The Red Ripper Read Online Free

Wallace. I am no one you know,” William said, guardedly watching the smaller man. “Why save my life?”
    Mad Jack shrugged, then quietly laughed as if amused by a private joke known to only himself. Suddenly he brought his fingers to his lips, grew quiet, and listened. William strained to hear. His head throbbed; he felt nauseous. Voices drifted on the breeze. Someone was looking for the soldiers who had failed to return.
    A red wasp, wings droning with a faint burr, flirted with the cave’s concealed entrance before gliding off to inspect a wild bouquet of jasmine. William saw Mad Jack drop his hands to his knife hilts. Then silence followed. Wallace could hear his own heart hammering. Each beat was a deafening thud inside his skull.
    The mare shook her head and began to stir. Wallace caught the bridle and stroked her velvet pink nose, calming the animal. He lost count of the sluggish minutes.
    My brother is dead. And I have fallen among thieves, murderers, and black’ards. What next?
    Capt. Mad Jack Flambeau, tense as a cornered pit viper and just as dangerous, glanced in William’s direction and winked. What next indeed. Fate and this wiry little killer held the answer.
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    Down by the water’s edge, medallions of pale sunlight glimmered on the gray surface of the sea like dead men’s eyes peering from the briny depths. The plunderers had finished their grisly business and moved on, leaving an empty beach crisscrossed with tracks. William could only surmise the dragoons had dragged the bodies of their victims back into the bay, leaving behind nothing
of value and no one to link Guadiz to the crime, except Wallace.
    â€œMy God. I talked him into this. It’s my fault,” Wallace said aloud, in a voice thick with self-recrimination. His dream of Texas land grants, of empires and high adventure, had become a nightmare. The big man closed his eyes as the horizon reeled. His legs started to buckle. Mad Jack stepped forward to steady him.
    â€œI don’t understand. We weren’t looking for trouble,” William told him.
    â€œLife is trouble. Only death is not,” Flambeau replied.
    â€œWho is this Juan Diego Guadiz?” William clutched the pirate by his ruffled black shirt. “Where does he live? No matter how long it takes, I’ll find him.”
    â€œJuan Diego is the nephew of the governor, Domingo Guadiz. Cool your vengeance, my young friend. The man is beyond your reach.” Mad Jack pried loose of William’s grasp. “Even if you were to somehow get past his dragoons and lancers, Guadiz himself would slice you to ribbons. He is a celebrated swordsman, a marksman without peer, and has personally claimed the lives of seven men on the field of honor.”
    â€œYou could help me kill the bastard,” William told the pirate. “I have never seen such skill.”
    Mad Jack’s expression changed. “Me?” He shook his head no. “I have sanctuary here by the grace of the governor’s favor. His friendship runs as deep as my purse. Killing his nephew would undoubtedly wear out my welcome.” Flambeau sighed. “I am too old to put to sea again. Nor do I long for the roll of a deck beneath my feet and the skull and bones fluttering overhead. Besides,” —the buccaneer lowered his voice, his gaze narrowed—“Diego killed your brother, not mine.”
    â€œIndeed he did,” William growled.
    â€œVengeance is like a wine—it’s better sipped slow and savored,” Mad Jack observed. “Wait then. Bide your
time. And if you must strike, choose the moment carefully when it will not result in your capture and execution.”
    The old brigand spoke the truth. Wallace realized he was in no shape to search out Juan Diego Guadiz and avenge his brother’s death. Not yet. But one day. Everything had changed with Samuel’s death. William’s future was a slate wiped clean and marked with