RETRIBUTION BLOOD

DAKOTA:

Jago’s eyes opened. He lay with his head on the satin pillow for a moment, wondering what had woken him. A breath, the barest hint of something whispering across the tile floor. He bolted upright. A sawed-off double barrel appeared in his hand and he tried to point at every corner of the room. Belle started up and clutched the sheets tightly to her naked body. They were not alone in the dark. Sweat beaded on Jago’s brow and nose as his tongue nervously flicked across his lips. He rasped in quick half-breaths. He dared not blink. Shadows. That’s all he could see. The moonlight drifted in on a warm summer breeze. It was always summer on Atlantis. It never seemed to cool off. The summer breeze! That’s what had caused him to wake. All the windows had been shut before he lay down.

“What… what is it?” ventured Belle in a hoarse whisper.

“Shut up,” grated Jago in response. His pulse seemed to quicken. How long had the window been open? The moonlight on the white stone floor made the shadows nothing but black silhouettes. He dared himself now. Jago shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He laid the gun down gently beside him and propped his back against the massive headboard of the canopied bed. He folded his hands behind his head. A desperate grasp at appearing nonchalant, though he knew it was too late. He took another deep breath.

“I’ve been looking forward to this, Dakota,” he spoke softly into the night, slowly scanning the shadows and the dark shapes of the furniture, searching for a glint off some piece of metal, a weapon or jewelry. Nothing. He began to grow angry. He had never been cornered. In all his years of thieving, pillaging, raiding, taking what he wanted from whomever he wanted, he had never been trapped, never been caught, and he had never backed down to any man. And the thought that a woman, no, a girl had him jumping at shadows heated his blood to a boiling point. But he knew that to call her a girl out of spite was to liken a tiger to an alley cat. A dangerous mistake. The tiniest silver jingle was the only preemptor to the graceful shadow detaching itself from the wardrobe. Belle squeaked and clutched the sheets tighter. Countless nights Jago had been kept from sleep by the memories of those little bells and the earlobes they dangled from… Little silver bells chiming in time with her undulating rhythm…

“No you haven’t,” she whispered into the breeze as she stepped into the moonlight. “You’ve been tossing in your sleep, Jago.” The heavy silver earrings glinted with high polish. The rest of her was swathed in matte black suede that seemed to absorb any light that touched it. Dakota’s green eyes were ablaze in the moonlight. Her cool, fair skin made everything else seem hot and rough.

Jago just set a level gaze on her. One that had sent many men into sniveling pleas, but he knew, on Dakota, it would never have such an effect. His breath still came shallower than he would have liked. He wanted to take up his shotgun. He cursed himself silently for putting it down, but he dared not make a move. He said nothing, and the subtle hint of a mocking smile told him he didn’t need to. She knew him too well.

“Gun’s never really close enough, is it babe?”

“Who… who are you?” demanded Belle in a weak voice.

“Show some respect, doll, this is Rawhide Tayler you’re talking to,” said Jago with a sardonic smile. Belle’s breath caught.

“You? I’ve heard so many stories I never thought I would-”

“Shut up,” said Jago as his casual backhanded swing caught Belle in the mouth and knocked her head back against the headboard. She crumpled to the sheets unconscious. Dakota’s jaw clenched slightly. “I’ve missed you Dakota. I’ve often-”

“Bullshit. No, I think you’ve had women aplenty. Well, girls anyway.”

Jago took a deep breath and sighed, quelling a grimace. “More than enough of both, really. But none were ever like you. You’re a spectacular-”

“They weren’t like me because I, at least, was willing.”

“Those days are long behind-”

“Tell that to the little girl at your side.”

“Damn it will you let me-”

“Vexed, Jago?” Her tiny smile made his face burn. “I was willing and you repaid my love by slaughtering my people…” Dakota took a deep breath and her eyes grew icy cold. Jago suddenly felt the summer breeze wasn’t warm enough and his throat grew dry. “Still miss me?” Her soft whisper was like a razor covered in silk.

“How could I have known they were your people? I found you in a dirty pueblo on Apollo, hiding out from who-knew-what! I gave you a fuckin’ life and you-”

“All this power doesn’t suit you.” Jago’s teeth ground audibly. Dakota looked him up and down and a slight sneer marred her perfect face. “You’re fat. And uglier now.”

“I could still snap you like a damn twig, girl.” Jago chuckled. “I may be eating healthier, but I can still beat the shit out of anyone on this crappy moon.” Dakota just studied him. Her eyes were cold, distant, and merciless, but there was something else. Something suppressed deep inside. Jago was a master at reading faces. He’d had to be when he was a thief, and even more so now that he was the baron on his own little moon. She was not all stone as she would have him believe. She never could bring her self to do the truly dirty work that his cronies had relished in. But he had liked that about her. It made her seem more pure, and he had loved the thought of taking her purity every night. Now he wondered if she would have the nerve to finish the job she had set out for. It was a distant thought, one he almost dared not entertain, but however small, it was a chance. He took a deep breath. “After you disappeared, I wished I could take back what I’d done. Those damn peasants didn’t even have anything worth taking, and nothing that was worth losing you.” He searched her eyes for the slightest flicker, some hint of softness. “I would never have hurt you Dakota.”

“You called me a whore and told your men to bring back my head.”

“I may have lost my temper-”

“Because I killed you’re shit-eating asshole of a brother for murdering Uncle Ira.”

Jago gritted his teeth. Half of him still wanted her head for killing Paulo. The other half wanted her in his bed, under his massive bulk. “Three years I’ve wanted you in this room. Now here you are. Not in the capacity I’d hoped, but… beggars and choosers. You know.” Dakota took a breath and her shoulders slackened slightly, as much as a viper might slacken in the company of its prey. Jago smiled mischievously. “There you are, girl. You could come here and we could indulge in some more pleasurable kinds of pain. Old times and all that.”

Dakota smiled slightly, a hint of memory creeping into her gaze. “It was never pleasurable Jago. Only painful. You were my nightly punishment for every day of reaving. My nightly act of atonement. Now I have only one act left.” Jago snarled and snatched up the shotgun as he lunged out of bed, rolling to a crouch, sights leveled at Dakota. The deafening sound of the hollow click drained all the blood from his face and left his tongue parched. Dakota stood calmly in the moonlight, her long knife drawn. The slim, graceful blade gleamed like ice. She moved slowly, steadily, as though Jago was chained and unable to move. She glided across the floor like a ballroom dancer and stopped ten feet from him. Jago knew she could close that distance before he could even get to his feet. His shoulders sagged and his gun fell to the floor.

“I thought… it felt a little light,” he chuckled to himself. He took a breath and looked at her. “I really did love you Dakota. You’re an amazing girl. Who else has ever bested me?”

Dakota’s eyes moistened slightly. “You’ve gotten lazy Jago. It should never have been so easy…” She breathed deep and raised her chin, looking down her nose at the man as he knelt before her. “I have-” Jago gave a thunderous roar as he leaped towards her with a speed and agility that seemed inhuman in someone so large. Dakota never broke character. She sidestepped and slim blade seemed to trail languidly behind her as it flashed in the moonlight, sliding across Jago’s belly, sharp as a razor, and opened him up before he hit the ground. His eyes flew wide as Dakota plunged her knife into his heart, slamming his back against the hard stone floor and kissed him nearly in the same motion. Jago felt her tears fall on his face. He smiled weakly as she pulled away.

“Still the pure woman…” He whispered. Dakota shook her head slightly.

“No. Just happy no one killed you before I could,” she whispered back. “I loved you Jago. And you broke my heart…” she wrenched the knife free and Jago’s heart blood spurted into the air, a red mist carried on the summer breeze. “Burn in hell…”