When Revenge is the Object

What happens when the object is revenge? 

Saxton Rutledge sat in the captain’s quarters of his ship at the table in front of the port window. He had a jug of whiskey on the table in front of him and a glass sitting beside it. The room was illuminated with the light glow of the oil lamp on the table beside the bed. He was staring down at the black and white photograph on the table in front of him. It was faded and rough around the edges. And it was the only thing he had left of his Heather. Today was the tenth anniversary of the death of his wife and unborn child. He lifted his head and poured some whiskey from the jug into the glass in front of him and picked up the cigar from the table and lit it. He took several puffs from it and held it between his two fingers and ran his hand through his hair to brush the strands from his face. He was glad to find that he was still able to consume the two vices he’d had as a human. But now, he only did either on this day. The smoke from the cigar wafted up and around him and he ran his finger over the face in the photograph.  

 And then he put the cigar between his teeth and his hand came down to the scar on his abdomen. The one that had nearly killed him along with his wife and child. He hadn’t been strong enough to defeat the invaders. He’d killed two of the ones responsible for her death, but in the end, he’d fallen under their swords. He’d been found, nearly dead, beside his beloved wife. For weeks after, he’d begged the old man who had found him to kill him. But the old man had refused, only to kill him later, robbing him of his humanity. 

 It had taken many weeks for him to recover physically. Emotionally, however, he doubted that he would ever recover. He’d been twenty-five years old and so full of life and love and… goodness. And it had all been ripped away from him. Leaving him a bitter, hateful shell of the man he’d used to be. Until the only thing that kept him alive was the promise of the next fight. He’d still retained the drive to avenge his wife. But the light she’d brought to his darkness had been extinguished the day she’d died. And to this day, he’d been unable to locate her murderer. The one that had dealt the kill shot. 

 He lifted his head when he heard a pounding on his door. “What?” he growled out and wiped a single tear from his face.  

 On the other side of the door, he heard Cooper, his second, say, “We are about to port, Cap’n.” 

 “Aye, thank ye, Cooper.” He heard Cooper’s feet carry him away and he downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and pulled on his belt with his sword on his hip. And then he slid the single-shot gun into its holster. Finally, he pulled on his coat and buttoned it up, running his fingers through his hair to make himself presentable. He may be a dark and hateful bastard, but he still kept his appearance clean and presentable.  

He hoped that if his wife was watching him, she could forgive his transgressions. He hadn’t kept his vows to her to be faithful only to her for the rest of his life. He’d lost count of the wenches that he’d bedded starting a year after her death. Part of the reason he was docking this evening was to get supplies. The other part was to relieve his needs and drown his sorrow in the body of a willing woman. He exited his quarters to see his crew lined up. He gave them all a nod. “We are not here to pillage. Gather the supplies we need, have fun, and return at first light.” 

“Aye, Cap’n,” they all said with a salute, and they left the ship to do as instructed. Saxton walked down the ramp to the dock and was about to go to the whorehouse when something caused him to stop. He looked to the left and saw a face he had been looking for and dreading to see. His blue eyes turned icy, and his hand landed on the hilt of his pistol. No, he said to himself. That would be too easy. This sonofabitch needs to suffer. He started toward the man, and he must have had a murderous expression on his face because anyone that was in his path gave him fearfully wary looks as they rushed to get out of his way. 

Saxton saw the man stiffen and lift his head. He looked around him and his gaze landed on Saxton coming toward him. The man saw the evil smile spread across Saxton’s and he felt the color drain from his face. He’d heard rumors that the husband of the woman he’d murdered had been looking for him. But he’d chalked them up to rumors. There was no way that he could have survived that gut wound. No way. 

He backed away, never taking his eyes off Saxton. Women screamed and men shoved him away from them with shouted curses in his direction and he stumbled backward as Saxton continued to stalk toward him. The man shoved a smaller man in Saxton’s way and turned to run down the dock. Saxton carefully set the smaller man to the side and ran. A shout could be heard, calling for help further up the dock. “He’s going to kill him! Someone help!” 

Saxton caught the man and yanked him backward so that he fell on his back in the sand by the dock that they had run off of. And as the man crab crawled backward away from Saxton, he was fumbling to pull his gun from its holster. “No. No, you’re dead! You died! How are you here?”  

Saxton’s eyes flashed icy blue in the early evening light and when he smiled, there was a hint of fangs. The man crossed himself several times. “Oh Jesus… Oh Jesus… Oh-” 

Saxton felt memories surfacing, choking him. A lump formed in his throat that he could hardly breathe through. This was the man that had murdered Heather. He’d so easily taken her life. Snuffed out her light. And he was a coward now. This man… took her from Saxton.  

He dropped his sword and gun on the beach beside him. And when the man finally got his gun out of its holster, he took aim as Saxton pounced. The gun went off and Saxton felt a fiery pain in his shoulder, but he grabbed the gun and threw it aside, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he pulled the man to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak but words would not form past the lump in his throat. Tears of rage filled his eyes. When he released the man, he braced himself for a hit, but none came. Instead, the man turned to run again. 

Saxton ran after him and caught him down the beach and tripped him, then rolled him over onto his back to straddle him and as he released ten years of hatred and rage upon the man that took everything from him, he heard shouts running toward them. Blood and tissue began flying until soon he was covered in the gore. 

The shouts got louder and as they neared, he felt arms wrapping around him. And at that moment, the lump that had held his voice back broke free and a pained, wounded sound broke free. He felt himself being pulled away from the broken, bloody man lying dead in the sand. Whispers could be heard around them, but Saxton couldn’t be bothered by them as he shook the arms off of him and wrapped his arms around his body. 

“Cap’n?” Cooper called cautiously. When Saxton turned his murderous gaze to Cooper, the man took a step back. “You… you’ve been shot, Cap’n.” He lowered his eyes to Saxton’s bloody shoulder.  

Saxton lowered his gaze to his shoulder as well and scowled. The burn of the gunshot returned with a rush as he came down from the high. He ran his hand over his mouth as another burn made itself known. And then he turned away from the group of men and women that had gathered. He had to get out of here. When a hand landed on his shoulder, he shook it off with a sharp, "Nay! Do not touch me." And all he wanted to do was take that hand and bring the wrist it was connected to up to his mouth to sink his aching fangs into the tender flesh there and ease the burning in his belly. 

Instead, he stumbled his way back up the beach, leaving the bastard lying dead on the beach where he'd fallen under Saxton's vengeance. He kept his arms wrapped tight around his middle and walked up on the dock and continued his path to his destination before he'd been sidetracked. He had killed every man that had a hand in destroying his life. Including Old Man Red. Red was the only one he hadn't intended to hurt. 

He pushed the door to the cathouse open with his good shoulder. Women gasped and one of them pulled the collar to her dress closed tighter around her throat. A middle-aged woman came down the stairs and paused halfway. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him. Bloody and wrapped in on himself, she clucked her tongue at him. "Saxton Rutledge, what have you gotten yourself into?" 

Blindly, he walked straight to her and wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. His breaths came in harsh, shaky pants as he struggled to compose himself in front of everyone. But a single wail broke free and then another. Vaguely, he could hear her sharp command. "Everyone, get out!"  

The scraping of chairs could be heard. And finally, the doors closed, and he felt her hand press against the back of his head as she whispered softly to him. "Saxton, come with me. You're a mess." She carefully took his wrist, not making any sudden or harsh moves as she slowly unwrapped his arms from around her waist.  

Saxton lifted his head to look down at her and then his gaze went around the empty room. "I am sorry, Kitty. I am sorry." He had been the cause of everyone leaving. He must have frightened everyone. He looked down at himself and his blood-stained clothing. His shoulder burned and his hunger was a living, breathing thing inside of him. And Kitty saw it. She shushed him and took him upstairs and into her room. She only had a few customers that she allowed in her room. And Saxton was the only one she allowed to keep a change of clothing in her wardrobe. 

Kitty was aware of what he was. He had slipped once and showed her his fangs in the throes of his passion one evening. When the initial shock of it passed, her curiosity got to her. She had offered to let him bite her. And when he came to port any time after that, she had made sure that she took care of both of his needs. And right now, he needed her. She opened the door to her room, and he followed behind her and closed the door. "Strip out of those filthy clothes," she ordered as she prepared the bath that she had been drawing for herself.  

Saxton obeyed and dropped his coat to the floor. His gun belt and sword fell next. And then he kicked off his boots and stripped his shirt off. Finally, his pants were lowered and he stood naked, but no longer aroused as he had been just before his eyes had met his wife's murderer. Kitty clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. "My dear pirate. What will I do with you?" Her tone was wistful and sad. She'd known about his wife. He had called her by Heather’s name. Many men had called her another woman's name. But when Saxton did it, it broke her heart because the pain behind it shouldn't be borne by any man. 

Saxton took her outstretched hand and allowed her to lead him to step in the tub and he settled down in it. His eyes were blank as he sat facing the fire. "Was that the last one?" she asked him. When he nodded mutely, she said, "Good. Now you can begin to heal.” She dipped the pitcher into the tub and collected some water and poured it onto his head and ran her fingers through his long hair. She repeated the action until his hair was soaked, and then she lathered soap into her hands and washed the blood and gore out of his hair. 

When his hair was clean, she began washing his face and then his body, until he was clean all over and she made him stand up and she wrapped a drying blanket around him and led him to sit in the dainty chair in front of her vanity. Thank goodness, the chair was sturdier than it looked. Saxton had to be every bit of six feet two inches and two hundred and sixty pounds. He was a big man. And she had to hold back the chuckle at the picture he presented in her chair. She picked up her comb and ran it slowly through his long, dark hair. She looked at him in the mirror as he closed his eyes. She would be willing to bet that only one other person in his whole life had ever seen him this vulnerable.  

She hummed softly as she ran the comb through his hair over and over. And when he nodded, nearly falling out of the chair, she shook him awake and said, “You are too big for me to try to get you in the bed, Saxton. Up with you.” She stood back as he stood up and went to the bed and sat on the edge. “I am sorry, Kitty. I had other intentions for ye tonight, lass.” 

She smiled and waved it off. “I tend to you in whatever capacity you need, my dear.” She urged him to lie back on the bed and climbed over him to lie beside him close to the wall. He demanded that she let him be closer to the door, so that if anyone intruded on them, he could protect her. It was a throwback from the attack he’d survived. She brushed his hair from his face and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to drink before you sleep?” she asked and offered her wrist.  

He carefully took her wrist in his hand and pressed his lips to the pulse there under the tender flesh and he took the nutrition that she offered so generously to him. He gently bit in, and his eyes slid closed as a tear slid down his cheek. He slipped off to a restful sleep in Kitty’s arms. The next evening, as the sun set, he came awake. The crushing weight that had been his constant companion was… Gone. He stood and went to the table by the wardrobe and poured some water in the bowl beside the pitcher and washed his face and ran a cloth over his body.  

When he was cleaned, he reached into the wardrobe and pulled out his clothes and anything of his that he’d left over time. He got dressed and pulled on his gun belt and sword belt and fastened them both and drew on his coat and buttoned it up. And wrapped his belongings up in a cloth, tying it off. Finally, he left a generous amount of money on Kitty’s table. He would always be thankful to her for her generosity over the years.