He stepped out of the saloon just in time to see some of the Nichols brothers exiting the hotel. The one who'd been talking to Casey — Peter, JD thought his name was — paused on the top step as he stared across the street. He tipped his hat and JD followed his line of sight to where Casey was standing — still dressed in that dumb ol' skirt, leaning up against a pole. She had a sprig of something in her hand and she couldn't have looked more moonstruck if she tried.JD headed straight for her, his steps hard and quick on the wooden planks of the boardwalk. He'd never understand what she found so fascinating about them damn men from Kansas City. "Will you look at them prancin' around like a bunch of peacocks?"
"You don't have to be jealous of them," Casey replied, her voice soft and teasing.
What the hell was there to be jealous of? Not them fellas, that was for sure! "I ain't jealous of some city-slicker desperadoes!" he assured her.
"Desperadoes?" she asked, and the way she said the word made JD think she found the idea exciting. "Bad men don't travel with their mother."
JD let out a sigh. She just didn't get it. She didn't get that these men were going to hunt down and kill Hank Connelly — Chris, too, for helping him. They were bad men, and their mother ... hell, she was the one spurring them on! "You ain't met her."
"You shouldn't talk that way about other people's mothers," Casey said with a coy smile, brushing the sprig of sage against JD's nose before turning and sauntering off.
JD watched her go. When in the hell had she turned into such a dang girl?? And defending them Nichols boys, that wasn't right. She should know better. Why wouldn't she just believe him when he told her they were no good? Why couldn't she stay away from them? She never seemed to care one whit if he sweet-talked her; hell, she made fun of him every time he tried — yet, with that Peter fella, she just went all to jelly.
JD shook his head, turned, and walked in the opposite direction from which Casey had headed. He'd had enough of her for today. He just hoped she stay out of trouble — and far away from anyone named Nichols.
But, as JD stepped off the boardwalk, four of those very men stepped out of the alley and blocked his path.
"Watch where yer goin'," the tall, beefy one called Paul told him.
JD stopped in his tracks, and then took a hesitant step backwards. "Now, don't go sneakin' up on people like that. Huh, boys?" he said, trying to keep his nerves under control. But, as the Nichols brothers quickly flanked him, making retreat impossible, he could feel in his gut that something very bad was going to happen, most likely to him, unless one of his friends happened by real soon.
Peter, the one who'd been flirting with Casey, stepped closer, glaring at JD from beneath the brim of his black hat. "Now I know who you are," he said and JD didn't think his tone could have been any more menacing. "You're the messenger boy."
JD swallowed hard, trying to control the trembling he was starting to feel in his limbs. "Ah ... I don't think ya know what yer talkin' about."
"Don't be offended," the man said, his comforting smile more threatening than his voice, if that was even possible. "It's the best job in town."
"W-why's that?" JD managed to stammer. If Peter Nichols was trying to tell him he was the lucky one in all of this, well, JD was pretty sure even Ezra wouldn't lay odds in his favor.
"We don't kill the messenger," Peter explained, his smile stretching his lips into a leer that made JD's stomach turn over and his knees begin to buckle.
JD took another step back; maybe he could get away, if he could stop his legs from shaking long enough to urge them into a run? But before he could even turn, arms grabbed him. He opened his mouth to yell and found a black handkerchief immediately stuffed into it. Then he was being dragged off down the alley.
Where were his friends when he needed them? Where were Nathan, Ezra, and Josiah?? Why weren't Buck, Vin, and Chris back yet? Was anyone going to miss him before it was too late? JD struggled against the hands that held him, but all of the Nichols brothers were bigger and stronger than he was — plus, there were four of them. Still, he kept struggling as they pulled him further and further away from the main street.
He managed to twist out of one pair of hands, but was rewarded by a crippling blow to the stomach. The air that was forced out of his body blew the handkerchief right out of his mouth, but before he could take a breath to yell, he was thrown hard against the wall. The now-dusty handkerchief was stuff back into his mouth; a second one was laid across his mouth and knotted behind his head to secure the first in place.
Then, Anthony and Paul grabbed him again, more firmly this time — their fingers digging roughly into the flesh of his upper arms — and hauled him along as they followed Peter. JD didn't see Matthew now, but assumed he was bringing up the rear, making sure no one had seen them and were trying to follow.
Peter pushed open a door that led into a large shed. Paul and Anthony jerked JD inside and the kid looked around. The place was filled with slabs of stone, lengths of wood and a few long boxes. It had to be the undertaker's storage room, JD reasoned. He just hoped it wasn't going to be the place his friends found him dead — as convenient as that would be.
But that thought frightened JD even more than he already was. He wasn't ready to die. Certainly not at the hands of these ruthless brothers. He began to struggle again, but Matthew kicked his knees from behind, dropping him to the hard ground.
"Matthew, go watch the alley," Peter ordered and, a moment later, JD heard the door of the shed close. The only light now was what filtered in through the spaces between the planks of the walls. "Paul, hold him. Anthony, take his guns, then go watch the door."
Anthony let go of JD's arm, which was immediately clamped onto by Paul's crushing grip, and then undid the buckle of JD's gun belt, stripping the leather from around his waist. Then Anthony stood up and, a few moments later, opened the shed door just slightly, letting in a thin shaft of sunlight. Peter came over and stood in front of where JD was kneeling.
"It's appropriate that you're on your knees, boy," Peter said. "You ought to be praying for your salvation."
JD tried to mumble something, but the handkerchief prevented his words from being understood. Peter reached over, pulling the gag from his mouth. "Lemme go!" JD insisted, his voice still as shaky as his limbs.
"All in good time," Peter said, that damn smile on his face again. "Like I said, I need you to play messenger boy for me. But first, I got a question to ask you."
"Then ask," JD said, more boldly than he felt, and Paul immediately, and painfully, tightened his grip on JD's arms.
"Who are the men protecting Hank Connelly?"
"Just men," JD said matter-of-factly.
"Their names?"
"I ain't tellin' you!" JD insisted. If the Nichols didn't already know, then let them waste more time finding out. That was more time Chris had to get Hank somewhere safe.
Peter just nodded, like he accepted JD's answer, like it didn't really matter to him after all. "I'll just go ask that pretty young Casey Wells then, shall I?"
At the mention of Casey's name, JD began to struggle again. "You leave her alone! She's got nothin' to do with this!"
"But she's been a wealth of information so far," Peter informed him, again with that leering smile which made JD's skin crawl. "I'm sure I can persuade her to tell me all she knows. She does seem a bit smitten with me, doesn't she?" the last he seemed to direct to Paul, a look of brotherly knowledge passing between them.
"Don't you touch her! I swear I'll kill you all if you do!!" JD shouted.
"Touch her?" Peter asked, like the thought had never entered his mind. "I wasn't planning on touching her — not like that, anyway. No, I like my ladies a little more ... feminine."
"Then why you been flirtin' with her?"
"Like I said, information." Then he laughed, "A few well chosen words and I had her eating out of the palm of my hand, practically drooling over the dashing man from the big city." He'd played her well, and Casey had, for some reason beyond JD's imagination, fallen for all of it. "You know, I actually thought she was a boy the first time I laid eyes on her," he laughed again. "How she could possibly think anyone would be attracted to her the way she dresses—"
But then Peter stared hard at JD, and a flash of understanding lit his eyes. He laughed again, harder now, louder. "How stupid of me to assume you were just playing the big, protective brother. You're in love with her."
"Am not!" JD insisted, perhaps a little too quickly. His feelings for Casey were, well ... all mixed up. He liked her, but hell if he could figure her out.
"You are. And you like that she dresses that way, in pants and shirts." Peter crouched down to look straight into JD's eyes now. "Like a boy. You like her because she looks like a boy."
JD furrowed his brows; he didn't know what this guy was talking about. He liked Casey for a lot of reasons, but how she dressed didn't have anything to do with it. He liked that she'd go fishing with him, and riding. He liked that she wasn't more concerned about her hair and her clothes than she was about having a good time. The fact that she was a girl ... that was the thing that made everything so complicated.
"You like boys, don't you?" Peter asked.
JD shrugged. Most of his friends were boys — men, really. Casey was the only girl besides Mary Travis that he spent any time with at all.
Peter nodded to Paul, who then hauled JD back to his feet. "Let me," Paul said from behind him, but Peter just shook his head as he started to unbuckle his belt.
From the door, JD heard Anthony say, "Don't think you oughta do that, Peter. Don't think Ma would approve, if she knew."
"Ma told me to do what needed to be done, and that God would guide me. I can't think of a better way to get our point across than this." Peter was now undoing the buttons on the fly of his pants.
JD was frowning still. He had no idea what these fellas were talking about, or why Peter was undoing his pants. But before he could think on it too hard, Paul pushed him across the shed, to where several pine boxes were stacked. He shoved JD face down onto the boxes, then grabbed both his wrists with one meaty hand and pushed them high up his back until JD thought his arms would surely break.
Peter was behind him now, holding JD's arms firm while Paul walked around to the other side of the boxes. He came to stand in front of JD, leaning over him and taking hold of JD's wrists again. JD noticed Paul's pants were undone too, but he still couldn't figure out what was going on until he felt Peter's hands on his own waist, reaching around to undo his belt, to unbutton his pants. Fear gripped JD to a degree he'd never before known — ever — as he felt Peter pulling his pants off his hips. JD began to thrash again, but Paul yanked up hard on his wrists, causing blinding flashes of pain to shoot up his arms.
JD heard Peter spit, and then felt slick fingers on his ass being run up between his cheeks. He couldn't breath now; the air seemed frozen in his lungs. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. Paul continued to hold firmly, until JD thought he was going to lose all feeling in his arms, but Paul's hands were so large that he only needed one to hold JD's smaller wrists. The other hand he brought around to reach inside his pants, pulling out his thick, pink dick. He brushed it across JD's face, drawing it over his lips. JD tried to turn his head away, but Paul just moved his dick to follow. Then he pushed the tip against JD's lips.
"Lick it," Paul ordered, his voice a harsh whisper, but JD kept his mouth clamped shut.
JD could still feel Peter's hands on his ass, moving up and down his crack in firm, rough strokes. Paul pushed his cock against JD's lips again, but when JD continued to refuse, Paul let go of his dick; JD thought the man had given up, and sighed slightly with relief.
Then, suddenly, Paul's now-free hand came down in a fist across JD's jaw. Pain flashed through his skull, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Moments later, he felt the tip of Paul's cock being pressed against his lips again.
"Lick it," the man ordered, and, without any conscious thought, JD felt his tongue betray him. "Again," Paul ordered. And again JD's tongue caressed the bulbous tip.
Even though his head was still swimming from the harsh blow, JD knew what was happening to him. He felt Peter behind him, now pressing something against his asshole. There was a hand on his hip, digging hard into his flesh, pressing skin sharply against bone. Then pain burst across his backside as something was shoved inside of him.
Swimming in front of JD's eyes was Paul's thick cock, and he suddenly knew it was Peter's dick that had entered him. The pain continued to increase as Peter pressed deeper into him. JD felt as if he was being ripped in two; he could almost hear the skin tearing, being stretched in a way never intended.
And before him Paul's cock continued to bob, until the man grabbed it again, pressing it once more against JD's mouth. But, like Peter, he was more insistent this time, pressing it forward, past JD's lips, and into his mouth.
JD wanted to scream, he wanted to cry — hell, he was crying, he suddenly realized — but, instead, he did the only think he could think of.
He bit down.
It was Paul who cried out then, loosening his painful grip on JD's wrists. But before JD could react, another fist slammed against his jaw, then another glanced off the bone beside his eye. Then he felt a hand grabbing his hair, lifting his head up only to slam it down against the wood of the box he was stretched out across.
He couldn't see now, and his mouth and nose were full of blood. JD couldn't imagine how he was still breathing. Yet, somehow, beyond the pain Paul had just inflicted, he could feel Peter inside of him.
There were two hands on his hips now, and all of JD's existence seemed to be funneled into the pain filling his ass. There wasn't anything else — no sounds, no thoughts, no images — just Peter's dick filling his hole, moving back and forth, tearing into his flesh each time, until he knew there must be as much blood dripping from his ass as there was from his nose and mouth. But still Peter drove into him, pushing, shoving, slamming into him, pulling out so slowing, then ramming in again.
JD's head swam, and his entire body felt like it was spinning, spinning, even as it tumbled end over end. And at the center of all that motion was the pain of Peter thrusting into him, growing steadily worse as the assault continued.
And then, suddenly, he was yanked to his feet, though he couldn't have stood on his own if he tried. JD could barely make out Peter's leering face through the haze of blood and tears.
"You tell them — whatever their names are — we're gonna kill them all for helping Connelly. You got that?"
JD tried to nod, but his stomach suddenly rebelled, filling his mouth with blood he'd previously managed to swallow. Reflexively, he spit the syrupy red liquid out. A moment later, a fist was slammed into his stomach, and he fell to his knees.
A hand grabbed his hair, forcing his head back, until he could see Peter's repulsive face. "We're gonna kill you all, messenger boy! You tell your friends that. We're gonna kill you all for helping Hank Connelly!"
Then the hand was gone from his hair and his head lulled forward, yanking his body after it, until he was sprawled in the dirt.
Pain was throbbing loudly in his head, and every fiber of his being seemed to be screaming, but somewhere through the haze of the pain, he remembered his friends. He had to warn them. They're gonna kill us all. He had to warn them. They're gonna kill us all for helping Hank. He had to warn them....
Somehow, JD managed to struggle to his feet. He fumbled with the buttons on his pants, managing to do up enough to keep them on his hips. Then, as he followed the light to the door, he stumbled over something. He looked down and, through his blurred vision, barely made out the shape of his gun belt. He bent down to retrieve it, nearly toppling to the ground again, but righting himself at the last moment. His fingers felt thick and clumsy as he strained to secure the buckle around his waist. He'd need his guns, he knew, before the day was finished.
Following the blinding light to the door of the shed, JD clung to the jamb for a moment to regain his balance. Then he lurched off down the alley, back to the main street. He tripped going up the stairs to the boardwalk, and he heard someone say, "Drunk! And at this hour," but no one made any attempt to help him.
He grabbed the post and slowly hauled himself back to his feet, then urged his body along the boardwalk again. He didn't think about where he was going, just allowing his feet to carry him along. When he reached the saloon, he heard familiar voices inside and he pushed his way through the swinging doors. As his feet kept moving him forward, he vaguely noticed Josiah, Ezra, and Nathan at a side table. Ahead of him, he thought, were Buck, Vin, and Chris.
JD stopped moving when he reached the bar. Everyone was there. All of his friends. He had to tell them.
"I've got a message for everybody..." but the room suddenly spun into darkness.
Then, almost from nowhere, there were voices again. And the faces of his friends slowly came into focus. He had to tell them.
"Ah," he gasped for air. "They're gonna kill us all for helpin' Hank," he managed to get the words out. Somehow, he'd managed to tell them. They'd be okay now, they'd figure out a way to beat those damn Nichols brothers.
JD felt everyone around him, hands pressing cloths to his face, checking his body for broken bones. Then, through the crowd, he heard Casey's voice.
"JD, I'm sorry!" Her arms were around him, he couldn't see her, but he could feel her there, hear her concern.
"I'm fine," he insisted, though he knew he wasn't. They'd done things to him he would never, ever admit to. The bloody nose, the split lip, the swollen eye, the bruises ... they were nothing: "They didn't hurt me."
"Your face belies that assessment," he heard Ezra say, but in his head the words became, "You'll face the lies at gun point." It didn't make any sense to him, but there was no time to ponder on it before he heard Casey again, so close to his ear.
"You were right, JD. Why didn't I see that?"
"Oh..." he sighed. They hadn't hurt her. He'd at least stopped them from going after her, just because he liked her. Even if he still didn't understand her. "... yer complicated, Casey."
There were more hands on him again, more fussing. Then, Chris's voice broke through everything. "Casey. Get JD outta here," he ordered.
But JD didn't want to go. He wanted to pay back those damn brothers for what they'd done to him! "I'm fine, Chris. I can fight!" he insisted, trying to make it sound like it was the truth.
"All right, then. JD, get Casey out of here!" Chris ordered again, and JD felt Casey's arms wrap around his chest as she pulled him to his feet. She steered him towards the stairs, and he let her help him up them. At the top, she opened the nearest door, the first one on the left, and moved him inside. She headed straight for the bed and laid JD down.
He heard her pouring water into the basin, then, a moment later, felt her weight on the mattress beside him. She pressed a damp cloth against his face, mopping up the blood that he could no longer feel running out of his nose.
He just lay there and let her clean him up. His mind was scattered. Quick visions of the dark shed flitted through his mind. Paul's dick pressed against his lips, the pain of Peter driving into his ass. He shut his eyes tight. He didn't want Casey to see what was going on behind his eyes. She didn't need to know about any of it, that men, even ones who traveled with their mothers, were capable of such vile acts.
It wasn't long before he heard the shooting begin. JD struggled to sit up, as Casey fought to keep him on his back. "It's gonna be okay, JD," she insisted. "Let your friends handle it. They'll be okay."
But JD knew they were six against seven. He knew it wouldn't be an easy fight. The Nichols family believed God was on their side. And that meant they'd do anything they had to in order to satisfy their holy vendetta. They would believe that God would protect them, and that made them more dangerous than anyone JD and his friends had ever faced. He struggled against Casey's hands, which pressed his shoulders down onto the mattress, finally managing to sit up. He clung to the brass bed knob for a moment, his head still spinning, but then he got to his feet and made his way to the window.
He glanced outside, looking to see if any of the Nichols brothers were in view. None were, but he hoped that would change as the fighting continued. He grabbed at his waist, surprised that he still had his weapons, that Peter Nichols had been stupid enough to leave them behind in the shed. JD blinked back the tears stinging his eyes as he checked the chambers on each of his guns. They were loaded and he would be ready for the first Nichols to come into view.
"God, let it be Peter," he prayed silently to himself. That man deserved to die after what he'd done. He couldn't die enough times, as far as JD was concerned.
Minutes passed and there was so much gunfire. JD could hear shouting below, but he couldn't make out the voices — couldn't tell his friends from his enemies.
Then he heard a now familiar rumbling. He shifted his eyes and saw the big, mule-drawn coach being driven down the street. No doubt there were Nichols brothers inside, attempting to pin his friends down with crossfire. A moment later, JD caught sight of Ezra.
What the hell was that damn fool doing, climbing up on top of the coach? There was no way in hell all the Nichols brothers weren't going to see him, weren't going to pick him off like a bird perched conveniently on a fence.
JD scanned the far side of the street and immediately caught sight of Peter Nichols. Bastard. He was moving, out from wherever he'd been hiding, in order to shoot at Ezra. But JD had him in his sights, firing more rounds than were necessary. Then he watched as Peter collapsed onto the boardwalk, his body convulsing with the last throws of life.
"Burn in hell, you son of a bitch," were the only words that filled JD's mind.
But then an explosion tore his eyes from Peter's body. The coach was now on fire! Anthony jumped from it, both arms ablaze. Paul was behind him, firing his Scofield into the saloon. JD twisted his body and fired off at least two rounds at the other man who had ... hurt him. He would have fired more — he wanted this other brother dead as well — but he suddenly couldn't focus his eyes anymore, as he felt himself slipping away from the window.
Casey was beside him again, helping him back to the bed. He'd saved Ezra. He'd killed Peter Nichols. He'd killed the man who ... he'd killed Peter Nichols ... he'd killed the man who ... the man who'd forced him....
This time, when the darkness came, JD didn't fight it. All he wanted now was unconsciousness, a place where he wouldn't think about ... anything.
END
January 2002Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.
Thanks to my beta reader for all of her help and encouragement!
Characters from "The Magnificent Seven," were used without permission and this story in no way signifies support of, or affiliation with, The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, or CBS Worldwide, Inc. The story itself belongs to the author and will not be sold for any reason.