Read Online Passion's Joy by Jennifer Horsman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Horsman
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frame, for one might think his muscles far too large and cumbersome to allow the apparent ease of his movements.
As the man spoke, Ram's attention returned to her. The dark gaze changed with surprise. "Bounty hunters?"
Bart quickly gave the details, and Joy would have felt more alarmed if she had witnessed Ram's appraisal of the men in the bar. Based on the briefest description, Ram's gaze rested on none other than the Reverend. He mentioned something inaudible to Bart, who nodded in turn, and after exchanging a few hearty greetings with Seanessy's men, Bart turned away.
Joy had determined for a fact that she could not, would not, ever, no matter what, bear witness to a hanging, and as she began to deliver a fervent prayer to her pounding heart to make her faint, she saw with ever-increasing horror that hanging was not the intent.
It was worse.
Ram's man ripped the shirt from Captain Willis's back, and his first scream sounded pure fury as the sharp blade of the saber cut a neat red cross on his back in blood like some large
illiterate signature. One of Seanessy’s men stood up, sporting a long black whip in his hands, the common tool of overseers. With easy flicks of his wrist, he sent the whip cracking over the captain's bare feet. The captain's muscles jerked and tensed, sweat laced his brow in an effort to stop the cry in his throat. Sean's man mercilessly waited for each breath to ease his pain, bringing feeling back again, before cracking the whip another time. Amidst sudden grunts and growls, many of the other men abruptly found displeasure with the quality of the tavern's rum and tossed the hot liquid over the fresh bloodied back.
Joy covered her eyes and turned away, shaking and sick, jolted visibly by each gasp of the man's pain. Ram waited impatiently for the man to gain some semblance of control, then finally explained, "Your life hangs precariously on my small mercy. Do you understand that?"
The man’s breath rose so hard and fast, it was mistaken as a nod.
"I want to know the numbers first. How many slavers are running from Orleans?''
Ugly hatred flared in Willis's eyes, and he spit, missing Ram by inches. "That's to your numbers!''
The whip cracked, a fiery snake coiling around his neck, searing it with a blazing hot pain that arched his back, and Joy's gasp drown in his scream. The whip cracked twice more in quick succession before suddenly, he cried, "Five!"
Leaning arms on his bent knee, Ram interrupted the motion of bringing his cup to his lips. Apparently, it was the wrong number, for he gave it but brief consideration. He nodded slightly to his man with the saber, and the blade had only to lightly run across the open wounds of the captain's back before he screamed, "Eight!"
"Ah, that's more like it. Now, I'll have the names of those financing these ships."
Horror lifted through the man's pain, as though he had not expected this question. "Oh, no," he shook his head, throwing large drops of perspiration to the bloodied straw at his feet. "You'll have to kill me first, 'cause I'll not—"
He never finished, for the whip cracked angrily, the sound crashing through Joy's terror despite the hands held tight over her ears. She did not know she had bolted from her seat until Ram's arms were on her, forcing her still with her backside against his long length.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" he whispered against her ear. "I had thought you'd be good for a while longer—it has, after all, only begun."
Panic kept her mute, but her eyes, filled with fresh tears, terror and desperation, pleaded her case. When the man's next scream jolted her small frame with a physical force, Ram knew she had indeed reached her end. She was hardly conscious of those arms lifting her to the air, carrying her down the hall and through the back door, until the blessed fresh air filled her lungs, and she opened her eyes to the bright sunlight.
She trembled still, and Ram set her to her feet, cursing when her knees gave
As the man spoke, Ram's attention returned to her. The dark gaze changed with surprise. "Bounty hunters?"
Bart quickly gave the details, and Joy would have felt more alarmed if she had witnessed Ram's appraisal of the men in the bar. Based on the briefest description, Ram's gaze rested on none other than the Reverend. He mentioned something inaudible to Bart, who nodded in turn, and after exchanging a few hearty greetings with Seanessy's men, Bart turned away.
Joy had determined for a fact that she could not, would not, ever, no matter what, bear witness to a hanging, and as she began to deliver a fervent prayer to her pounding heart to make her faint, she saw with ever-increasing horror that hanging was not the intent.
It was worse.
Ram's man ripped the shirt from Captain Willis's back, and his first scream sounded pure fury as the sharp blade of the saber cut a neat red cross on his back in blood like some large
illiterate signature. One of Seanessy’s men stood up, sporting a long black whip in his hands, the common tool of overseers. With easy flicks of his wrist, he sent the whip cracking over the captain's bare feet. The captain's muscles jerked and tensed, sweat laced his brow in an effort to stop the cry in his throat. Sean's man mercilessly waited for each breath to ease his pain, bringing feeling back again, before cracking the whip another time. Amidst sudden grunts and growls, many of the other men abruptly found displeasure with the quality of the tavern's rum and tossed the hot liquid over the fresh bloodied back.
Joy covered her eyes and turned away, shaking and sick, jolted visibly by each gasp of the man's pain. Ram waited impatiently for the man to gain some semblance of control, then finally explained, "Your life hangs precariously on my small mercy. Do you understand that?"
The man’s breath rose so hard and fast, it was mistaken as a nod.
"I want to know the numbers first. How many slavers are running from Orleans?''
Ugly hatred flared in Willis's eyes, and he spit, missing Ram by inches. "That's to your numbers!''
The whip cracked, a fiery snake coiling around his neck, searing it with a blazing hot pain that arched his back, and Joy's gasp drown in his scream. The whip cracked twice more in quick succession before suddenly, he cried, "Five!"
Leaning arms on his bent knee, Ram interrupted the motion of bringing his cup to his lips. Apparently, it was the wrong number, for he gave it but brief consideration. He nodded slightly to his man with the saber, and the blade had only to lightly run across the open wounds of the captain's back before he screamed, "Eight!"
"Ah, that's more like it. Now, I'll have the names of those financing these ships."
Horror lifted through the man's pain, as though he had not expected this question. "Oh, no," he shook his head, throwing large drops of perspiration to the bloodied straw at his feet. "You'll have to kill me first, 'cause I'll not—"
He never finished, for the whip cracked angrily, the sound crashing through Joy's terror despite the hands held tight over her ears. She did not know she had bolted from her seat until Ram's arms were on her, forcing her still with her backside against his long length.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" he whispered against her ear. "I had thought you'd be good for a while longer—it has, after all, only begun."
Panic kept her mute, but her eyes, filled with fresh tears, terror and desperation, pleaded her case. When the man's next scream jolted her small frame with a physical force, Ram knew she had indeed reached her end. She was hardly conscious of those arms lifting her to the air, carrying her down the hall and through the back door, until the blessed fresh air filled her lungs, and she opened her eyes to the bright sunlight.
She trembled still, and Ram set her to her feet, cursing when her knees gave
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