Prologue
The Hen House
New York, September 1862
The blue room had a canopy bed large enough for five people. There were pillows everywhere, and the satin sheets were a powder blue. Anthony had two drinks in his ass, enough to dull the pain, but not enough to put his dick to sleep. He was seated in a blue, velvet-upholstered chair that put him in the mind of a throne. Standing before him was a brown-skinned, curvy woman, he figured to be about twenty summers. He had been to Miss Cherry’s House of Comfort once or twice. The woman before him was fresh, not hard in appearance like the women who worked the pussy parlor back home.
Anthony didn’t want to talk; he wanted to ease into her body and feel something other than pain. He didn’t even want to know her name, but he would keep her all night. She stood about five-feet, six-inches. Her hair was braided in one thick French braid with a blue ribbon at the end. She had dark eyes that seemed void of emotion, a small nose and big juicy lips. She lingered by the door and he liked the illusion of her innocence. She wore a black, gauzy gown that clung to her beautiful body. Her nipples were visible, and he thought her striking.
“You gonna help me undress?”
“Yes,” she responded, her voice throaty, but hesitant.
He watched the sway of her hips as she moved toward him. When she was close enough, he reached out for her. She accepted his hand, and he pulled her onto his lap. The woman smelled of roses, but it wasn’t overpowering. He kissed her, and she accepted his tongue. When she whimpered, he pulled back and gazed at her. He touched her lips with the pad of his thumb, and she smiled nervously. He leaned in, kissing her again, and she was even more receptive. He groaned.
Anthony stood to his full height of six feet and allowed her to slide down his body. He removed his guns and placed them on a small table next to the chair. She reached up and unbuttoned his white shirt. When it fell to the floor, he removed his own trousers and boots. He was already hard, but he would pace himself. She was his for the night.
His manhood jutted out between them, and he took her by the hand and showed her how he wanted to be touched. The action caused him to close his eyes and revel in the feel of her fingers wrapped about him. It had been a while since he had been with a woman, for he had been immersed in grief. He was in danger of spilling his seed where they stood. Backing away, he lifted her night dress over her head and carried her naked body to the bed. He climbed right between her legs and kissed her deeply.
Leaning down, he allowed his tongue to play with a brown nipple. She cried out, and Anthony found that while he did not want to know her name, he wanted her to know his.
“My name is Anthony,” he said against her ear.
When he took her other nipple into his mouth, she panted, “Anthony–Anthony.”
Hearing her chant his name almost brought him to conclusion, but he had a plan. He would sink deep within her, take the edge off and then enjoy the rest of the night. Placing himself at her core, he could feel the promise of her heat, and he pressed forward. Taking her mouth in a stormy kiss, he plunged deep within her sweetness, until he was buried to the hilt.
“Shit,” he hissed as she pushed at his chest trying to dislodge him.
“Ohhh,” she cried out. “Anthony, ya hurt me.”
Backing out of her tightness caused him to ache. He had not expected to find a virgin at a damn whorehouse. Dazed, he rolled off her and tried to collect himself.
“What’s yo’ name?”
He lay facing her as she looked up at the ceiling. “Emma,” she answered.
Anthony allowed her to pull the covers over her, but not before he saw the blood on her thighs. She cried softly as they lay in silence. He started to rise from the bed not feeling good about the situation.
“Please give me another chance,” she whispered, “I’ll do betta.”
He sighed. “How you come to be here?”
Emma looked afraid, but she did not answer. He stood and walked over to the window, naked. Looking down onto the dark street, he knew he needed to leave this place. He also knew he couldn’t leave the girl. His mind was going through the floor plan of the gentleman’s club on the first floor. Turning away from the window, he grabbed his clothes from the floor and began dressing. Emma sat up in bed wrapped in a sheet, watching him.
“Please,” she said. “Are you gonna complain?”
His eyes narrowed. “How old is you?”
“Twenty summers.”
He was relieved. “Get dressed.”
She went to reach for the night gown, and he asked, “Do you has anything else to wear?”
“No.” He stopped moving and glared at her. She looked away.
“You will leave here wit’ me. This ain’t no place for you.”
“I cain’t leave. They owns me,” she answered anxiously.
“Who is ‘they’?” She didn’t answer, but he wouldn’t leave her. He went back to dressing himself and when his guns were in place, he moved to the bed and yanked the sheet from the mattress.
“Cover yoself,” he ordered. Emma did as he asked, and he took her by the hand, leading her to the door. She pulled away from him.
“I cain’t leave here; they will kill you.”
Even if she wanted to stay, he wasn’t going to allow it, but he asked anyway, “Ya wanna stay here?”
“No.”
Anthony nodded, and then backed away from all emotion. Taking her by the hand once more, he pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. An oil lamp sat on a table to the left of the door and just beyond the light, he could hear the moans of a satisfied customer. On the opposite end of the hall, he heard giggling. He moved toward the stairs with Emma in tow. The combination of piano playing, and plush carpet helped drown out the frenzy of his footfalls.
At the top of the landing, he looked about. The steps curved to the right at the bottom, giving way to a well-lit parlor. The Hen House was an upscale brothel, and colored women were the main attraction. His back was to the wall as he dragged Emma along in his wake. Her steps faltered twice, and he had to stand her back on her feet. Holding her with his left hand kept his right hand free for business. He moved into the curve of the staircase, and out in front of him was the saloon. A few tables dotted the area. Beyond the tables, male patrons sat on overstuffed couches while scantily clad women vied for their coin.
Left of the bar, an older colored fellow played the piano accompanied by a young, dark-skinned woman who sang. She was dressed in nothing but yellow feathers. If the situation had been less stressful, Anthony would have appreciated the scene before him. His eyes fell to Jeremiah, who stood with his back to the bar. E.J. sat at a table a few feet away speaking with a white man in a dark suit. When Jeremiah spied him on the stairs, he moved, ever so slightly, away from the bar.
Anthony stepped down into the saloon and moved toward the entrance. He could see Frank posted up at the door, but not Lou. Still, Anthony knew Lou wasn’t far. A white man wearing a brown suit stood and stepped forward. He had blond hair, small eyes and lips that were proportionate to the rest of his face. The man looked to be about forty summers, and his speech was educated.
“Boy, where is it you think you’re going with Moonbeam?”
Anthony did not answer the question, countering with his own question. “How much for the girl?”
“You can’t afford her,” the man replied. “You aren’t the first patron who has fancied himself in love with one of our girls.”
E.J. walked over. “I will pay for the girl. What is the price?”
The man in the brown suit never took his eyes from Anthony. “Moonbeam isn’t for sale, gentlemen. Let’s stop here and go back to having a good evening.”
Anthony glanced at Jeremiah who had turned his back toward his brother. The black cracker spoke calmly to the bartender. “Get yo’ damn hands on the bar.”
The man in the brown suit looked at Emma. “Moonbeam, honey,” he said in a patronizing tone, “look at the trouble you’re causing. Get back upstairs until I come for you.”
Anthony’s grip tightened on her wrist as he made for the front door. The music and singing stopped. The woman dressed in the yellow feathers disappeared through a door behind the piano.
When the man in the brown suit reached for his gun, Anthony drew his weapon and shot the older fellow twice in the chest. Emma screamed and began hopping up and down. Anthony stepped to his victim and shot him once more, making certain the job was done.
He dragged Emma toward the door as Jeremiah brought the bartender down with one shot between the eyes. E.J., in the meantime, shot a man seated on the couch with two women. Jeremiah went over to E.J.’s companion still seated at the table and knocked him unconscious.
“This way!” Frank called out. They all made for the door, and Lou was out front with a carriage he had stolen. Frank drove, and Lou covered him. Anthony, Jeremiah and E.J. climbed into the carriage after tossing a shrieking Emma inside. The darkness engulfed them, still men pursued them on horseback. Stray bullets rang out, but Frank kept the carriage moving. They broke away, headed for upper New York, with the men inside the carriage taking turns shooting into the darkness from the windows.
The carriage continued at a breakneck speed. When they thought they were in the clear, one of the horses collapsed from a gunshot. Frank yelled, “Oooh shit!”
The other horses stumbled over the fallen animal, causing the carriage to shift violently to the left. Suddenly the cab itself began rolling, and Black’s first rule popped into Anthony’s head. Business and ass don’t go together.
The carriage came to an abrupt and brutal stop against a tree. Anthony heard the girl moan as he lay in the blackness of the cab taking inventory of his own person. When he found he wasn’t injured, he asked, “Emma, ya alright?”
“I think so,” she whispered.
“Jeremiah–E.J.!” Anthony called out.
“I’m good,” Jeremiah answered.
“Yeah,” E.J. said.
Jeremiah climbed out of the carriage; Anthony followed and called out for Frank and Lou.
Both brothers answered to his relief. They needed to keep moving. Frank put two of the horses down. The other two animals were cut loose and taken along. They headed on foot to the nearest farm where an old white man sold E.J. a rickety carriage and two older horses. The price he paid was robbery, but he couldn’t haggle. The old man’s wife took mercy on Emma, giving her a dress and boots that were too tight.
Lou took over driving the new carriage, and Frank covered him. The small posse headed for Canada. They had been traveling for about thirty minutes, when E.J. asked the question everyone was thinking.
“Which one of us is going to explain this shit to Black?”
( Continued... )
© 2020 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Joan Vassar. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author's written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.
