Rainhorse the return, p.1
Rainhorse The Return, page 1
part #2 of Rainhorse Series
Rainhorse the Return
Brotherhood Protectors World
Jesse Jacobson
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Also by Jesse Jacobson
Original Brotherhood Protectors Series
About Elle James
Copyright © 2018, Jesse Jacobson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2018 Twisted Page Press, LLC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Brotherhood Protectors
Original Series by Elle James
Brotherhood Protectors Series
Montana SEAL (#1)
Bride Protector SEAL (#2)
Montana D-Force (#3)
Cowboy D-Force (#4)
Montana Ranger (#5)
Montana Dog Soldier (#6)
Montana SEAL Daddy (#7)
Montana Ranger’s Wedding Vow (#8)
Montana SEAL Undercover Daddy (#9)
Cape Cod SEAL Rescue (#10)
Montana SEAL Friendly Fire (#11)
Montana SEAL’s Bride (#12)
Montana Rescue
Hot SEAL, Salty Dog
Chapter 1
Thursday Afternoon: Montana State Prison
Three young, African-American prisoners stood outside the entry to the long corridor leading to the laundry room. The youngest of the three, Jingles, stayed at the entrance as a lookout. Jingles was twenty-six and three years into a fifteen-year stint for rape. He looked out onto the prison yard.
“Any sign of the man?” asked a second prisoner known as ‘Two-bit.’ He was twenty-nine and enormous, over six-feet-seven and three-hundred pounds, and not an ounce of fat on him. Two-bit had served seven years toward a life-without-parole sentence for murdering two police officers with his bare hands. He referred to all prison guards as ‘the man.’
“All clear,” Jingles replied, wide-eyed. This would be the youngster’s first ‘hit,’ and he was not excited about it. He wished he was anywhere else. His lawyers had been trying to introduce new evidence that might earn him an opportunity for a new trial. If they caught him, he’d blow any chance he had. He didn’t want to be there, but no one asked his opinion.
“You know the drill, Jingles,” warned the third man, the alpha of this pack, a man they called ‘Oven,’ because he brought the heat. Oven was in prison for murdering four men. Rumor had it, he’d killed at least that many in prison already. “This is a big son-of-a-bitch, so when I give you the signal, you come running. We may need you. You got your shank?”
Jingles nodded, his eyes widening even further. He’d seen the man on many occasions in the prison yard. Privately, he wondered if the three of them could handle him.
“How about you?” Oven asked Two-Bit.
Two-bit held up a seven-inch piece of shard glass, with a handle fashioned from duct tape.
“All right then, let’s go get this big son-of-a-bitch,” Oven said.
Jingles watched as his two friends slipped down the hallway as quietly as possible. The two men blended into the dark shadows as they reached the doorway to the laundry room.
“Now!” Oven bellowed. It was too dark for Jingles to see what was happening. He leaned forward to listen. A crunching noise and a loud thud resonated, followed by an unholy howl, then a second thud, followed by another cry of pain. There was a final clunk and then... silence. The young lookout nearly lost his water.
Jingles would have run—he wanted to—but realized that if Oven and Two-bit managed to live through this, he’d be a dead man for running away. He bit his lower lip and ambled down the hallway cautiously, holding his shank in front of him. He was breathing heavily, near hyperventilation, and sweating. When he reached the doorway, he noticed his two friends on the floor, writhing in pain.
The dim light in the corridor did not prevent him from realizing just how badly his friends were hurt. They looked as though they’d been hit by a train. He took a quick peek into the laundry room but saw no one.
“Two-bit, Oven, what happened?” he whispered. Neither man answered. Oven’s body went still, probably dead, he thought. Two-bit writhed in agony. Jingles decided to hell with the repercussions—he’d take his chances and run now, but when he turned, he sensed a large presence standing next to him in the dark. He heard a whooshing sound whipping toward his face.
Jingles recoiled at the force of a vicious blow landing flush on his nose. Never in his life had he felt such pain. Blood sprayed from his nostrils as he fell backward and to the ground, landing on his backside with an enormous thud. The blow stunned him, but he was not unconscious. He sat up. For a split second, he considered standing up and swinging back, but the pain seared through his nose and straight to his brain, virtually paralyzing him in agony. He vainly trying to stop the flow of blood gushing from his nostrils, down his neck and onto his chest.
The dark, towering figure loomed over him. Jingles looked up. The figure squatted in front of him. There was no fight in him. He relaxed, choosing to accept his fate.
“Who sent you to kill me?” the deep voice asked.
“I don’t know,” Jingles replied.
“That’s ok. I know who put out the contract.”
“They arranged it through Oven.”
“Which one is Oven?” he asked.
“The dead one,” Jingles answered.
“He is severely... damaged, but he is not dead,” the dark figure said, “but when he wakes up, he may wish for death.”
“What about Two-bit?” Jingles inquired.
“I doubt he ever walks straight again,” the shadow responded, “and it would surprise me if he does not lose at least one testicle.”
“Are you going to kill me, Mister?” Jingles asked.
“Maybe not… if you help me,” he replied.
“You name it—anything.”
“This little incident will cause an investigation,” he noted. “It cannot involve me. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“When the guards find you, I want you to tell them that three men jumped you and gave you this beating. Tell them they jumped you from behind. When they ask you about me, remind them there were three men. Tell them you did not see who did it. Make them believe you. Do you understand?”
Jingles nodded.
“You saw how easily I neutralized you and your friends. If the stench from this mess blows back in my direction, you will pay the price, all three of you. I will not be as gentle next time. Am I clear?”
“You don’t have to worry, Mister, I promise,” Jingles said.
The dark figure stood and stepped back into the shadows.
He disappeared.
Chapter 2
Thursday evening: Ft. Peck Indian Reservation
Lindsay Vanderbilt tossed and turned in her bed. She looked at the LED clock, its bright red numbers cutting through the darkness like a beacon—it was just before midnight. She’d been in bed for two hours and had still not gotten to sleep. The frogs and crickets were singing their evening songs.
Just as she drifted off she heard her bedroom door creaking. She sat up and looked toward the sound.
“Hello?” she called out, groggy and half-asleep.
There was no answer, but the half-moon in the clear night sky bled through her window revealing a silhouetted figure, tall and imposing. The figure was a Native American man. He seemed familiar. Although she could not make out his face, she saw the man’s long, straight hair. He approached her purposefully. Lindsay gasped, pulling the covers up to her neck, using them as a protective shield.
The man sat on the bed. She still could not make his face out, but the light of the moon caught the corneas of his eyes, causing them to glisten. She listened to his breathing, deep and slow. He reached for her and for the first time she noticed his hand, an enormous, shadowy hand. His fingers glided across the blanket over her leg.
Her first instinct was to scream, but she didn’t.
“What do you want?” she asked.
&n
She closed her eyes and sighed. It was nearly inaudible. She felt his fingers pull the blanket away from her body. He touched her breast.
Oh my god, I’m naked, she realized, wondering how her t-shirt and panties disappeared. Those thoughts flittered away as the enormous fingers gently caressed her shoulder, causing her to sigh once again. The shadow's touch stirred sensations in her body. Her fear waned, replaced by longing.
She shifted her legs, feeling the wetness between them. She reached out, touching the large figure on his chest. His skin was hot and his muscles well-defined. She ran her fingers across the length of his arm as he continued to caress her, moving his hand from her shoulders down her arms. His touch caused an aching between her legs. He leaned his body into her and she slid both arms around his neck welcoming the silkiness of his long hair and the firm muscle tone of his shoulders.
He kissed her; his breath was hot and sweet. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to allow his tongue to enter. They locked in a passionate kiss. She pulled her right hand away from his neck and ran her tiny fingers down his chest. His pectorals were rock-hard and scarred. She paused again to run her fingers across the scars as the kiss deepened.
The man placed his huge palm onto her petite hand and guided it, across the rippling muscles of his stomach and lower. She sighed louder when her fingers found their destination and she heard the shadow moan for the first time.
He broke off the kiss and stood, sliding his arms under her legs and back. She could sense his tremendous strength as he lifted her effortlessly. He sat on the edge on the bed with her on his lap, kissing her mouth and neck, his strong hands caressing her back.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replied.
“I’m a virgin,” she added.
“I know.”
“Take me. Take me now.”
“Lindsay.”
“What?”
“Lindsay... wake up.”
“Do what?”
“Lindsay, you’re dreaming,” said Neha Littlebird. “Wake up.”
Lindsay sat up, still half asleep, rubbing her eyes. She could see the beautiful Cheyenne woman standing in the doorway. The hall light behind her illuminated her silhouette. She squinted at the bright light seeping in from the hall.
“Neha? What time is it?” she asked.
“It’s after midnight,” Neha replied. “I couldn’t sleep. I got up to make a cup of chamomile tea. I heard you moaning. Are you all right?”
Lindsay looked down and realized she was not naked. She was wearing a t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms—it was a dream.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she expressed. “I was not sleeping well, either. I think I’ll join you for tea. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Neha smiled, nodded and left.
Lindsay’s entire body was damp with perspiration generated from the heat of the dream. When she pulled away the covers and looked at her pajama bottoms, she saw the telltale evidence of her dream.
She took in a deep breath and exhaled. It was the third time this month she had this dream and now it was intensifying. She pulled fresh underwear and clean pajama bottoms from her drawer and padded to the bathroom to freshen up. When she made her way to the kitchen, the kettle was whistling away.
“Have a seat,” Neha said. “It’s ready.”
“Thank you,” Lindsay answered, watching her pour the tea. Neha was tiny, even smaller than herself. Her silky jet-black hair flowed half-way down her back. She wore a long, sheer nightshirt that clung to her full, shapely breasts. Her smooth, dark legs would have made Halle Berry give a nod and a wink.
She was sweet and smart. She was the perfect match for...
“What were you dreaming about?” Neha asked, sitting a cup filled with tea in front of her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you were moaning when I walked in on you. It sounded as though you dreamed you were having sex, and damn good sex, too.”
Lindsay’s face reddened, “I never remember my dreams,” she lied.
“Pity,” Neha said. “It sounded like one for the ages.”
“Lona didn't come home tonight, I noticed,” Lindsay said, trying to change the subject. Lona was Neha’s seventeen-year-old daughter.
“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you,” Neha replied. “She took off today. She’s visiting my sister in Utah.”
“Really? That was sudden. I spoke to her yesterday, and she said nothing about taking a trip.”
“Yeah, it was a last-minute thing.”
“Oh. So... have you heard from...?”
“I was wondering when you’d ask about him again,” Neha replied. She took a sip of tea. “He called me two days ago.”
Lindsay perked up, “He did? How’s he doing?”
“The same. He said nothing new,” she lied. “It was just chit-chat.”
Lindsay took a sip of tea, pretending the answer satisfied her. She waited another minute, trying to not be obvious.
“So... did he ask about me?” she asked.
“No,” Neha responded, flatly. Another lie. Lindsay sensed it.
Her eyes moisten, “He didn’t ask about me? He didn’t want to know how I was doing—nothing?”
Neha exhaled. “I’m sorry Lindsay. Must we go through this every time? He loves you and always will but he wants you to move on. He's convinced if he allows you to remain in his life, you will obsess with getting him free. It’s not in his nature to allow it.”
Lindsay choked up, fighting off tears yet again, “He’s so full of shit.”
Neha smiled and used her fingertips to brush Lindsay’s hair behind her ear, “He is that, for certain. Lindsay, you're doing great work on the res. The rehabilitation center has already helped hundreds of Cheyenne, Sioux, Lakota and Dakota. We are doing so well, and it’s all because of you.”
Elaine “Vandy” Vanderbilt financed the drug rehabilitation facility now serving the Ft. Peck Reservation, but it was Lindsay who ran it day-to-day and made it a success. It was Lindsay who sought out and acquired the government funding to support the center. Thousands of drug addicts were cut off from their regular drug supply channel after Apollo and Hank Rattling Thunder went to prison. The center provided services to addicts on the res for free and its early success had exceeded her expectations.
“I miss him so much,” Lindsay said.
“I know you do, sweetheart,” Neha said. “I do, too.”
Lindsay sipped her tea again. She sat down the cup, “I was having a... wet dream,” she confessed.
Neha raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my. With... him?”
She shrugged. Her face reddened in embarrassment, “I think so. I never see his face, but it’s him. It must be.”
“Is this the first time you’ve had this dream?”
She shook her head, “No. I've had it many times. The dreams started a few months ago, perhaps once every other month. It's picked up, perhaps twice a week, now. It’s always the same. In the dream I go to bed dressed in my nightclothes. He shows up and kisses me. When he pulls the covers away, I’m naked. He takes my hand and puts it on his...”
“TMI, Lindsay!” Neha interrupted. “I get the picture.”
“I’m so humiliated,” she said.
“You can’t control what you dream,” Neha said. “It’s not your fault.”
“But, it makes me feel dirty, like subconsciously, I must want...”
“Sweetheart, what you are doing here... it’s not healthy,” Neha said.
