Fallen Angel

Part 6

When Gina opened her eyes, the memory of the past day and night came rushing back as her senses were bombarded by light and sound and touch. She blinked in the sunlight streaming through a cracked window that flooded the tiny room with light. She studied the surroundings as she had not been able to do the night before when they arrived. She was sitting on the only chair in the room next to a small table covered with dust. A narrow cot stood in one corner and across from it was a small potbelly stove. Other than that, the room was bare. Aside from the cracked window, there were two others on opposite walls. There were also two doors, one in front of her and one in the back.

When she turned to get a better look behind her, a sharp, tingling sensation shot up her arms and into her shoulders. Trent had bound her hands behind her back and to the chair and they were now protesting the rude awaking. She gasped with pain but immediately regretted it for the quick breath rasped through her dry mouth and she desperately wished for a drink. At the thought of water, her stomach suddenly started grumbling. She hadn't eaten since her quick lunch back at the saloon the day before.

After reaching the old mine and securing her in the shack, Trent had proceeded to eat from a large sack he'd taken from his saddlebag. He'd offered her nothing from it, hadn't even looked at her. Just before he turned in, he let her have a small sip of water from his canteen, laughing cruelly at her eagerness. He'd fallen asleep on the cot almost at once, leaving her to attempt to ignore her discomfort and rest a little. At first she'd tried to loosen the rope, but she soon gave up, her wrists rubbed raw, and her shoulders aching. At last the efforts of the day overcame her and she'd nodded off.

Blessedly, the cot was empty now and by the time Trent returned to the shack, Gina had composed herself, determined that she must make good her own escape.

"He should've received my message by now," Trent said, pulling the sack of food from beneath the cot. He smiled at her as he bit into a biscuit, then suddenly frowned. "Dry as a rock. I could make better stuff than this." Gina gasped when he unceremoniously threw the offending item out the already broken window. When she looked back at her captor he was chugging from his canteen, drops of water sliding down his chin. He sensed her staring and with a smirk he held the canteen out toward her. "You want some? Take it."

She had opened her mouth in anticipation but at his expectant look, her spirits fell. She couldn't help struggling against her bonds, as if that was all it would take to get a drink, and grimaced at the sharp pain as the rope rubbed against her wrists.

Trent laughed. "None for you? That's fine with me." He tossed the canteen back in the sack, still chuckling.

"Why?" she finally managed to whisper, swallowing hard.

The smile slowly faded from the outlaw's face and the cold stare he fixed her with made her wish that she hadn't spoken. His teasing was nothing compared to this. "I could kill you now," he said. "Just like the marshal killed my brother." He continued to stare at her a moment, then shook his head. "No, I want him to suffer. I want him to see me kill you, before I kill him."

"Why would he suffer?" Gina said bitterly, more to herself than to Trent. "I'm nothing to him."

"You'd like me to think that wouldn't you, Mrs. Sheridan?" She jerked her head up to see the smile back on his face.

"How did you know?"

"He announced it right in the middle of the street. Apparently he didn't like people insulting you."

He had defended her and then been made to feel like a fool for it. No wonder he'd been so angry after his talk with Brodie.

"Now I ask you," Trent said with an evil little chuckle, "what man wouldn't suffer to see his wife murdered?"