The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

The Outlaw

steel beast floated just above the wooden tracks.

When the engine started, it sounded more like the

bellow of a monster than the hiss of steam. The hull of the
beast was coated with a three-inch layer of dark gray soot
and had long ago lost its luster, the once-brilliant shade of
red now completely obscured. Black windows kept onlookers
from seeing who was riding the locomotive, no view from
within or without.

That suited Damian Junter just fine.
“Are you coming aboard, sir?” The shrill voice of the

conductor was enough to make Damian’s skin crawl. It
seemed to Damian as if the conductor was trying to burrow
straight through his Italian leather trench coat with those
beady eyes. He eyed Damian suspiciously in an attempt to
figure out Damian’s past, present, and future—all in a single
glance.

Apparently the conductor had never seen a Bringer

before. If he had, he wouldn’t be so skeptical of the hulking
man boarding the train. Compared to the thin and lanky
conductor, Damian was Herculean. Ripped in hard muscle
from head to toe, Damian was a force to be reckoned with to
anyone unlucky enough to be placed on his hit list.

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

The black leather, itself coated in a black dust similar to

the soot coating the train, strained over Damian’s broad
chest. His massive forearms bulged from beneath the tight
sleeves, undulating with each movement he made. His thick
thighs threatened to burst from the skin-tight pants.

“Yes.” He handed the scrawny man his ticket.
“Traveling far?” the conductor asked.
“Yes.” Damian was going to the outermost reaches of the

West, to the Pacific Coast, farther than he’d ever traveled.
But he only gave single-word answers to strangers. It was
better that way. The less they knew about his travels, the
safer they’d be.

The conductor looked disgruntled by the lack of

information but let Damian pass. With a paying fare, there
wasn’t much the man could do. Refusing him passage would
be tantamount to theft. Not that Bringers punished average
Eastern folks, even if they violated the law.

A Bringer’s purpose was far loftier.
Damian climbed aboard the steel ship. If he were

wearing anything but black, the soot would have left a
permanent mark. But black hid everything.

And not just dirt. Even though Damian’s clothes were

stretched over his massive frame, they nevertheless obscured
the weapons fastened to his thighs and ankles. Most
Bringers hid the tools of their trade in their luggage when
they traveled. Not Damian. He was too brash, too confident
for that.

Damian was not like most Bringers. He considered

himself to be the Bringer. The best.

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Damian had exacted more justice and taken down more

outlaws in his time on the force than all other Bringers.
Combined. He’d been on the front line since he was old
enough to hold a gun straight and fire.

How long had it been? Two decades? Three? He’d lost

track. Days melted into months that melted into years. One
job after another. Bringing justice to the world, one outlaw at
a time.

Being a Bringer was a job Damian loved. Hell, he

cherished it. In Damian’s eyes, he did more for the country
than any of the politicians of the East. Officials passed laws,
spoke on boxes, made promises. But Damian made the
world a safer place. Only justice could do that.

And Damian relished bringing justice.
He moved quickly down the row of seats. His long, black

trench coat whipped the sides of his legs with each step he
took. His knee-length, metal-heeled leather boots clinked
against the steel floor of the train. Passengers, already
seated and ready for the beast to fly, looked toward him with
fear in their eyes.

Unlike the conductor, these people knew a Bringer when

they saw one. Even men who’d never made a mistake in their
lives feared Bringers. They’d quake in their polished, patent
leather shoes and wet themselves at the slightest hint that a
Bringer might be coming their way.

The aura of dread that accompanied the presence of a

Bringer was one of the key elements of their success. No one
dared disobey the ones who doled out justice, lest they find
themselves on the wrong end of a Bringer’s gun.

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The metal monster roared to life, and spires of dark gray

steam billowed through the air. Damian’s body lurched when
the engine jutted forward. He grabbed the side of one of the
seats to keep from falling over.

The woman next to him gasped and looked at him with

her big, blue eyes. “Pardon me, my dear sir.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He tilted his leather Stetson in her

direction. He might be able to make a grown man cry, but
Damian was still a gentleman.

She batted her eyes. “Would you like to join me?” The

look of fear she’d shared with the other passengers just
moments before melted away and was replaced by a look of
lust.

Women always reacted to Damian that way. The

combination of the panic he prompted and the power he
exuded was more than the female mentality could withstand,
especially when confronted with his ruggedly handsome good
looks.

Every woman Damian had ever been with had

commented on his long black hair and how they liked the
way it smoothed over their skin when he fucked them. They
would remark about his green eyes, often referring to their
emerald appearance. They swooned over his muscular build.

Not that he cared. He’d never found a woman yet that

caught his fancy. He fucked them, but he didn’t much enjoy
it.

“Thank you.” He took the seat next to the window and

stared at the countryside as it shifted slowly by. Dirty, black
buildings gave way to green-grassed landscapes. The gray

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sky was replaced by blue. Soon, even the beauty of the
eastern outlands would be gone, only brown rock and dirt in
its place.

The metal beast glided easily over the rugged land,

guided by the rails several feet below the unnecessary
wheels. But the train did not move quickly enough for
Damian’s tastes. He wanted nothing more than to get to the
badlands and start his next assignment. The urge to bring
justice was nearly overwhelming. He cursed under his
breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his seatmate flash

him a smile. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Just admirin’ your outfit. Are you an outlander?”
“No.” His sharp tone made her eyes blink.
An outlander? The word disgusted Damian. Especially

the way she made it sound sexy, like a forbidden fruit
waiting to be tasted. In his dictionary, outlanders were
nothing more than outlaws. And outlaws were lawbreakers.
Lawbreakers had to die.

When he saw her mouth part again, he decided to shut

her up for good. “I kill outlanders.”

She gasped and looked in the other direction. If she’d

had a doubt before, she knew now, with absolute certainty,
that he was a Bringer. She wouldn’t bother him again.

If Damian were keen on conversation, he could have told

her a thing or two about outlanders. About how they killed
the innocent for fun. Robbed, stole, and cheated. About how
they were lawless monsters that consistently brought
destruction to the wild western lands. For decades, progress

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had been slowed in the West because of their presence.
Outlanders held a stronghold in the farthest reaches of the
West, making it impossible for the Eastern aristocracy to
bring modern comforts and civilization.

Damian’s job was to stop them. To keep the peace. To

bring justice to those that had broken the law. At all cost.

Including the cost of life.
Not that outlander life meant much to him.
The smoke from the ship was soon engulfed by

darkness. Nights in the West were like black holes in which
no ounce of light could escape. Damian liked the night. It
was his preferred hunting ground.

AMIAN

’

head wobbled forward and fell against his chest,

his black hair cascading like a dark waterfall over his face,
when the beast heaved to a stop.

He felt two fingers poking his shoulder. “This is your

stop, sir.” The conductor’s shrill voice echoed through the
now-deserted passenger car.

Damian opened his eyes to find himself alone. All the

other passengers had exited on prior stops, and he’d slept
the entire voyage. He was the last soul to leave the beast.

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He stood up slowly, ignoring the obvious agitation of the

conductor, and stretched his large frame. With his arms
above him, his fingers touched the metal roof. From top to
bottom, he measured six-foot-two.

He towered over the little man and could see the guy

shaking from head to toe.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t ride my train again.”

The words quivered from the conductor’s lips, weakening
what Damian was sure the man intended as a command.

“Fine,” Damian said through clenched teeth, lowering

his arms and swaggering to the exit.

He wouldn’t argue with the man. It was always the

same. The prejudice against those in his profession was
rampant, especially in the West. No matter that Bringers
were the only law within thousands of miles in these wild
lands. The very innocents he sought to protect loathed his
existence.

The hatred didn’t bother Damian, though. The more the

average folk avoided him, the easier his job. None would get
caught in the inevitable crossfire.

“Fine,” he repeated, stepping off the floating monster. He

had no problem obeying the conductor’s demand, preferring
more traditional means of travel anyway. Once this job was
done, he’d catch a rider home. Feeling the taut skin and
muscles of a strong horse between his legs would be much
preferred to the steam-polluting locomotive.

The hot air of the desert blasted him as soon as he set

foot in the sand.

California.

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Death Valley.
The end of the line.
An outlander stronghold.
This was where his next assignment waited. His next

kill. Justice.

Damian breathed deep the dry, stilted air. It filled his

lungs with its arid flavor, making him instantly thirsty. He
hated the desert.

Leaving the beast behind, he set off on foot. Nothing

mechanical traveled to the outlander capital. A man could go
by foot or rider over rolling hills of nothing but sand.

It took several hours for Damian to arrive without a

rider, but soon the mirage danced before his eyes. A city
nestled in the middle of a wasteland, steel and steam jutting
from nothingness.

Terra Noir.
Guards positioned themselves in haphazard fashion

around the perimeter, but Damian nevertheless walked
unnoticed through the large, metal gate. Outlanders played
at protection but in reality saw little necessity in protecting
the entrance. They falsely believed that no one who was not
one of their own would enter the godforsaken city if they had
a will to live.

The way he looked also helped him to be inconspicuous.

Like all Bringers, Damian wore hard leather from head to toe
because that was how outlanders dressed. To anyone giving
him a second glance, he would look like nothing more than
another outlaw. The ultimate disguise.

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

Undetected as a Bringer by the local outlanders, people

who rarely traveled beyond their protective walls, Damian
strode with confidence through the belly of the city. The
windstorms characteristic of the desert penetrated the walls
and whipped through the rock streets. Outlanders dashed
from building to building, unwilling to expose themselves for
long to the elements of sand and soot that filled the air. The
metallic structures provided a haven from the harsh
character of their town, a character determined by a
combination of nature and man.

Damian’s mouth was parched from his journey through

the badlands, and his lips were cracked, so he strode to the
nearest saloon. A few swigs of rylin would wash away the
taste of desert stuck to his tongue and quench his thirst.
Even if the drink tasted like piss.

Like the steel beast that had brought him westward,

liquor was manufactured using steam power. Every saloon
had its own on-site distiller to ensure the drink’s availability
was never interrupted by broken supply routes. As a result,
the walls of the saloon mirrored those of the train: covered in
deep-seated black soot.

Damian grunted in disgust at the filth as he walked

through the swinging doors. At least in the East, the owners
of various establishments made an attempt to keep their
businesses clean, even if it was for naught. But in the West,
the outlanders cared little for outward appearances.

“Rylin,” he ordered. The whiskey of the Wild West.
The bartender nodded his head once and got Damian’s

drink. Damian leaned his elbows against the cracked brown
wood of the bar and drank the rylin down in one gulp. He

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

tipped the glass for another shot. The sour liquid poured like
ice down his throat despite its lukewarm temperature.

After three quick hits, he looked around the bar. There

was no better time than now to begin his hunt for the outlaw
who had brought him to this godforsaken place. Damian’s
informant in the East had told him that this joint was his
next hit’s preferred domain. He skirted his eyes from face to
face, looking for the killer.

His visual inquisition ended in the far corner of the

saloon. Damian saw him seated at a round table surrounded
by scum. The man accused of killing the family of the
prominent New Amster statesman. A young mother and her
two innocent little girls. Even for someone as hardened by
life as Damian, such a crime was unforgivable.

III

ELL

AUGHLIN

wore a long, black overcoat, tattered black

top hat, and black goggles with tinted glass. His shoulder-
length blond hair was streaked with black soot. His skin was
darkened too, making him look like a chameleon trying to
camouflage himself against the wall. He looked like he’d
spent years in the dingy underbelly of Terra Noir.

But Damian knew that wasn’t the case. Kell had killed

the statesman’s family less than a month ago. It had taken
Damian that long to track him. Now that he was so close to

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the bastard, his mouth watered at the prospect of bringing
him down, the need for justice shooting through his veins
like adrenaline.

Damian took another swig of rylin and strode to Kell’s

table. The group of outlanders glared at him, ready to defend
one another in a heartbeat. Brotherhood of the damned.

Damian only smiled.
Normally, he wouldn’t waste a second thought before

grabbing his gun and blowing the bastard away. Shoot to
kill. Judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one.

But Damian didn’t plan on killing Kell right away.
Before he’d left the eastern lands, Damian had received

an anonymous tip that Kell was being set up. He hadn’t
given it much credence—still didn’t—but it was enough that
he felt compelled to investigate Kell before he exacted justice.

If Kell were innocent and Damian killed him, in

Damian’s mind, it would make Damian just as bad as the
outlanders. And that was something he refused to be. So
he’d decided to forgo his usual in-and-out and spend a few
days getting to know Kell. To make sure he was guilty as
charged.

“Howdy, gents.” He knew his faux Southern drawl would

soften his otherwise foreboding appearance and throw off
any suspicion of his origins. He removed his Stetson in
respect.

Kell smiled but did not speak. The other men grunted

their greetings.

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“Just got in from the badlands. Need a place to stay.”

Despite their sinful lifestyle, Damian knew that outlanders
took care of their own. And so they would take care of him as
long as he was able to be successful in his masquerade.

Damian watched as Kell looked him up and down. For a

moment, Kell’s eyes lingered on Damian’s crotch. Damian
watched as Kell licked his lips. Damian felt his cock jump.
The unexpected sensation pissed him off.

Just as he was about to haul the fucker over the table

and teach him some respect, Kell spoke. “I think we have a
place upstairs. It’s a shithole, but it’s cheap.”

Damian decided to let the unwelcomed inspection slide.

Earning Kell’s friendship and confidence was too important
to his mission. If Damian could earn the outlaw’s trust, he
could confirm whether the anonymous tip had been
accurate. “Sounds fine,” he responded.

Kell rose from his seat, and Damian nearly choked. Kell

was tall and lean, standing a good two inches above Damian.
Kell’s overcoat fell open, and the sharp lines of his muscles
cut through the thin, silk shirt that hid underneath.
Damian’s cock jumped again. Fuck, was all Damian could
think.

Kell came around to Damian’s side. “Let me show you

the room.”

Kell put his hand on Damian’s shoulder, and a shot of

electricity bolted down Damian’s spine, settling in his groin.
Damian felt his shaft thicken. The erection pushed painfully
against the inside of his leather jeans. Damian reached down
to rearrange his load, trying to get relief.

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But his own hand on his dick did little good.
Especially when Damian felt the sudden urge to do the

same thing to Kell. Grab his rod and pump the fucker until
he spurted inside his well-worn pants. Lost in the mildly
disconcerting fantasy, Damian didn’t even realize he’d
stopped cold in his tracks.

He and Kell were standing at the foot of a dark stairwell

that was lighted only by a few shards of light that shone
through the cracks in the walls from the rooms that
bordered the passageway. Kell eyed Damian. “You comin’?”
he asked.

Damian sucked in a deep, stale breath. He was hunched

against the rickety banister, gripping the aged wood and
stroking himself through the rough jean material. Yeah, he
thought,

I’m comin’. He didn’t notice if Kell saw what he was

doing. Luckily, he stopped himself before he erupted.

Damian shoved his hands into his pockets and followed

Kell up the stairs, biting his bottom lip to combat the painful
ache in his balls. At the end of a long hallway, Kell stopped
at the last door on the left.

“This is it.” Kell opened the door. A rush of rancid air

accosted Damian’s nostrils. It smelled like death. Damian
liked it. The aroma was comforting in a situation that had
inextricably become uncomfortable.

One swift wave of Kell’s hand revealed the entire room.

“Like I said, shithole. No key, no running water. It’s thirty
kiln a night.”

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Kilns were outlander currency. They made it by melting

gold and mixing it with sand and soot from the steam-
powered machines that kept cities like Terra Noir alive.
Damian never understood why they made their own type of
money instead of just using that which they stole from the
innocents. Especially since one kiln was roughly equal to
half a penny. No matter. If you didn’t have kilns, you’d never
get by in Terra Noir.

Damian had kilns.
“No problem,” Damian agreed, scanning the twenty-by-

ten box. It was just big enough for a cot, steam-generated
icebox, and a small wooden table and chair.

“Good. Pay the bartender.” Kell turned to leave.
Damian focused his attention toward the door. He

wouldn’t let Kell go so quickly. He needed to befriend the
man in order to determine his innocence. “Any games in
these parts?” Outlanders loved games, mostly those involving
live players battling for superiority through pure brute
strength.

Kell turned back to face Damian, a smirk on his thick,

red lips. Damian briefly imagined those lips locked around
his cock. Damn, he thought.

“There’s one tonight at the arena.” Kell paused and

looked Damian up and down again with the same gleam in
his eyes as he’d had back in the bar. “Why don’t you join
me? I have a box seat, best in the house.”

“Great. See ya.”
Damian slammed the door when Kell left. He loved the

fact that outlanders were so trusting of their own. Kell didn’t

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know Damian from Adam, but Damian was already
weaseling his way into Kell’s world.

Because there was no shower, Damian couldn’t clear off

the soot that caked him from head to toe. The substance felt
like thousands of tiny knives spearing his skin. He settled for
rinsing off what he could with a basin of dirty water tucked
under the table.

Then, he waited.

IV

D

AMIAN

left the confines of his room when the sun went

down. He loved the night, but sunset in Terra Noir left much
to be desired. The horizon was obscured by the fifteen-foot
solid metal fence that surrounded the city. The sky that was
visible overhead burned deep purple, the result of the
combination of the steam billowing into the air, sandstorms,
and the orange hue of the sun.

Damian much preferred the crisp red-orange evenings

in the East, just outside the urban sprawl of New Amster. He
assumed sunsets in the badlands were more similar to those
in the East than the filthy fading sky of the outlander
capital. The sooner he could rid himself of this plot of wasted
space, the better.

It wasn’t difficult for Damian to find the arena. The

ancient Roman-themed rotunda dominated the center of

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Terra Noir. It was almost an exact replica of the Coliseum in
Rome, except that it was made of black granite. Unlike every
other building in the city, the arena’s stone glistened in the
rays of the setting sun.

Damian found Kell waiting for him at the entrance. His

tattered gear discarded, Kell wore a tight, black shirt that
hugged his toned chest. The leather pants glued to his legs
left little to Damian’s imagination. Over his soot-stained hair,
Kell donned a small leather riding helmet that curved onto
his cheeks and accentuated the sharp lines of his face. His
outfit was one of honor in the West; only outlanders who had
garnered privilege dared wear anything other than rags.

The outlaw had also discarded the dark goggles, and for

the first time Damian noticed Kell’s eyes. Two ice-blue
spheres peered at him from under the low-slung hood of the
helmet. The deep-set eyes smoldered in the approaching
twilight, catching the last flicker of light and reflecting it
from a stormy abyss.

Kell’s eyes were mesmerizing. And Damian was forced to

choke back whatever lump formed in the back of his throat
when he stared into them.

“This way,” he said, leading Damian up three flights of

stone stairs to a granite-encased room that overlooked the
floor of the arena. The room was simple but well kept,
suitable for someone of outlander nobility.

A long, leather-upholstered couch graced the center of

the room, accompanied by a single steel-legged lamp. The
walls were empty but for a painting enclosed in a solid wood
frame. The picture depicted a dune of sand, a palm tree, and
an oasis surrounded by clear, blue water. Damian stared

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momentarily at the scene and wondered whether the oasis
was one that actually existed in the badlands. If so, he’d like
to visit the place. Water was hard to come by in the West,
and its presence in such quantity would be worth its weight
in gold. The soft cascade of a waterfall over a small ledge
made Damian feel he could almost reach out and taste the
smooth liquid. But even more intriguing about the painting
was that it depicted what looked to Damian to be damn near
paradise. Add a breeze through the tree and Damian could
see himself sitting in the oasis, far from the life of a
Bringer… finally at peace.

Damian peered over the banister at the surrounding

crowd. Kell’s box was the only one in the arena. The rest of
the citizens sat in crowded metal seats with hardly enough
room to move their arms in applause when the start of the
game was announced.

Damian and Kell were alone in the box. Not that

Damian minded—it would be easier to sway Kell’s confidence
without an audience—but it nevertheless surprised him.
Why would someone who was apparently such an authority
in Terra Noir as Kell allow himself to be unprotected?

Kell sat down and beckoned Damian to join him.
“Tonight, the game is man versus beast,” Kell said,

motioning toward the floor.

Damian watched the spectacle unfold.
On one side of the arena stood the beast. But this was

nothing like the locomotive that had carried Damian to the
West. This monster was a hulking mass of dark gray metal
in the shape of a man. It stood over eight feet tall. Instead of
muscles, layers of steel jutted from its mechanical arms,

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which were lined with sharp metal spikes. Its legs featured
the same armor. At the end of its arms were massive dual-
pronged hands, one holding a large spiked mace. And a thick
veil of leather covered the humanesque face.

It was a rig.
Damian had heard of rigs but never seen one. Other

Bringers who had traveled to Terra Noir and survived had
told tales of the great beasts. Damian had never believed
them. But it was real.

On the other side of the arena stood a man. At close to

six-foot, five inches, his body was layered with muscle. His
pecs bulged from the thin strips of brown leather that served
as his only covering. The straps made a line down each side
of his hulking chest, obscuring only the tips of his nipples,
and crisscrossed at his groin. The leather created a sling that
held his cock. His arms were as thick as his legs, rippling
with oversized muscles. His hair was shaven, a sign of his
servitude. Terra Noir had a ruling class, and this man was
its slave.

The steel beast roared, and its metallic scream echoed

through the arena. The crowd quieted. In response, the man
bellowed as loud as his lungs would allow. The sound was a
faint whisper compared to that of the beast.

Each step the beast took toward the man rumbled the

ground and shook the foundation of the arena. The metal
that encased the beast clanked and sparked from friction as
it moved. It roared, and smoke seemed to billow from every
crevice in the creature.

Within minutes, the beast stood before the man. Despite

his foreboding appearance, Damian could see the man

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quaking in his steel-toed boots. Reaching behind his back,
the man pulled out a large sword. With a powerful thrust,
the man plunged the sword into the beast’s steel heart.

The crowd held a collective breath, clearly fretting that

the game would come to such an end. But the beast did not
die. Instead, it spread its wings.

With a puff of smoke, triangular-shaped mechanisms

sprang from the sides of the monster. The wings were made
of thin mesh with a webbed metal infrastructure. They folded
outward and inward on themselves like the wings of a bird.

The beast left the floor of the arena and flew through the

air. It floated above the man, circling him like a vulture.

Damian gasped. He couldn’t believe that such a creature

existed. A flying rig. The outlanders of Terra Noir had kept
this magical beast a secret from the world.

Before the man could defend himself, the beast swooped

down and leveled him. The monster sat, puffing and
groaning, on top of the man’s crushed remains. Blood pooled
from under the beast’s metal feet and spread over the
arena’s granite floor.

The beast was victorious.
The crowd went wild.
That was the outcome the outlanders had come to the

arena to witness.

Even for someone that had been around as much killing

as Damian, the gruesomeness of the death was startling.

He turned his head to Kell and saw a wild look in the

other man’s eyes.

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V

W

ITHOUT

a word, Kell sprang from his seat and launched

himself at Damian. Damian’s reflexes were quick, and he
managed to jump to the side to avoid being pummeled by
Kell’s massive body. Damian cursed himself for leaving his
weapons back in the shithole. He’d done so to avoid raising
Kell’s suspicions. Now, it looked like Kell had every intention
of attacking him.

Damian didn’t know if the attack was fueled by post-

game adrenaline or if it had been pre-planned. Either way,
he wasn’t going down easy. Damian stood upright behind the
couch and held out his arms, motioning toward Kell with
both hands in a silent “bring it on” dare.

Kell stood up from the crouched position in which he’d

landed next to the metal lamp. In two long strides, he was
standing nose to nose with Damian. Kell grabbed Damian’s
shirt collar and twisted it until it tightened around Damian’s
neck. Kell used the force of his massive bicep to shove
Damian against the wall that held the pictured oasis.

“What the fuck?” Damian yelled.
“Exactly,” Kell said.
Damian expected Kell to rear his fist back and strike

him.

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Instead, Kell grabbed Damian’s long, black hair and

yanked Damian’s face to his. Kell’s mouth enveloped
Damian’s in a forceful kiss. Kell pierced his tongue into
Damian’s mouth, taking Damian with carnal passion.

Damian knew he could have defended himself in a fight.

But he wasn’t sure what to do with Kell’s tongue licking his
lips and trailing over his bristled chin. He considered
kneeing Kell in the nuts and kicking his ass. He didn’t.

Something snapped deep inside him. An inferno that

had never been lit sparked. The spark turned into a fire that
threatened to burn Damian to his core. A raw, animalistic
craving took over.

No, he didn’t want to fight Kell.
He wanted to fuck Kell.
Damian grabbed the sides of Kell’s face with both hands

and twisted his head viciously to the left. Locking his mouth
on Kell’s neck, he bit the bastard until he drew blood. Then
he licked the tiny droplets from Kell’s skin and moved his
tongue down to the top of his shirt.

Damian bit off the first button, causing Kell’s shirt to

fall open and reveal his toned chest. Damian nipped his way
across the hard lines of Kell’s chest until he reached one of
his hard, peaked buds. He bit it almost as savagely as he’d
attacked Kell’s neck.

Although he’d never done anything like this before, the

actions felt natural to Damian. As if this was something his
body had always needed, always wanted, and he’d never
known it. Or perhaps never let himself know. The lust
curling inside him, searing him, was like nothing he’d ever
experienced.

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Kell responded to Damian’s advance by shoving

Damian’s body harder against the granite wall. Kell slipped
his hands down Damian’s sides until they rested on the edge
of his jeans. With ruthless force, Kell speared his hands
down the sides and ripped the jeans from Damian’s body.
Each piece of metal from the button-up fly clinked on the
granite floor, and the jeans fell to Damian’s feet.

Damian was simplistic in his choice of dress, preferring

to wear only what was necessary. As a consequence, he was
naked under the jeans. His cock, already rock hard and
standing at attention, fell into Kell’s waiting hands. Damian
let out a guttural growl when Kell fisted his dick and
pumped him with ferocious strokes.

Damian tried to concentrate on the taste of Kell’s nipple,

but his mind went blank. His whole existence became the
juices swelling in his shaft. He threw his head back, and it
hit the wall.

“Oh, fuck,” he yelled.
“Not yet,” said Kell, his voice hoarse with need. “First I

want to taste you, Bringer.”

Bringer.
The fog in Damian’s brain lifted just long enough for

him to hear the word and realize that Kell knew who he was.
But did he know why he was in Terra Noir? Damian didn’t
have time to figure it out before a rush of heat flooded his
mind.

He looked down through half-lidded eyes and saw that

Kell was on his knees. Kell wrapped his lips around the tip of
Damian’s cock and sucked it hard. Damian’s fists slammed
against the walls on each side of his body.

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“Oh god, yes.” Damian’s eyes rolled into the back of his

head. Kell’s hot mouth felt better than any woman’s ever
had.

Kell continued to suck the crown until Damian’s pre-

cum juices trickled from the sides of his mouth. Lapping up
as much of the secretions as he could, Kell then moved his
lips all the way down Damian’s shaft, nipping gently with his
teeth on the way. Kell took Damian’s entire rod in his mouth
until it butted up against the back of throat.

Damian exhaled with a mighty huff, and his body

shook. He slammed his fists against the wall again with such
force that cracks streaked up the granite on each side of
him. Damian then used his fists to grab the back of Kell’s
head. He held it still and began to pump his hips, thrusting
his dick in and out of Kell’s waiting mouth.

Damian had never felt anything so stimulating in his

entire life. He’d been with a few women but had never really
enjoyed himself. Not like this. He’d only done the broads
because he’d thought eastern society expected him to.

Apparently the Wild West had a completely different

expectation.

Each time Damian thrust, Kell used his teeth to graze

the side of Damian’s cock. The sensation shot a bolt of
electricity up Damian’s spine and made him howl with
pleasure. Kell bit him hard at the base of his dick on the last
thrust, and Damian spurted into Kell’s mouth.

Damian had come in a woman’s mouth before. She’d

spit it out and screamed at him. He expected the same
response. But nothing was as he expected it to be in Terra
Noir.

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Instead, Kell gulped the juices down and smiled. “You

taste fucking sweet, Bringer.”

In his post-orgasmic haze, it suddenly excited Damian

that Kell knew who he really was. “And you, outlander? How
do you taste?”

“Why don’t you find out?” Kell stood up and spread his

massive, toned legs.

Taking his cue, Damian fell to his knees. He unbuttoned

Kell’s pants with urgency and found the man’s dick covered
with fine silk boxers. Now he was sure that Kell was more
than an average outlaw. Only those of high eastern society
wore such underclothes. He filed the information away in the
back of his head and ripped the cloth to shreds.

Kell’s dick was bigger than Damian’s, and the sight of it

made Damian’s eyes bulge. Damian’s mouth watered in
anticipation. The tip was smooth, pink, and already dripping
in sap. He wrapped his hands around the base and
smoothed his hands up the length of it, mentally measuring
its size. The fucker had to be at least eight inches. The
thought made Damian shiver and his asshole pucker.

Licking his lips for lubrication, he swallowed Kell’s

whole dick in one swift plunge. Kell moaned and fisted
Damian’s hair. Damian moaned too, because he’d never
tasted anything so sweet and tangy in his life. The musky
scent of Kell’s balls filled Damian’s nostrils and only added
to the allure of Kell’s pulsing meat.

Never having given head to a man before, Damian

mimicked Kell’s earlier movements and thrust Kell’s dick in
and out of his mouth in quick succession. He tried to bite
Kell, but he was too busy relishing the erotic flavors

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pounding through every inch of his mouth. He was lost in
the pure, undiluted power he possessed over the outlaw—
even more than he would have if he had him at the end of
his gun. He pumped his mouth harder and faster and felt
Kell’s dick expand and pulse.

When Kell blew his load, the cream shot down Damian’s

throat and nearly choked him. He sputtered, then swallowed.
Then smiled. “That was damn good, outlander.”

“Indeed.” Kell wrapped his hands around Damian’s

shoulders and forced him back to his feet. Side by side, the
two men fell with their backs against the granite wall, their
massive chests heaving.

Damian was thankful for the support, because his

knees were weak and shaking. He turned his head toward
Kell. He saw himself reflected in the man’s icy blue eyes. The
image made him shudder.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice gravelly

from the force of his recent drink.

VI

“W

ELCOME

to Terra Noir,” responded Kell, with an

unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

Kell brought his hand up to Damian’s face and

smoothed a lock of Damian’s hair behind his ear. Then he
caressed Damian’s cheek in a long stroke. The gentleness of

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the gesture was in sharp contrast to the ferociousness of
their sexual encounter.

It also caused a spark in Damian’s body that completely

cleared his mind. He stared at Kell, half-naked and
glistening with sweat. He stared at himself in the same state
of disarray.

Feeling sudden shock, he grabbed his pants and yanked

them up his legs. Securing them with his fist, he ran from
the granite room. He moved as fast as he could down the
stone stairwell and out into the cold desert night. His only
thought was to get as far away from the outlander as he
could as quickly as possible.

“What the fuck have I done?” he yelled into the dark,

confusion mixing with realization—realization not only of
what he’d done, but that he’d enjoyed it.

The glowing stars that filled the desert sky did not

answer his question. Damian was on his own to contemplate
a satisfactory response. If there was one.

He wandered the streets of Terra Noir most of the night,

not returning to his room until nearly sunrise. Out of a soot-
crusted window, the only one in the shithole, he watched the
sun rise in the sky over the protective fence. It crested the
sand dune and burned away the night with heated intensity.
Within minutes, Damian’s room transformed from a
reasonably pleasant temperature to pure hell.

“Fuck,” he cursed. The heat was just another thing he

hated about the West. He’d spent much of his life outside of
the Eastern lands but had never gotten used to the brutality
of it.

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Last night’s incident made it worse.
Or did it?
As much as Damian tried—was still trying—to loathe

the encounter, he couldn’t deny the passion he’d felt. He
couldn’t deny how much he’d wanted Kell. Or the fact that
the mouth-fuck hadn’t been enough. Not by a long shot. He
wanted the outlander’s cock buried deep in his ass. Even
now.

He glared at the sun, now fully ablaze, and stormed

from the window. After cleaning himself with a tattered rag
and dirty water, he changed his clothes. He left what was left
of his ruined leather jeans sprawled across the bed.

Perhaps a strong drink would help.
Only a few patrons visited the bar this early in the

morning. Most outlanders were probably still sleeping off
their hangovers from post-game parties. Damian’s stomach
was still queasy from his last meal—which had consisted of
Kell’s cum. He ordered a rylin, hoping the bitter flavor would
clear his throat of residual Kell.

Five rylins later, the alcohol was starting to work.
“Who’s the authority in these parts?” he asked the

bartender, a slur forming on his faux-Southern twang.

“Laughlin family,” the bartender grunted. “You met the

boy yesterday. Mr. Kell fairly runs the family’s holdings.”

Dammit, Damian cursed to himself. That was what he

was afraid of. But why the fuck would someone with as
much outlander power as Kell Laughlin kill the statesman’s
family? Surely he had minions to engage in such acts.

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Damian hissed and ordered another drink. “Where can I

find Mr. Kell?” He’d half hoped that the next time he saw the
bastard would be to shove his revolver up the fucker’s nose.

But something wasn’t adding up on this job. Damian

Junter’s life was justice, and he wasn’t about to piss it all
away if Kell wasn’t guilty. It looked like he’d have to confront
him on more friendly terms. Again.

But not too friendly, he mused.
“Lives in the palace, o’ course,” the bartender sneered.

“Right. Get yerself over there quick-like if’n you need to see
him. Mr. Kell’s due out this afternoon.”

“Where’s he going?”
“East.”
Fuck, thought Damian again. He stood up and walked to

the door.

“Careful of the guards,” he heard the bartender yell as

he stepped into the blistering desert heat.

It didn’t take long for Damian to find the palace. It was

the only building in the city, besides the arena, that was well
kept. The Victorian style architecture was typical of the
eastern lands, though generally uncommon in the West.
Embedded with black brick, its triangular arches and
numerous windows reminded Damian of the house he’d
grown up in. The joint wasn’t exactly a palace by literal
definition, but surely it seemed so to outlanders with no
concept of polite society.

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Damian strode confidently to the front door. Before he

could knock, two men covered in steel suits grabbed him
and hauled him inside.

“What’s going on?” he yelled.
“No one enters the palace without Mr. Kell’s invitation.

Who the hell are you?” The guard pushed him face-first
against the wall.

“Name’s Damian. I’m acquainted with Mr. Kell. I’m sure

he won’t mind that I’ve come.” Images of the sexual frenzy at
the arena flashed through Damian’s head. The guard
pressed his face harder, but Damian didn’t fight the
additional abuse. The pain helped calm the erotic images.

The guard answered him by shoving his arm between

Damian’s legs. Damian went down on the ground with a
grunt, holding his balls. The two guards laughed.

At the same time that Damian recovered enough to pull

himself up onto one knee, a door across the large foyer
opened. Kell strode toward the three men with a smile.

“Damian? What a wonderful surprise.” Kell offered

Damian his hand. Damian accepted, and Kell helped him to
his feet. “I see my guards have taken good care of you.”

“Something like that.” Damian pushed Kell’s hand away

and rubbed his cock.

“Don’t mind my boys. They’re just a little nervous. You

know, with a Bringer in town and all.” He winked at Damian.
“Come, join me in my study. I believe we have some matters
to discuss.”

“Yeah.” Damian followed.

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Where the foyer was high-ceilinged and ornately

decorated, the study was low-key. The furniture was all
brushed leather, and rows of bookshelves lined the walls. A
fireplace sat in the corner, lit with a small flame. Despite the
heat outside, Kell’s home gave off a noticeable draft, and the
fire warmed the air to a comfortable level.

Once the door was closed, Damian asked, “Your men

know I’m a Bringer too?”

“No. I’ve informed all my men to be wary. But they don’t

know you are the Bringer.”

Damian sighed in a combination of relief and confusion.
“So, what brings you to Terra Noir, Bringer?” Kell sat on

a high-backed, elaborately adorned chair. Damian looked
around the room and noticed that all the furniture had an
eastern theme. “Or was it just to fuck me?”

Damian stared, jaw agape.
Kell laughed, obviously having gotten the reaction he

intended. “Come, come, now, Bringer, why are you here?”

“To kill you, as a matter of fact.” Now it was Damian’s

turn to surprise Kell. But Damian didn’t get the reaction he’d
expected. Instead, Kell only nodded. As if he already knew.

“We can’t have that.” Kell got up and poured them both

a glass of rylin. “Besides, I’m innocent.”

“You know why I’m here?” Nothing like this had ever

happened to Damian before in all the years he’d been doling
out justice.

“Yes.” Kell sat back down and crossed his legs.

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Damian found his eyes lingering on Kell’s crotch, where

his generous load pushed up from between his legs. Kell
paused. When Damian’s attention shifted back to his face,
Kell continued, “Enjoying the view, Bringer?”

Damian coughed and shifted in his seat. Kell laughed

and continued his explanation. “Statesman Paulin’s wife and
children were murdered. I have been charged. You were sent
to carry out the sentence. Does that about sum it up?”

“Uh, yeah.”
“Well, you’re after the wrong man.”
“Who should I be after?” Damian wasn’t sure he wanted

to know the answer. Or if it even mattered. After all, his
mandate as Bringer only allowed him to kill the man charged
by the aristocracy. Neither his jurisdiction nor his power
extended to the scenario being presented to him.

Kell raise his glass as if in salute. “Statesman Paulin.”

VII

“W

HAT

the fuck are you talking about?”

“Statesman Paulin is responsible for his family’s death.”

Kell’s words were even and measured.

Damian’s were not. Neither was his reaction.

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Damian jumped from the chair and lunged at Kell. He

pushed Kell’s chest with both hands, causing the chair to fall
backward. Kell lay sprawled on the floor. “Fucking outlander.
You can’t accuse an innocent man—a member of the damn
aristocracy—of your crime.” Damian’s voice shook with
anger.

Kell calmly raised himself off the floor and smoothed his

wrinkled clothes. Ignoring Damian’s threatening stance, Kell
turned and walked across the room. He stopped in front of a
wall lined with books. He pulled one of the books from the
shelf and a door opened in the wall.

“Come,” Kell said.
Damian was reluctant but followed.
As they walked down a dark passageway, Damian’s

nerves calmed. This job had rubbed him the wrong way from
the start, and he decided to listen to what Kell had to say. He
wasn’t sure if Kell told the truth, but he sure as hell wasn’t
going to kill an innocent. Even if it was an outlander.

His brow creased. He’d never thought of an outlander as

innocent before. But then again, there was more to Kell than
he’d expected. He licked his lips, remembering. Much more.

The passageway led to a small room, not much bigger

than his rented shithole. It looked like a study, crammed
with a small table, a few chairs, and a couch. Books and
papers were strewn all over the furniture and floor. Kell
picked up a leather-bound book from the table.

“What’s that?” Damian asked.

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“One of my father’s journals.” Kell flipped through the

pages. “He recorded everything in his journals. My family
was once part of the eastern aristocracy. Did you know?”

“No.” Hell, Damian never knew anything about his

targets other than the fact that they were guilty. But this
small piece of information did explain a lot about Kell’s
appearance and obvious power.

“Ten years ago, my father was in line to be named New

Amster Statesman. Back then, Paulin was nothing more
than a scribe’s assistant. My father wanted to use his power
to bring peace to the West through education and
technology. But Paulin and a large contingent of the
aristocracy disagreed. They wanted to keep things as they’d
always been, keep the East pure. They didn’t want their
world contaminated by the West.” Kell paused and threw the
book down. “Paulin used his position to print lies about my
father. Our family was disgraced.”

“What are you talking about?” Damian paced back and

forth, holding his head in his hands. “The West is still wild
because of outlanders. Because of your disdain for the law.”

“That is what the Eastern powers have always wanted

you to believe. When my father challenged that propaganda,
they forced him here. I was seventeen when we came to
Terra Noir.”

“Even if what you say is true, what does that have to do

with Statesman Paulin’s family and you?”

“The statesman’s wife was a Western sympathizer. Her

father had been my father’s ally. When my father died five
years ago, she began helping me. We’ve been trying to build
a resistance to the aristocracy in the eastern lands.”

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Kell paused and placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“Paulin discovered her betrayal. Rather than be disgraced,
he had her killed. Blaming her death on me only sweetened
the deal. He could kill two birds with one stone and have his
justice system do away with the person he viewed as the
heart behind the resistance.”

“But the two kids?”
“My guess is they just got in the way.”
Damian’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t know when

justice had gone from black and white to gray. Was it when
he entered Terra Noir? When he’d sucked Kell’s dick?

Or before?
If Kell was right, his entire career as a Bringer was

called into question. How many other innocents had he
killed at the order of the aristocracy? “Do you have any
proof?” His voice shook, but not with rage. He felt like he was
about to have a nervous breakdown.

“Yes.”
Kell guided Damian to a chair and sat him in front of

what looked like an old scribe’s desk. Kell waved his hand
across the papers and books piled two feet high.

“Read it. All of it.”
Damian looked at the stack of documents, wide-eyed. “It

will take hours.”

Kell nodded. “I’ve got some business to attend to. I’ll

come back in the evening. That should give you enough
time.”

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Kell walked to the door. Before he left, he said, “After

you’re finished, then you can decide if I am innocent or if I
am deserving of your brand of justice.”

The door closed. Damian took the first piece of paper

from the pile and began to read.

OURS

later, Kell returned with a plate of bread, aged

cheese, and a bottle of rylin. He poured Damian a glass.

“Figured you’d need this.”
“Yeah.” Damian gulped it down in one swallow.
“You’ve read it all?”
“Yes.” Damian had spent the day reading Kell’s father’s

journals, old news clippings, secret documents smuggled
from the aristocracy’s private archives, and letters from
Belinda Paulin—the statesman’s wife—to Kell’s father. And
later to Kell.

“So you know the truth.”
“Yes.” Damian laid his head on the table and held up

his glass. “Another shot.”

Kell poured. Damian drank.
“What are you going to do, Bringer?” Kell said when

Damian finally looked at him.

“Not kill you.”
“Good.”
“Disappear.”

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“Disappear?”
“After seeing this, there’s no way I can continue as a

Bringer. I’d never know for sure of the accused’s guilt. I’d
question every job. Hell, the aristocracy will probably order
me killed when they find out I’ve refused to do this job.”

Damian was so upset that his whole body shook.
Kell walked behind the chair and wrapped his hands

around Damian’s neck. After giving him a slight squeeze, he
moved his hands to Damian’s shoulders and massaged.

“Relax,” Kell whispered.
A ripple of white-hot desire flooded every molecule of

Damian’s body. His dick jumped, and his jeans soaked with
juices. Damian slammed his hands against the table,
scattering papers.

“Knowing the truth about the aristocracy’s lies isn’t the

worst part.” Damian’s body convulsed. “It’s this. What the
fuck is this between you and me, Kell?”

Kell bent his head down, his breath hot in Damian’s ear.

“Passion.”

“It’s wrong.” Damian tried to sound absolute, but the

words came out with a quiver.

Once a hulking and powerful Bringer, so sure of himself

and his mission, Damian fell apart. He felt the chair jar to
the side as Kell pushed the legs so that he faced the outlaw.
Kell knelt on his knees, coming eye to eye with Damian.

“It is not wrong. It’s natural. Passion and love do not

bow to the conventions of the East.” He fisted Damian’s hair
and forced his lips to within inches of his own. “Passion

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knows no boundaries. I knew you were here to kill me, and
yet, from the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you.”

Kell’s grip tightened on the strands of black hair, and he

forced their mouths together. Damian didn’t resist. He
couldn’t. He knew that what Kell said was true. He felt it too.
Uncontrollable hunger.

Kell laved his tongue over Damian’s top and bottom lips.

The moist heat nearly sent Damian over the edge. When Kell
finally sank his tongue into Damian’s mouth, Damian was
ready to match each savage thrust with one of his own. Their
mouths smacked against one another ravenously.

This was what Damian needed. To clear his mind of his

life’s betrayal. To sate the craving that threatened to
consume him. So he took control.

VIII

D

AMIAN

rose from the chair and grabbed Kell’s shoulders.

Despite the fact that Kell stood slightly taller than him, he
pushed Kell’s massive body against the wall. In one swift
movement, he ripped Kell’s shirt down the middle, revealing
his tight pecs.

Damian secured Kell’s hands to each side of his body

and tongued his way down Kell’s chest. Kell’s muscles
heaved, and his torso rose to meet the searing fervor of

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Damian’s mouth. Damian stopped at one tight bud, then the
other, biting and licking until Kell growled in pleasure.

Damian worked his way to the man’s washboard abs

and tasted every hard crevice. So close to Kell’s crotch,
Damian could smell the musky aroma of his dick. The scent
ignited a savage hunger in Damian. He remembered what
Kell tasted like, and he wanted—no, he needed—to taste him
again.

Letting go of Kell’s hands, he yanked open Kell’s jeans

with the ferocity of a wild animal ready to devour his prey.
Kell’s shaft leapt from confinement and stood ready to be
eaten. Gripping Kell’s waist, Damian bit the luscious tip.
Kell’s juices spread through Damian’s mouth like sweet
wine.

“You taste so fucking good,” Damian murmured as he

lapped up every bit of the succulent fluid.

Kell opened his mouth as if to respond, but the only

sound Damian heard him make was a sharp hiss as Damian
bit down hard on the crown. Both men shuddered and
groaned. Kell tried to push his hips forward to shove his dick
harder into Damian’s mouth. He needed to fuck, and
Damian’s mouth was big and hot and ready.

But Damian wasn’t ready to give up the control he had

over Kell. Only a few moments ago, his whole life felt like it
was spiraling into oblivion. Now, with Kell’s dick in his
mouth, he felt more power than ever before. With ruthless
force, he slammed Kell’s hips back into the wall.

“Stay,” he ordered. “I tell you when to move, outlander.”

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Even in the short time he had been with Kell, he could

tell that—because the outlaw had led his people for years—
Kell was used to being in control, accustomed to men
following every order he gave without question. But he was
willing to give up power, willing to be dominated by Damian.
And Damian intended to use that power to awaken a greater
yearning in Kell than he’d ever known.

“Yes, sir,” he managed to say before his dick hit the

back of Damian’s throat and all rational thought flew out the
window.

With each pump, Kell’s cock grew harder and fuller. The

veins on his rod popped, and his crown grew red. Damian
relished the sensation not only because he was the cause of
it, but because the same thing was happening to him. Giving
Kell head was making his own dick swell in his jeans and
push painfully against his fly.

“I’m going to come,” Kell wheezed.
“Not yet.” Damian released Kell’s rod. “I want to fuck

you.”

“That’s what I’ve wanted since you walked into my bar.”
Damian took off his jeans, revealing his own swollen

dick.

“Turn around,” he ordered. Kell obeyed.
Kell’s ass was toned and covered in blond hair. Damian

rubbed the sweat from Kell’s cheeks before using his thumbs
to spread them apart. Grasping both sides with splayed
fingers, he massaged Kell’s crack. The man’s enormous
frame vibrated.

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“Do you like that, outlander?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Kell’s voice was thick with arousal.
“Do you want me to thumb-fuck you first?” Damian was

relishing his command over Kell. He was also very quickly
getting used to exactly what he needed to do to make the
man howl. The power, the desire he felt as he grazed his
thumbs over Kell’s puckered hole was stronger than he’d
ever felt with any of the women he’d been with.

“Please.” The word was a breathless plea.
Holding tight to Kell’s butt, Damian dove one thumb

into Kell’s ass. He circled the inside of Kell’s hole, then
shoved the other thumb in. Kell’s hips thrust involuntarily
toward Damian’s hands, causing his thumbs to plunge in all
the way to their base. Kell yelled in pseudo pain. Damian
started to pull his thumps out, afraid that he’d gone too far,
but at the slightest release, Kell reared his hips back again.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop, Bringer.”
Damian didn’t. He twisted and snaked his thumbs

around Kell’s ass until they both groaned, over and over
again.

“Now I’m going to really fuck you.” Damian pulled his

thumbs out, and Kell whimpered at the loss. “Don’t worry,
this will make you feel better.”

With one hand, Damian lifted his dick and placed it at

the entrance to Kell’s tight hole. With the other hand, he
grabbed the base of Kell’s dick.

“I’m new at this, but I think it goes something like this.”

He shoved his shaft hard into Kell’s hole. He didn’t enter Kell

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gently but instead plunged all the way to the hilt in one
quick sweep. Kell yelled with a mixture of pain and pleasure.
At the same time, Damian massaged Kell’s cock from balls to
tip in a similar ruthless tug.

“Oh fuck, yeah. That’s it,” howled Kell. “That’s it.”
Damian continued his onslaught, both men moving in

savage rhythm with one another. Their bodies slapped
together with primal intensity. Damian’s cock swelled and
his head spun just as he spurted hot cream deep into Kell’s
ass. Only seconds later, Kell fountained, spewing his own
sap over the wall.

Fully sated, Damian fell against Kell’s back, the tight

muscles of his chest fitted against Kell’s shoulders. Kell
rested against the wall, his head turned to the side. Both
men breathed heavily.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Damian huffed,

pulling his cock out of Kell’s ass and positioning himself so
that he was leaning against the wall next to Kell.

“No fucking kidding, lover,” Kell responded.
Lover. Damian liked the sound of that word. He’d never

used it with a woman and had never had it used on him. But
it felt right to hear Kell say the word to him.

He turned his head and looked into Kell’s icy blue eyes.

He saw his reflection again, just as he had in the arena. But
this time, the image didn’t make him mad or scared. He liked
what he saw. “Now what?” he asked.

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“

,” said Kell.

The two sat on the floor of the crowded room and

enjoyed the bread, cheese, and rylin. Food didn’t always
keep well in the West, so the bread was hard and the cheese
was close to molding. But given the fact Damian hadn’t
eaten a decent meal in days, both hit the spot. The rylin was
bitter as always, but somehow it tasted better when mixed
with the flavor of Kell still lingering in Damian’s mouth. A
flavor Damian was getting used to.

“Do you really think you need to disappear?” Kell asked.

Damian enjoyed the sound of genuine concern in the
outlander’s voice.

“If I don’t kill you, I’ve no doubt the statesman will have

me charged with treason. The penalty is death. Other
Bringers will come.” He paused and looked intently at the
man sprawled lazily on the floor next to him. “And as I said
before, I don’t plan to kill you.”

“Good,” Kell laughed. “You can stay here, in Terra Noir.

We will fortify the city.”

Damian did not doubt Kell’s vow, despite the lack of

true fortification he’d seen when he’d entered the capital.
But he refused to put anyone else’s life before his own. The
official status of Bringer in him might be dead, but the
beliefs that went along with the life-long role were not. “No. I
will not endanger the lives of innocents. I will not endanger

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your life.” Damian reached over from where he lay and put
his hand over Kell’s.

The two men had met only days ago, but Damian

nevertheless felt protective of the outlander. And it wasn’t
just because they’d had two sexual encounters—the best of
Damian’s existence. Damian was sure the feelings flowed
much deeper.

“Spoken like a true Bringer.” Kell smiled.
“I am no longer a Bringer.” Damian frowned, and his

brow creased. “Now I am an outlaw. An outlander.”

“We are outlanders. If you must go, I will go with you.”

Kell’s voice was sure and resolute.

“Kell, no.” Damian’s protest was stopped by a kiss.

When Kell’s lips met his, it wasn’t like the other times the
two men had kissed. It wasn’t wild and passionate. It was a
soft kiss, full of love.

“I will go. I’ve had to disappear myself once or twice in

the past. You know, to escape justice.” He laughed again.
The deep, throaty sound sent a shiver of pleasure down
Damian’s spine. “I have hideouts in the West. There are
many places for us to stay in the badlands.”

The statement reminded Damian of the picture on the

wall in Kell’s box seat at the arena.

“What about your holdings here?” Damian asked the

question not because he’d completely decided to agree to
Kell’s proposition, but as a way to remind Kell of what he
would leave behind to go on the lam with a criminal.

“I have trusted advisers to manage them in my

absence.”

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“And the resistance?” Just days ago, Damian never

would have imagined himself as anything other than an
easterner. A Bringer. In his whole life, he never would have
thought he’d end up an outlander. But with the knowledge
he held, he knew there was no other option. And the idea of
escaping into the wild with his new lover excited him on a
primal level.

“Why don’t we give it a spark before we leave?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s discuss it later. First, I’m ready for round two.

You?” Kell cupped Damian’s balls and squeezed.

“Fuck yeah,” Damian grunted. Now that he’d had Kell,

he didn’t think he could ever get enough.

With several hours until sunrise, Damian and Kell

stayed on the floor of the secret study and came together,
again and again. Damian had never heard of a man being
able to orgasm several times in one night. Hell, he’d barely
even been able to accomplish the task once before he’d
encountered Kell. But with Kell’s strong fingers wrapped
around his dick, he blew his load three times that night. It
was like he’d been storing the shit up, just waiting for the
right moment to explode.

When the men had finally sated their sexual needs, they

lay tangled together under the warmth of a wool blanket. The
material was coarse and scratched Damian’s skin, but it
trapped in the heat emanating from their bodies. The study
was hidden deep enough within the recesses of the house
that the air had cooled at least twenty degrees below normal
during the night. Considering Terra Noir was in the middle of

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the desert—known for sweltering days and freezing nights—
twenty degrees was significant.

Damian pushed his hard form closer to Kell, relishing

the fire burning between them.

Kell spoke first, and his words left his mouth in a

stream of hot mist. “I think it’s morning,” he said, lying with
his head on Damian’s chest. Kell’s head bobbed up and
down with the quick pants heaving from Damian’s chest.

“Do you have business?” Damian didn’t. Now that he

knew the truth about the aristocracy—and was fucking his
assignment—he was wide open.

“We have business,” Kell corrected as he shifted away.
“What’s the plan?” Maybe the Bringer in him wasn’t

completely dead after all. Whether it was in an official
capacity or not, he still had the power to bring justice to
those who deserved it.

“I have an ally that works at the New Amster Herald. I

propose we send him the documents outlining the
aristocracy’s social betrayal. An exposé by the rag with the
widest circulation in the East will prime the people to rebel.”

“Then what?”
“I will send word to all of the sympathizers to act after

the piece is published. The aristocracy will come crumbling
down.”

“Do you have that much solid support?” Damian had

heard of rebellion sympathizers before he’d left—hell, he’d
considered them outlaws—but the whispers never seemed
more than a slight ripple in a very large pond. Most

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easterners seemed far too complacent in their everyday lives
to care about the injustices facing the West.

“More than you can imagine.” One side of Kell’s mouth

curled up in a half smile that made him look devilish. And
irresistible.

Damian stretched the entire upper half of his body over

the foot of space that separated them. “You’ll discover I have
a very good imagination.”

He wrapped his lips around Kell’s mouth and kissed

him with the same fervor that boiled in his veins. The two
men’s lips slid over one another, smacking with ecstasy. A
small bite of Kell’s upper lip and Damian broke the kiss.

“I’d love to start a revolution,” he breathed into Kell’s

mouth.

“By the time we get done, it will be the greatest

revolution of all time.”

Remaining in his lover’s embrace, Damian lay silent for

several minutes, thinking of everything Kell had said. At that
moment, he realized that he trusted Kell with his life.

“Let’s do it.”

X

K

ELL

and Damian spent the day packaging up the

documents from the study. Kell sent them by rider to the

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East. Paul, one of Kell’s inner circle, was trusted with the
task.

On horseback, the trip took several weeks. Kell sent

Paul alone so as not to compromise the security of Terra Noir
while they awaited word of Paul’s success.

As the days passed, Damian moved from the room at

the bar to the palace. Although he’d expected Kell’s men to
protest, they didn’t. No one said anything about the living
arrangements or about the fact that Damian and Kell had
become inseparable.

It didn’t take long for the outlanders to accept Damian

as one of their own. Damian ate, slept, and breathed the life
of an outlander. It took Damian only a few days to integrate
their customs into his routine. His willingness went far to
earn their trust. But for Damian, his actions were much
more than a gesture of good will. His life as an easterner was
at an end. His life now was that of an outlander.

Unconfined by the social mores of the East, Damian felt

more alive than he had his entire life. Although part of him
still held the shadow of a Bringer, those needs were satisfied
by daily patrols around the badlands surrounding Terra
Noir. More than he’d ever done killing for the aristocracy,
Damian knew he was protecting the innocents who dwelled
within the city’s walls.

The part of Damian that hungered for Kell—a hunger

that grew more each day—was satisfied by nightly fucks by
the light of the desert moon. Far more luxurious than the
shithole or the secret study, Kell’s four-poster, crimson silk-
clothed bed provided the perfect venue to let Damian’s
passions become a reality.

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Their jaunts were accompanied by hours of

conversation. If a woman had ever tried to wrangle Damian
into pillow talk, he would have grabbed his boots and hat
and made a run for it. But with Kell, talking after sex felt
natural. Damian got to know Kell more than he’d ever known
any man. And the same was true for Kell.

Damian’s trust in Kell grew stronger.
As the days passed with no news of Paul’s progress, Kell

began to worry that his rider had been intercepted. If the
documents never made it to his ally at the Herald, his plans
for revolution were destroyed.

Kell and Damian sat hunched by a crackling fire in the

parlor of the palace along with Kell’s closest advisers.

“Someone must go. Find out if Paul has been captured,”

said one.

“If he has, it doesn’t matter. Surely the documents will

have been destroyed,” said another. “Going after Paul would
be a suicide mission.”

As the men squabbled, Damian stood above them and

put his hands up. He knew what had to be done, and his
face burned with resolution. The men fell silent.

“If there is any chance Paul is alive, we must rescue

him,” he said.

“Suicide,” repeated the other.
Damian’s brow creased until his entire face frowned. “If

Paul has been captured, the penalty for his perceived
treason will be death. I should know.” By now, all the

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members of Kell’s inner circle knew Damian had been a
Bringer.

“Damian’s right,” joined in Kell. “I sent Paul to the East.

I will go find him.”

“No, I will go,” said Damian. He appreciated Kell’s show

of authority, but there was no way he’d let his lover ride into
the waiting arms of justice-hungry Bringers—even if there
weren’t already a bounty on Kell’s head for the death of the
statesman’s family. “The East is my home. I will bring Paul
back to his home.”

Kell didn’t argue, and that fact made Damian’s heart

sink. Damned if Damian hadn’t started caring for Kell in the
time they’d spent together. Kell’s quick agreement made
Damian wonder if perhaps, for Kell, it had been something
different. Just a roll in the sack. A good fuck, but nothing
else.

“So be it.” Kell looked over every member of the group

except Damian before quickly walking out the door. Kell’s
refusal to look at Damian cemented in Damian’s mind the
seed of doubt he’d conjured.

Damian cursed himself for believing that Kell would

leave his position—his revolution—for him. A man like Kell
was used to power. Damian had been a fool to think Kell
would hide in the far reaches of the West with him. Kell
might be an outlander, but he was no outlaw. Damian was.

Taking Kell’s actions as confirmation that Kell no longer

saw a future with him, Damian took his rifle and walked out
the door.

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

XI

D

AMIAN

took the same path they’d assumed Paul had taken:

one traveled often between Terra Noir and the East. He was
doing the same work he’d always done as a Bringer, only
now he did it for the other side.

Paul had only been gone several days, and with little

wind blowing over the desert plains during the summer
months, Damian was able to pick up his trail quickly. Paul’s
rider had started on a straight path to the east but soon
veered into the base of the northern mountain range.
Damian found the remnants of several of Paul’s camps. Over
the native lands of the middle prairies, Paul’s tracks were
joined by four more riders.

Damian could tell from the new tracks that the joiners

were from the East, because the prints had been made by
horses with manicured hooves.

“Fuck,” Damian cursed. The suspicions of Kell and the

inner circle were well founded. Paul had been captured.

He knew that his only chance against four Bringers was

to wait until nightfall to attack. He only hoped Paul would
still be alive by then. Damian knew all too well the bloodlust
that coursed through a Bringer’s veins and how it was
heightened just before a kill. With four Bringers, the odds
were stacked against Paul. He’d be damned lucky if the
messenger was still alive.

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As he sat cloaked in the grasses of the prairie, he

realized that his best hope might be retrieving the
documents. And Paul’s body.

He moved as soon as night fell. He approached the camp

cautiously. In the flickering light of the campfire, he made
out the figures of the four Bringers. The dark leather
camouflaged their features in the midnight that surrounded
them. The spurs attached to their boots glinted against the
flames.

It was unusual for Bringers to work together; normally,

justice was doled out on a strictly solo basis. It could only
mean that Statesman Paulin was behind sending them and
that his vendetta against Kell was strong. The statesman had
used his power to subvert the Bringers’ normal custom. But
why send so many to take down one man?

In the corner of the camp, he saw Paul strung up

between two trees. His head hung down to his chest. From
the distance, Damian couldn’t tell if he was still breathing.

The Bringers settled in next to the fire, laughing and

talking. Damian didn’t recognize any of them. Somehow, that
made him feel better about the confrontation.

Four against one were not insurmountable odds.
But it wouldn’t be easy. Like Damian, these Bringers

would be well trained and ruthless when attacked. Damian
didn’t want to kill them, but he knew they wouldn’t feel the
same about him. As the attacker, they would not view him as
an innocent.

With a deep breath, Damian gripped the gun strapped

to his leather belt and walked into the flickering light.

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“Bringers,” he bellowed, “I’ve come for your ward.” He’d

intended to explain who he was, try to reason with them, but
there was no time.

Four heads whipped in his direction.
“What the fuck?” one yelled.
“Weapons ready,” said another.
“Get him!” commanded a third.
“I’ll guard the prisoner,” said the fourth.
Three of the Bringers jumped to their feet and ran

toward Damian, weapons pulled.

Damian had just enough time to shoot one in the foot,

bringing him down in two seconds flat. The leather-clad
goliath lay rolling on the ground, screaming in pain. But that
was the only clear shot Damian got.

The butt of a rifle slammed into his chin. His head

swung violently to the left, and blood splattered across his
face and into the night. Before he could recover, he was hit
first in the gut, then in the middle of his shoulder blades.

“I think it’s Damian Junter,” he heard a voice say.
“The one we came for?” said another.
So they did come for me, Damian thought. He reared up

between the two men and slammed a fist into each of their
faces. The action caused a shooting pain to travel from his
neck to his lower back. Whatever they’d hit him with must
have broken something. He howled.

The men staggered backward a few steps but recovered

quickly.

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“I don’t want to hurt you,” Damian wheezed. These

Bringers had no idea they were working under a system of
lies. In Damian’s mind, that made them innocents. He might
have abandoned his status as a Bringer on the floor of Kell’s
secret room, but he could never abandon the ideals that had
shaped his life.

“But we intend to hurt you,” a deep voice growled.
“Yeah,” chimed another. “No one will care if we fuck him

up.”

“I want a shot at him too,” grunted the man that still lay

immobilized on the ground.

“No,” Damian protested. But it was futile. One Bringer

grabbed his arms, while another pummeled him repeatedly
in the stomach.

Damian coughed and spurted blood. The copper-

flavored liquid filled his mouth, nauseated him. He choked
when it flowed of its own accord back down his throat.

“Innocent,” he heaved, blood spitting down his chin.
“Shut the fuck up, outlaw.” Damian doubled over and

fell to the ground when the voice’s owner kicked him in the
balls.

“String him up with the other one. Then get me some

hot water,” yelled the voice from the ground.

One of the Bringers pulled Damian to his feet, then fell

to the ground with a thud. A gurgle was the only sound he
made. Through blood-soaked eyes, Damian saw a knife
protruding from the Bringer’s back.

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Damian staggered. He would have fallen back down if

two strong arms hadn’t come from behind and steadied him.

“Damian. Can you still fight?” It was Kell.
“Fuck yeah,” Damian whispered, smearing blood from

his lips.

“Jonathan?” a Bringer called toward the man lying with

the knife in his back.

“Jonathan’s dead,” answered Kell. “Turn over Paul and

the documents or you’re next.”

“Looks like we have more company.”
“Orders are to bring them all alive.”
The two voices advanced toward Damian and Kell. Kell

handed Damian a revolver. “It’s them or us,” Kell said.

“No shit.” Damian might not have wanted to kill the

Bringers, but he had no problem defending himself.

Damian fired, and the explosive sound was followed by a

scream and another thump.

“Two down, two to go,” he informed Kell.
“Motherfucker.” The voice was only a few feet away.
“You go take care of the one by Paul. I’ll get this one,”

Damian said to Kell, then directed his attention to the
Bringer that was now standing right in front of him.

Fists flew as the two men exchanged blows. Damian

side kicked his opponent and sent him sprawling across the
ground. The man’s face landed within inches of the campfire.
Damian straddled him and fisted the neckline of his leather

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overcoat. “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. Leave now and
you won’t end up like your friends.”

“Fuck you, outlaw.” The Bringer spat in Damian’s face.

“Kill me. Others will come.”

It was the last thing the Bringer said before Damian

took weeks of frustration out on the fucker’s neck. Damian
looked toward Kell just as he was taking out the last one.

Damian got up and staggered to Kell’s side.
“Why are you here?” The question sounded harsher

than he’d intended. It was partially because his throat hurt
like hell, but partially because he’d convinced himself Kell
didn’t care.

“Thought you might need some backup.” Kell reached

over with both hands and cupped Damian’s face. In the faint
light of the fire, Damian saw in Kell’s eyes that he did care.
Kell rubbed the now-crusted blood from Damian’s face. “I
was right.”

Damian grunted. When Kell didn’t take his hand away

and his thumbs traced a hard line across Damian’s bottom
lip, Damian’s resolve melted. He collapsed into his lover’s
arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He still didn’t know exactly

where he stood with Kell, but just being in his arms was
enough. For now.

They stood squeezing each other with all their strength

until a strangled voice spoke from behind them.

“More. Bringers. Coming.”

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XII

D

AMIAN

and Kell untied Paul and sat him by the fire.

The Bringers had done a good job fucking up Paul’s

face. His eyes were swollen and bloodied, leaving only slits
for him to see through. A deep gash was torn in his cheek,
and blood dripped down his jaw. When he spoke, his words
were slurred due to the cuts in his lips.

The rest of Paul’s body hadn’t fared much better. He

had at least two or three broken ribs and open wounds
running down his sides. Although Damian couldn’t see the
injuries on Paul’s legs, he could see the bloodied
manifestation of them on the outside of his jeans. But none
of the damage was life-threatening. With a few weeks to heal,
Paul would be good as new, as if nothing had happened.

“What did you mean, more Bringers are coming?” Kell

asked.

“After they beat the shit out of me, I acted like I’d passed

out.” Each word Paul said made him wince in pain, but he
kept going. “I heard the bastards talking. There’s a squad of
Bringers already on their way.”

“A squad. Twelve Bringers. Damn,” cursed Kell.
“Did you hear why they’re coming? Who they’re after?”

Damian frowned. Four Bringers together was strange
enough. Any more was a sure sign that the statesman
intended nothing short of war on Kell and his followers.

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War was the only thing powerful enough to bring a

squad together. Squads had been used in the past, during
the colonists’ fight for independence. But that was so long
ago, Damian considered Bringer squads to be almost a
fairytale, a story told to children in order to indoctrinate
them into the requisite pride expected of all eastern citizens.

Paul looked from Damian to Kell. “Both of you. Hell, all

of us. The fuckers intend to obliterate Terra Noir.”

Damian stood, resolved that his best move was to leave

Kell to his world and return to his own. “I’ll continue to the
east. See how many I can take out.” He looked at Kell. “You
and Paul go back to the city. Warn the others and fortify the
place. Be ready for war.”

“Fuck no!” Kell yelled. “There’s no fucking way you’re

leaving my side.” He grabbed Damian’s arm and led him
away from the fire.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The two were far enough

away to be out of Paul’s earshot, but Damian whispered
anyway. He liked being pushed around by Kell when it was
about sex, but not when it involved protecting Terra Noir and
the innocents that lived there.

“You’re not going east.” Kell’s voice was still

commanding but had grown noticeably softer.

“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Your men, your city—they need you, Kell. Hell, the

whole damn resistance needs you.” Damian tried to plaster a
stalwart expression on his face, but it couldn’t withstand the
look in Kell’s eyes. It was a look of passion, desire.

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“And what do you need?” Kell asked, pressing himself

close enough to Damian that Damian could feel Kell’s rock-
hard cock pulsing against his leg.

“Does it matter?” Now Damian’s resolve was completely

obliterated. All he wanted was to grab Kell’s dick and stroke
him mercilessly until Kell spurted.

“Fuck yes, it matters.” Kell’s frustration hissed from his

lips, and he ran his hands through his hair.

The look of passion in Kell’s eyes morphed into

something else. Damian had never seen the feeling in
another’s eyes before, but if he didn’t know better, he
would’ve called it love. At that moment, Damian was certain
he’d misread Kell’s quick acquiescence back at his palace.
Not only did Kell care about Damian, Kell loved Damian.

And damned if Damian hadn’t fallen for the outlander

too.

“But does it really matter?” he asked. “The resistance is

much more important.”

Kell fisted his hand around Damian’s balls and

squeezed. Damian huffed, and a sharp jolt shot up his spine.
His cock jumped in his pants. “This matters.”

Kell let go of Damian’s balls and started to walk back to

the fire. But Damian wasn’t ready for the conversation to be
over. He reached his hand out and grabbed Kell’s shoulder
and stopped him. “You were quick to let me go. To come
here. Hell, you didn’t even say goodbye.”

Kell turned back toward Damian, and something

resembling tears welled at the edges of his eyes. “I’ve lost
everyone I’ve ever loved because of Statesman Paulin. The

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thought that I might lose you too was… well, it was more
than I could fucking bear.”

Damian stared at the outlander as Kell’s body noticeably

shook. Kell continued, “But I knew you had to come. Paul’s
life depended on it.”

By the time Kell finished, his head rested on Damian’s

strong shoulder. Kell heaved a deep breath and relaxed his
whole body into Damian’s sturdy frame. Damian ran his
fingers through Kell’s hair and down his lover’s back. The
gesture was meant to comfort not only Kell, but also himself.

The men held the silent embrace until Paul coughed.
“I hate to break up your, uh, reunion, but we need to

get the hell outta here. Warn the others.” He’d recovered
enough to stand on his own, and he gestured wildly in the
direction of Terra Noir.

Kell lifted his head, and a mask of authority swept his

features. Anyone else in the world, even the men in Kell’s
inner circle, wouldn’t have been able to see through the
mask. But Damian could. Behind it, a spark of passion
danced in his eyes.

“Paul, you will ride back to Terra Noir and warn the

others. Take the documents with you. Fortify the city. Send
our best men on riders to launch a surprise attack against
the Bringers. Once our men take them down, then send
someone else to deliver the documents to my contact at the
Herald.” Kell’s voice was commanding, and it made Damian’s
rod stiffen.

“And you?” Paul asked.

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“The statesman knows of Damian’s betrayal. I would

guess he and I are tied on the top of his hit list. If the
Bringers breach our defenses, Damian and I cannot be there.
It would be too much of a boost in the statesman’s favor if he
captures us both.”

Kell looked back at Damian, where he stood only a few

feet away, clothed in shadows. “Damian and I will go south,
hide out in the badlands until we get word that the Bringers
are down and the documents are delivered. Then, we’ll
return and step up our campaign against the statesman.”

“All right,” Paul agreed.
“You’ve been by my side many years, Paul. I want you in

charge until I return.”

“Fuck yeah.”
“Damian and I will leave now. You rest here until

morning.”

“No fucking way. I’m going back to the city now.”
“Very well,” Kell agreed. “Godspeed.”
“I’ll come find you personally when the Bringers are

defeated.” Paul nodded his head and grabbed one of the
Bringer’s horses. It took him several minutes to climb
successfully onto the beast, no doubt due to his injuries.
Once he was mounted, Damian and Kell watched him ride
off into the night.

Kell grabbed two of the other riders and handed the

strap of leather around one of them to Damian. “We ride,”
Kell commanded.

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Damian didn’t respond. True to his word, Kell was

leaving his world to be with him. Even if it were just
temporary, Kell’s decision to do so nearly brought tears to
Damian’s eyes.

Damian jumped onto the saddle and dug his spurs into

the animal’s sides.

“Let’s go, lover,” Damian finally said.
“To the south,” Kell responded.

XIII

A

S THEY

rode into the night, Damian took pleasure in the

feel of the animal between his legs. The bump and grind of
the horse’s back against his crotch was painfully erogenous.
It made Damian yearn to feel his dick buried in Kell’s ass,
riding him the way he rode the rider.

By the time they reached the borderlands of Death

Valley, Damian was ravenous. In more ways than one. His
hunger for food caused his stomach to clench and groan, the
sound echoing in the quiet desert night.

But his hunger for Kell caused even more discomfort.

They’d ridden for hours without stopping, and his engorged
penis had pushed painfully against the seam of his jeans the
whole way. He’d watched Kell bounce up and down

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rhythmically on his rider and longed to be in the horse’s
position.

Damian needed to eat. He needed to fuck. And he

needed both soon.

“Are we stopping here?” Damian asked when Kell

brought his rider to a slow trot. He reached down and
readjusted his shaft, seeking comfort from the visions of
Kell’s naked ass attacking his mind.

Kell pointed to an outcropping of rock nestled against

the foot of a small hill. “Over there.”

At the base of the formation, Kell worked his way past

strategically placed dwarf trees and sage bushes until he was
able to wrap his arms around one side of a six-foot boulder.

“Help me push this.”
Damian dismounted and shoved his body next to Kell’s.

The heat generated between the two of them caused Damian
to exhale in frustration. It took all his will not to sprawl his
lover across the sand and strip him naked.

Kell smiled and counted, “One, two, three.” With their

combined strength, the boulder slid away from the wall of
the hill and revealed the entrance to a cave.

“What’s this?”
“One of my many hideouts. Come, bring the horses.”

Kell walked with confidence into the cavern. Damian
followed. “Tie the horses up over there and we’ll close the
door.”

Damian took a last glance at the desert landscape. Night

came fast in the badlands, and soon the darkness would

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temporarily obscure their existence. He nevertheless
mentally noted the need to go back out during the day and
hide their tracks to ensure no more Bringers tracked them.
For now at least, they were sheltered.

The cavern was tall enough to allow a full-grown man to

walk upright. The walls were covered with red rock and
glistened with water. It smelled like a combination of mildew
and creosote.

The front cavern was only about ten by ten, just big

enough to secure the riders. The horses busied themselves
drinking the water that dribbled from the walls into a waiting
trough. Kell pulled two bags of grain from the side of his
saddle and fastened them to the horses’ mouths.

“Follow me,” he said, walking deeper into the cave.
The tunnel was long and dark. And tight. Damian could

feel his shoulders brush against the walls with each step he
took. After what seemed like a mile, he saw a light at the
end.

Blackness turned to shadows. Kell’s body, only a few

feet in front of him, became visible. At the end, a radiant
glow filled the air, and Kell turned and smiled.

“Welcome.”
The inner cavern was nearly as immense as Kell’s

palace—except that it was one big room rather than a two
story Victorian mansion. Gas powered lanterns hung from
the walls on long wires, casting a soft illumination over the
inner area and creating shadows along the edges. The scent
of creosote lingered.

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

“Who turned on the lights?” Damian joked, stretching

his arms but not coming close to touching the eight-foot-
high ceiling.

“One of my advisers visited a few days ago to get the

place ready for our arrival.” Kell walked to one wall and
opened a large metal chest. He pulled out a jug of rylin, dried
beef, and an assortment of fruits. “Hungry?”

“Hell, yes.” Damian was hungry for the food and for Kell.
He summoned his willpower once more to allow himself

the chance to eat. He and Kell sat on an ornately decorated
rug in the middle of the cavern, enjoying the food and each
other’s company. A stream trickled into a large cistern at the
far end of the cavern, and the sound soothed Damian’s
mind.

But when the last drop of rylin passed his lips, Damian

could wait no longer to sate his other need.

Throwing his metal cup to the side, Damian fisted the

collar of Kell’s coat and yanked him violently over the three
feet that separated them until Kell’s chest slammed against
his own. Kell wasn’t surprised by the sudden move. Instead,
a fire burned in his eyes that mirrored the passion burning
in Damian’s groin. Damian wrapped his mouth around Kell’s
lips, licking and tasting the rylin that lingered on Kell’s
tongue. The kiss was hard and savage. Hungry.

Their lips entwined in a merciless clash, the two men

also battled for supremacy over who could rip the other’s
clothes off faster. Damian won, but only by seconds. Soon
they lay naked and wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I need to fuck you,” Damian said with a growl.

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

“Do it,” commanded Kell. “Now.”
Damian pushed Kell onto his back and mounted him

the same way he’d mounted his rider. His dick was thick and
hard, and he smoothed the tip teasingly over Kell’s stomach
and groin. Kell’s breath caught in his throat, and the only
sound he could make was a strangled moan. He reached
down and tugged Damian’s dick until Damian made the
same sound.

Kell massaged Damian until pre-cum dripped from his

tip and coated Kell’s abs. “Fuck, Bringer, your juices are like
fire on my skin.”

Even though Damian no longer viewed himself as a

Bringer, he liked the nickname. The sound of the word was
like power pulsing in his veins. He rose up and used his
hands to pin Kell to the ground.

Using both hands to raise Kell’s knees to the sides of his

chest, he positioned the tip of his dick at the entry to Kell’s
hole. “Do you want to feel the burn on the inside,
outlander?”

“Fuck yeah,” Kell heaved.
Damian pushed the crown just past the ridge of Kell’s

puckered hole, then held it there, waiting for the slit to fit his
thick cock. When Kell’s crack clenched tight around his
shaft, Damian knew it was time and thrust his dick deep
inside.

With one hand secured on Kell’s knees, Damian

slammed into him over and over. He used the same pace to
pull Kell’s dick rhythmically with his other hand. From tip to
base, he slid Kell’s shaft though his closed fist.

The Outlaw | Rebecca Leigh

The men huffed as their bodies slapped together with

driving force. The sounds of their groans echoed in the
cavernous lair, drowning out the sounds of the trickling
stream.

When Damian felt his balls tighten, he pounded Kell

harder and faster until he erupted in his lover’s ass. Seconds
later, Kell fountained, cum spurting over both their
stomachs. Damian released Kell’s knees and fell full-force
onto Kell’s body.

Kell wrapped his arms around Damian’s broad

shoulders. “This is the most fun I’ve had in this old hideout.”
He moved Damian’s hair from one side of his face and looked
into Damian’s eyes. “Let’s keep it like this.”

A rush of emotion flooded Damian’s entire body. In the

wake of his recent orgasm, the sensation made him shudder.
In Kell’s eyes, he saw more than his reflection. He saw his
future.

In the wild lands of the West, he and Kell would be

together. The war with the East would happen, no doubt.
The resistance would need their leader. But wars didn’t last
forever.

Love did.

About the Author

EBECCA

EIGH

is a straight-laced attorney by day who gets

lost in her erotic fantasies at night. Those fantasies find their
way into her steamy, erotic romances. Rebecca lives in
paradise with her husband and two beautiful daughters. She
can often be found socializing on Facebook, Twitter, and her
blog.
Visit her web site at http://www.rebeccaleighromance.com
or her blog at http://blog.rebeccaleighromance.com/.

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

4760 Preston Road

Suite 244-149

Frisco, TX 75034

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the

authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Anne Cain annecain.art@gmail.com

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is

illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon

conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No

part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To

request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite

244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America

August 2010

eBook Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-569-2

Document Outline

The Outlaw
About the Author
Copyright

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