Free The Devil of Whiskey Row by Renee Rose Page B

bunkhouse, she reached above the doorframe, finding he kept his key there too. Clearly Diggory trusted his staff. It seemed the security was just to keep out thieving customers.
    She paced the room, stopping to look out the window at the darkened road below. She could hear the snort of horses hitched below and the din of loud, drunken voices carried up from the saloon.
    She sucked in her breath when she heard the door open behind her, but she didn't turn until Diggory's curt voice summoned her. “Come here, Cora.”
    She walked slowly to him. He'd opened his trunk and had pulled out thin rope, curled in a loop with the ends tied together to make a handle. She'd never seen such an implement, but the sight of it turned her fingers to ice.
    “My girls don't steal, Cora,” Diggory said heavily. He looked truly displeased.
    “But he was cheating! Let's talk to Magdalena—he moved his chips! I was only taking what he stole from you. I was going to hand it over to you, I swear.”
    “I don't care. You let me deal with the cheaters. You don't steal. I'll not have it known that any customer was robbed at Daddy Diggs’. Do you understand me?”
    She jutted her chin forward, but after a moment, she muttered, “Yes, sir.”
    “I'm going to punish you with the loop, but I want you to know something, Cora.”
    She lifted her eyes, but could not bring herself to ask him what.
    “If you had thieved from me or anyone else who lives here, you'd be out on your ear. Period. I won't tolerate someone I can't trust. Is that perfectly clear?”
    She made herself nod. Shame enveloped her, tears already smarting her eyes. At the sight of them, Diggory's shoulders slumped, but he kept the same determined set of his mouth.
    “Take off your clothes.”
    She swallowed. When he'd spanked her before, he had removed her clothing. To undress herself under his stern gaze daunted her. She kicked off her boots, and then plucked at the laces of her bodice with trembling fingers, pulling the dress awkwardly over her head. The girls didn't wear a chemise while working, but the cut-out petticoats followed, then the corset. She shivered in the cool evening air, pulling at the string to her drawers and feeling utterly ashamed as they fell to her ankles.
    “Stockings, too?” she asked, barely keeping a waver out of her voice.
    He nodded. “Everything.”
    Was he planning on whipping her everywhere? Her belly flipped at the thought. She took off her garter belt and stockings and stood before him, shoulders hunched and knees pressed together as if that might somehow shield her nudity.
    “Bend over the bed,” he ordered.
    She did as he bid, grateful for the opportunity to hide her face. She leaned on her elbows and waited. Her momentary relief disappeared with the first bite of the loop. She screamed. It was a cruel instrument that lashed her flesh much like a switch. With the second stroke she involuntarily began to scramble up on the bed to escape him. A large hand at her calf caught her and dragged her back down.
    “Stay in position, Cora,” he said evenly. “I know it hurts.”
    Of course he knew it hurt, yet for some reason that acknowledgment helped, as if his understanding of the intensity of the pain made it more bearable. But after the fourth stroke she was sobbing and was crawling out of her skin to avoid further punishment. In desperation, she reached her hand back to cover her bottom, spreading her fingers wide to protect it.
    “Sit up and look at me, Cora.” When she didn't move, he tapped the loop across her open palm. “Now.”
    Reluctantly, she rolled over and sat up, but could not bring herself to look at him. Instead, she sat sobbing, her chin tucked to her chest.
    He cupped her chin and lifted it, but she kept her eyes resolutely lowered. He held her that way a long time, perhaps imagining she might eventually look at him, but she simply could not. She was lost in her sobs, in her embarrassment and remorse.
    He sighed and released