’ ‘Friend?’ He nodded again and finally placed his hat back on. He held a cane that gleamed silver in the sunshine let in by the windows in the ...eiling. He looked hard to her but his smile was genuine. She returned it. ‘Rafe MacNeil,’ he said. Her world began to spin. ‘Rafe? Rafe MacNeil? He’s your friend?’ Rafe was a man with a reputation. He’d been an educated southern gentleman who’d left New Orleans after some bad blood. He was a hired gun to be feared, a bounty hunter without equal, never. She wanted me for what I was – and to make me happy, while expecting nothing from me. All she wanted to show me was that she loved me. As I lay thinking about last night, tears of joy ran down my cheeks.I went off to the bathroom for the obvious and to wipe away my tears. When I returned to Sarah’s bed, she was still sleeping, but what a sight. It had been warm during the night and Sarah had shed her bedcovers. She was spread-eagled on the bed, naked. Her small breasts rose and fell as she. In one corner there was a Judas Chair consisting of a narrow vertical cone of highly polished metal over which hung a skeletal seat complete with a restraining harness which could be lowered as required.The third and room was devoid of any instruments, weapons, furniture, or even the ubiquitous whips. On the wall at the end of the corridor was a book-case apparently filled with the literature of torture. Few of the books were in English, but one that the Emir recognised dealt with the tortures. His Mae West needed a great deal of work, but he chimed in nonetheless, ‘and darling, isn’t it the truth.’ Chris threw back his head and laughed, a squealing, high-pitched peal, which earned him a growling, ‘faggot’ from someone in line. Will’s eyes saw red, and he glanced around, glaring. Other than the nails, he would have looked utterly ferocious. ‘Oh don’t you worry, I’ve got my mace,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll protect you from those big, bad breeders.’ Will was still a bit on the paranoid side,.