I love you.” I smiled, missing the other third who made our peculiar triangle complete. “And Hush,” I added, the words catching in my throat.

Cowboy dropped his head, and then, raising it, said, “Je t’aime, cher.” He cleared his throat. “And I know Valan does too.” His eyes frosted over with something that looked like steely resolve. “You hold on to the fact that he’s out there. That he loves you just as much as me. If you lose faith, if . . .” Cowboy’s gaze found Michelle. His nose flared and his eyes closed for a split second. “No matter what he does to you. Hold on.” The door opened and the Nazi came back through, a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

He walked purposefully to Cowboy. I held my breath, bracing for the surge of devastation I was sure was about follow. But I didn’t know how to find that brace. How the hell do you prepare for your heart to be pulled from your chest and torn into a million pieces?

Cowboy straightened his back, his hands and feet taut in their binds as the Nazi stood before him. I wanted to cry at the dignity a person could muster when facing certain death. Cowboy looked straight into the eyes of his killer. My vision blurred as tears like I’d never shed before drowned my eyes. My heart beat a sloppy, unmelodic rhythm in my chest. Time stood still. The knife was lifted into the air. I gasped a final easy inhale of air, knowing that each breath after the knife fell would be laborious and heavy to my lungs. Then, just as I stilled, waiting for my soul to be ripped in two, a large figure ran in front of me and stabbed a knife into the Nazi’s neck.

What the hell?

The man, dressed all in black, long black hair running past his shoulder blades, turned and smiled. I breathed fast, eyes wide, wondering what was happening, and then a voice spoke, sounding like heaven itself. “Älskling.”

“Hush,” I whispered in disbelief. Hush ran into the room. He ran to me and put his hands on my face. He searched my eyes, his blue gaze warm like the sun. My hands were suddenly free, as were my ankles. My numb hands found their way to Hush’s cheeks, knowing exactly where they belonged. My fingers shook on his face. Hush held my wrists, his eyes closing as if in silent prayer. A hand landed on his shoulder. Hush snapped his head back, his eyes closing for a second time in so many seconds. Hush turned and pulled Cowboy to his chest. Cowboy grunted, and Hush immediately drew back.

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Hush looked at his hands . . . his now-bloodied hands. He turned Cowboy around, and I watched his face blanch. Then he looked at me again. The man who had killed the Nazi was helping me to my feet. I glanced at the tattooed emblem on his arm, snatching my hand back when I saw the Diablo patch. A flash of anger cut through me. They’d killed my momma.

But Hush snapped me from it when he gently turned me around. I didn’t want to. I knew the effect this would have on him. I knew this would just be another stab into his already punctured, bleeding heart.

I knew when he saw the carving. He sucked in a breath. When I turned back around, it was like a shutter being pulled; his face adopted the same mask he’d worn when he’d first come to the ranch.

“Hush.” I reached for his hand. Hush turned away and then stopped dead. He stared at Michelle’s body. Cowboy put his hand on Hush’s shoulder. The Diablo moved to the Nazi to make sure he was dead. I swayed on the spot, my body beginning to shut down in shock.

“Garcia did it,” Cowboy told Hush, leaning on his best friend for support.

A hand suddenly wrapped around my throat and dragged me backward. “Some of my best work, even if I do say so myself.”

Hush, Cowboy, and the Diablo spun around as one. A knife was at my throat. Juan’s arm was wrapped tightly around me, and I gripped it simply to stay on my feet. I knew if I moved, if I fell, the blade would split my throat.

“Ah.” Juan kissed my cheek. “The third member of your little trifecta.” Hush’s eyes were locked on Juan. Garcia looked at the Diablo. “Well well, Angelo. Seems you have found a new home.”