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A Small Price To Pay	By : cowgirl65 Category: 1 through F > The Big Valley Views: 2767 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own The Big Valley and make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-ch. 1
- 2-ch. 2
- 3-ch. 3
- 4-ch. 4
- 5-ch. 5
- 6-ch. 6
- 7-ch. 7
- 8-ch. 8
- 9-ch. 9
- 10-ch. 10
- 11-ch. 11
- 12-ch. 12
- 13-ch. 13
- 14-ch. 14
- 15-ch. 15
- 16-ch. 16
- 11
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- 13
Jarrod took off the sling to ride to town and his arm ached from holding his horse’s reins, but he wasn’t about to use his uninjured right arm. That he kept close to his revolver just in case some of the railroad’s men were lurking about for revenge. He wasn’t about to have gone through all he had to stop Jordan only to be killed for lack of being careful.
Sure enough, the telegrams he was expecting were waiting at his office. He didn’t really want to leave town before Frank Sample’s funeral, but he knew everyone would understand the need to keep the fight’s momentum going. Jarrod didn’t think his presence was essential, but being in the capitol, especially injured, would put a face on the conflict and he knew by humanizing the farmers it was more likely the vote would go with them and against the governor’s veto.
But he didn’t have to leave immediately. Jarrod decided he needed to spend the evening with his family first and went to send the appropriate telegrams.
His first awareness was of the throbbing in his skull. He tried to move his hand to his head and that pain was replaced by more agony in his arm when it wouldn’t move.
Jarrod opened bleary eyes and blinked at the flickering shadows thrown around the room by a lone lamp. He realized he was naked, trussed spread-eagled and semi-reclined across a bed and the increased pain in his arm was because it was stretched overhead, his hands tied to the iron bedstead.
What the devil happened? He clearly remembered leaving the telegraph office, but after? Jarrod tried to force away the fog in his brain and hazy bits started to come through. A noise in an alley, a blow to the back of his head? He’d heard groaning for help and, fool that he was, went to see if someone needed him. A rumbling noise and swaying, a train? He remembered a sharp pain in his arm, a dizzy, almost euphoric feeling before everything went black again and realized he’d been drugged as well.
Jarrod knew that it was Jordan even before the rail baron walked into the room.
“So you thought you could get away with it?”
Jarrod looked Jordan steadily in the eye despite his fear and didn’t flinch at the malicious glare. “I did get away with it,” he stated bluntly. “You and I both know congress will override the governor’s veto.”
Jarrod’s head snapped back as Jordan backhanded him across the face. He tasted blood, but there was a tang of victory as well. Jordan could rape, maim or kill him, but his valley and family would still be safe. Not that Jarrod wished for any of those things to happen, but he was a realist and from the look in Jordan’s eyes, at least one if not all three of those things were on his captor’s mind.
Jordan grabbed Jarrod’s face tightly in one hand. “You think you’ve won?” he spat and Jarrod felt the saliva hit his cheek. “Will you still think that when your family receives pieces of you? Certain pieces?” He grabbed Jarrod’s balls, twisted them painfully and Jarrod bit back a scream. “Aren’t these considered delicacies at branding time on a ranch? Maybe I should fry them up and serve them to you on a silver spoon.”
That struck a visceral terror through him. The idea of living out the rest of his days as a gelding wasn’t one he was willing to contemplate, even though he hadn’t had sex since he put an end to their deal and didn’t know if he’d ever willingly do so again. But he wouldn’t give Jordan the satisfaction. He’d made a mistake six years ago, not trusting that he and Nick were strong enough to fight Jordan off, and now he had to pay for it like a man.
“Or what about pictures of what you like to do with me?”
That had been thought of already and Jarrod hoped Nick would remember his promise to denounce his older brother if it came to that. So he just fixed Jordan with a steady gaze as he said, “I’m sure that will make everyone see just what a fine, upstanding citizen you are.”
Jordan uttered a wordless sound of rage before pacing to the other side of the room. The adrenaline from his fear cleared Jarrod’s head and he was able to focus better on his surroundings. The windowless room had a floor of packed earth and held only the bed he was tied to, a chest and a wooden chair. Obviously a basement or cellar and Jarrod’s hopes of any sort of rescue fell. No one would be able to hear him below ground and the chances of anyone thinking to look wherever he was would be slim.
He watched Jordan’s hands unclench and then the rail baron pulled something out from behind the chest. The malicious gleam was back in his eyes as he brandished the thin, flexible stick. “But we have time,” he said, advancing towards Jarrod like a jackal stalking its prey. “You are going to suffer and suffer again and I’m going to take my pleasure of you as many times and as many ways as I want.” Even with his resolve not to give in, Jarrod’s mouth dried up in fear. He gritted his teeth, though, and didn’t make a sound when the switch caught him across the stomach.
But his composure didn’t last long. Jordan drew his arm back and lashed out again and again, hitting his injured arm, the tender skin of his inner thighs and Jarrod couldn’t help but scream at the direct hits over and over again to his penis and scrotum. At least it was better than being castrated, although if Jordan kept it up, the damage might have the same result anyway. As it was, he was hoarse and tears were streaming down his face when Jordan finally put the stick away.
“Are you ready to beg me for mercy yet?”
He’d begged Jordan once already and that was one time too many. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could speak even if he wanted to as he looked away.
Jordan gave a cruel little chuckle. “You will, don’t worry.”
Jarrod tried not to, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching as Jordan unzipped his pants and jerked his cock several times to make it harder. As he’d done in the past, Jordan swiped some blood from Jarrod’s body to slick up his cock and soon he was thrusting viscously into Jarrod’s ass. This time Jarrod’s cock didn’t even twitch and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine the valley and family he’d paid so much to protect instead of the pain in his abused body.
Jordan finally finished with a satisfied grunt, stood up and refastened his pants. Then he went back to the chest and pulled out a vial and a syringe. “Just a little poppy. I don’t want you hurting too bad. At least, not yet.”
Jarrod’s pulse sped up. He’d rather have the pain; he’d seen too many comrades suffer from what was now dubbed the ‘soldier’s disease’. And if Jordan’s choice of words signified anything, he was going to inject pure opium rather than the modified version of morphine.
It burned when Jordan shot the drug into his arm, but the pain quickly receded and Jarrod started to feel light-headed.
“If you beg nice and pretty next time, I might give you some more.” Jordan opened the room’s only door, blew out the lamp hanging beside it and the room plunged into darkness as the door shut behind him.
That there wasn’t even a glimmer of light was unsettling, but the dark had never bothered Jarrod. The gnawing torment in his groin was receding from the drug, but the euphoria was harder to keep at bay when he couldn’t see. It also made it impossible to concentrate on how to get out of there alive and whole, assuming it could even be done. He hoped he’d be able to take an opportunity if it came, but as the opium took hold, it wasn’t hard to lose himself in a fantasy of riding the wide open range beside his brothers.
Jarrod woke and he felt like he was floating in the darkness. The pain from his injuries was still there, but it felt like it belonged to someone else and Jarrod wondered if Jordan had given him at another injection, if not more. Even when he tested the rope tying his hands, the ache in his arm from the gunshot wound seemed far away. But he still had enough presence of mind to take advantage of his euphoric state and he twisted and pulled, trying to loosen his bonds. Luck was with him; the rope Jordan had used wasn’t very solid and the opium allowed Jarrod to ignore the pain as he stretched it enough to slip his hands free.
His head spun when he pushed himself up to untie his legs with fumbling fingers and when he was free, Jarrod hung his head between his bent knees to catch his breath. He was grateful for the darkness; even with the pain relief from the drugs and without being able to see, he knew from the swelling between his legs that his genitals were badly injured. He only hoped it wasn’t permanent.
Jarrod sat there for a few more minutes before he tried to stand. Everything started spinning and he was lucky to catch himself when he collapsed so he only fell to his knees. Pulling himself along, he crawled in the direction he hoped led to the door and cried in relief when his fingers found a hinge. But the tears turned to ones of despair when he tried the knob and found it locked.
His mind cleared eventually as he remembered the chest. If he wasn’t able to escape, hopefully Jordan had something tucked in there that he could at least use to end his life. Assuming it wasn’t locked as well, but Jarrod couldn’t allow himself to dwell on that.
The chest was to the right of the door and Jarrod crawled along the wall until he ran into the wooden box. Pulling himself up again, he tried the lid and collapsed in relief when it opened easily. He reached in and groped through the chest’s contents, only stopping when something sharp sliced into his palm, and he managed to wrap his fingers around the handle of the knife.
Sitting back on his haunches, Jarrod contemplated what he was about to do. He’d promised Nick he wouldn’t try to kill himself again, but these were completely different circumstances and surely his brother would understand, assuming anyone even found out about his demise.
A click echoed in the darkness and Jarrod froze. It sounded like a key in a lock and Jarrod quickly changed his plan. Knife gripped tightly, Jarrod made his way closer to the door. Maybe, just maybe he’d have a chance at his tormentor instead. A sliver of light entered the room and Jarrod didn’t wait to confirm the shadowed figure’s identity before he pounced. He tackled the other man, briefly registering that it was indeed Hannibal Jordan before he brought the knife down.
But Jordan managed to grab him at the last moment and knock the knife out of Jarrod’s hand. Jarrod had a brief moment of panic that his attack had been in vain, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. He‘d landed on top of his assaulter and began pummelling Jordan’s face with all of his strength. Jordan fought back, but Jarrod had the satisfaction of feeling bone crunch beneath his fist. Soon the man’s struggles ceased, but Jarrod didn’t stop. He continued to hit until the pain in his hand wouldn’t let him and he finally collapsed across the still body beneath him.
Jarrod expected some sort of retaliation, but eventually realized Jordan wasn’t moving. Pushing himself up, he looked down and shuddered. It wasn’t even a face anymore, only a bloody pulp, and it was obvious the man was dead. Jarrod knew he should be feeling remorse, revulsion and guilt for what he’d done, but he couldn’t. All he felt was relief that Jordan was dead and couldn’t hurt him or anyone else ever again.
Catching his breath, Jarrod swallowed his disgust and stripped the dead man of his clothes. He tried not to look; as with most men when they died, Jordan had voided his bowels and his bladder, but he knew he was none too clean himself. Then he did glance down when he started to pull on the pants and that sight did make him drop to his hands and knees and retch. He’d castrated enough calves and gelded enough horses in his years on the ranch to know a bare testicle when he saw one and to see the gash in his own scrotum and one ball almost popping out was not a sight he’d wish on any man. Shakily, Jarrod got himself under control and found what he hoped was a clean handkerchief in one of Jordan’s pockets. He tucked it firmly between his legs before pulling up the soiled pants. He knew his hand was badly injured from the repeated impacts with Jordan’s face as he struggled to fasten them and gritted his teeth when he buttoned up the shirt as well.
Then he struggled to his feet and, leaning heavily on the wall, made his way up the wooden stairs and out of the cellar. He came up into shadows, a long abandoned house by the look of it. Pulling back the ragged curtain that served as a door, Jarrod peered carefully outside and wasn’t surprised to see a narrow street lined with ramshackle buildings. It made sense that Jordan would imprison him in a slum; it was the last place anyone would look and, glancing down, he realized the man’s clothes were shabby enough to blend in.
Wondering if he had the capability to make it somewhere he could get help, Jarrod gritted his teeth and stumbled out into the street. It was deserted; he figured it was midmorning and most of the area’s inhabitants were at whatever jobs they could find. Eventually, he made his way to a busier street and ignored the stares as he found what he was looking for.
Jarrod stumbled through the door of the doctor’s office. The last thing he saw a man in a white apron come out of a door in the back before his world went black.
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A Small Price To Pay