Hawk Eye's Revenge
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 8
Western Sex Story: Chapter 8 - Jimmy, q boy tries to find his mother who has been missing for months in Redemption Creaks town, and he finds her trapped in a brothel. How does he find a way out to free his mother?
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Slavery Fiction Crime Tear Jerker Western Orgy Interracial Black Male White Female Anal Sex Cat-Fighting Violence
As the sun began to rise, they saw the outline of the fort in the distance. The walls of Grimestream Fort stood tall and imposing, a bastion of civilization in a land marred by chaos. The drawbridge was down, allowing for a steady flow of traders and travelers to pass through. They approached the gates, their hearts pounding in their chests. The guards eyed them suspiciously, but White Hawk flashed a charming smile.
“We bring urgent news for Grand Duke Renard,” Mrs. Blankenship announced to the guards at the gate, her voice firm and unwavering. “We must speak with him immediately.”
The guards exchanged a skeptical look but the mention of the Grand Duke’s name was enough to get them to open the gates. Inside the fort, the bustle of early morning activity greeted them. The sound of horses’ hooves and the clank of armor filled the air as soldiers began their day. They made their way through the cobblestone streets, the grandeur of the fort’s architecture a stark contrast to the dilapidated town they had just left behind.
They arrived at the Duke’s quarters and were met by a stern-faced steward. Mrs. Blankenship produced the necklace, holding it out for the steward to examine. His eyes widened in recognition, and he ushered them in without a word. The room was large and opulent, with a giant fireplace crackling at one end, casting flickering shadows on the tapestries that adorned the walls. The Grand Duke sat at a large mahogany desk, his face lined with worry and exhaustion.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Blankenship began, her voice shaking with urgency, “We’ve come with news of your daughter.” She placed the necklace before him. The Duke’s hand shot out, snatching it up as if it was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. His eyes searched the jewels, and when he found the tiny inscription, ‘For Athelesia, with love’, his hand trembled.
The Grand Duke Renard looked up, hope and fear mingling in his gaze. “Where is she? What have they done to her?” His voice was a thunderclap in the quiet room, echoing off the high ceilings.
Christelle took a deep breath, steeling herself for the tale she was about to recount. “We found your daughter in Mrs. Galloway’s mansion house in the town of Dusty Flats. She’s being held with other noblewomen, forced into slavery and degradation,” she said, her voice steady despite the horror of the words she spoke. She recounted the Viscountess’s story, detailing the kidnapping, the auction, and the inhuman treatment the women had suffered. She described the town’s complicity, the corruption that had allowed such a heinous practice to flourish.
The Grand Duke’s face grew darker with every word, his knuckles whitening around the necklace. “Mrs. Galloway,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “She will pay for this.”
Mrs. Blankenship nodded gravely. “Yes, Your Grace. But we must act swiftly. Mrs. Galloway will likely seek protection from Sheriff Cutter. She has his ear, and he turns a blind eye to her crimes,” she said, her voice filled with anger and resolve. “We need to convince him to stand down or risk his posse interfering with our rescue attempt.”
The Grand Duke’s eyes narrowed, and he stood up, the necklace still clutched in his hand. “You speak the truth. The power of the law is in my favor, but the law in this region is as corrupt as the sands are vast. I will send word to my father-in-law, General Benjamin, the fort commander,” he said, his tone commanding. “We will march on Dusty Flats with the full might of the fort behind us. If Sheriff Cutter chooses to stand with Mrs. Galloway, he will face not just the law, but an entire garrison. You all theree just stay behind us,”
Mrs. Blankenship’s jaw tightened. “With respect, Your Grace, I’ve faced Sheriff Cutter before,” she said, her eyes reflecting the fire of her conviction. “He’s a crafty man, and he won’t be easily swayed. He shot to the death my own beloved son. We need to be prepared for a fight.”
The Grand Duke paused, considering her words. He knew the sheriff’s reputation. “You’re right,” he said finally, his voice heavy. “We must prepare for every eventuality.” He turned to his steward. “Summon General Benjamin immediately. We leave for Dusty Flats as soon as the men are ready.”
White Hawk, Christelle, and Oscar watched as the Duke marched out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the grand hallway. They remained in the chamber, the gravity of the situation settling upon them like a thick dust storm. The walls, once filled with the warm whispers of comfort and peace, now held the promise of war and vengeance.
“What do we do now?” Oscar asked, his voice low and tight.
Mrs. Blankenship turned to them, her eyes gleaming with determination. “Now, we wait for General Benjamin. And we prepare ourselves for the battle ahead.”
The seconds ticked by as they waited, the tension in the room palpable. The Grand Duke’s steward brought them food and water, but none of them had much of an appetite. Their minds were too preoccupied with the fate of Duchess Athelesia and the other captive women.
Finally, the door to the commandant’s office swung open with a heavy creak. General Benjamin emerged, his expression grim. The lines on his face spoke of years of service and the weight of his newfound burden. The three stood as the General approached them, his eyes scanning them with a mix of curiosity and respect.
“You are the ones who have brought this grave news,” he said, his voice carrying the authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed without question.
They nodded in unison, the gravity of their mission etched in their faces.
The General’s gaze was piercing as he addressed the three of them. “You’ve come a long way with a heavy burden. I can see the fire in your eyes, the same fire that burns within me to protect the innocent and bring the guilty to justice. You’ve earned my trust, and I will not let your efforts go in vain,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his promise.
White Hawk felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. She knew the General was a man of honor and that his involvement would be the key to ending Mrs. Galloway’s tyranny. They followed him outside to the fort’s training grounds, where soldiers were already lining up, their faces a mix of curiosity and anticipation. The sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow over the gathered men.
General Benjamin’s voice boomed out over the courtyard as he addressed his troops. “Men of Grimestream! We ride today not just to uphold the law, but to rescue our country! To save the innocent from the clutches of evil!” The soldiers roared in response, their spirits lifting. They were men of honor, and the call to protect those who could not protect themselves stirred something deep within them.
“The crimes committed in Dusty Flats are a stain upon our land,” the General continued, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces before him. “The sheriffs who have turned a blind eye to these atrocities, the men who have bought and sold our sisters and daughters, will not find refuge in their badges or their gold! They will be brought here, to Grimestream Fort, where the true justice of the United State of American country will be served!”
The soldiers erupted in a fervent cheer, fists pumping the air. The soldiers mounted their horses, their eyes gleaming with righteous anger. The sound of swords being drawn and horses snorting filled the air as they rode out of the fort gates, the three rebels flanked by the might of the garrison. The journey was swift and tense, each step bringing them closer to the confrontation they knew was inevitable.
As they approached the outskirts of Dusty Flats, the cart holding the cannon rumbled along with them. The sight of it brought a new dimension to the gravity of their mission. It was not just a rescue anymore; it was an assertion of justice that could not be ignored. The townsfolk stared at the approaching cavalcade in shock and fear, recognizing the banners of the Duke and the grim determination etched on the soldiers’ faces.
White Hawk and Christelle shared a knowing glance as the cannon rolled through the dusty streets. They had seen the devastation a single shot could wreak, and they knew it was not a weapon to be used lightly. Yet, the presence of the cannon sent a clear message to Mrs. Galloway and Sheriff Cutter: the might of the law had come for them.
Oscar took the lead as they approached the mansion on the outskirts of town. He had been to the house before and knew the layout like the back of his hand. The mansion loomed ahead, a stark contrast to the dilapidated buildings that surrounded it. Its grandeur was a grotesque testament to the wealth amassed from the suffering of others.
The general’s horse snorted, sensing the tension in the air. The townspeople had scattered at their approach, the only sounds now were the creaks of their saddles and the clack of their spurs on the cobblestones. The soldiers fanned out behind them, their faces a mask of readiness, their eyes scanning the windows and doors of the mansion for any sign of trouble.
Mrs. Galloway’s mansion was a fortress of opulence, a bastion of wealth that stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the dust-swept town. The General’s eyes narrowed as they fell upon it. “There she is,” Oscar said, his voice tight with rage. “The monster behind the mask of respectability.”
The General raised a hand, and the column of soldiers pulled to a halt. He surveyed the area, his gaze sharp. “Take cover,” he barked, his voice carrying the weight of authority. The men obeyed, spreading out in a wide arc around the mansion, using the buildings and wagons for cover. They formed a ring of steel that would soon close in on Mrs. Galloway’s house of horrors.
White Hawk felt her heart pounding as she watched the soldiers take their positions. She knew the layout of the mansion, the hidden doors and secret passages. But she also knew the kind of men they were up against. Men who had grown complacent in their power, who thought themselves untouchable. They had to be careful, methodical. The lives of so many depended on it.
Turning to General Benjamin, she spoke up, her voice firm yet urgent. “Sir, with all due respect, I believe it would be wise to send someone inside first, to retrieve Duchess Athelesia before the raid begins. If we wait, she could be harmed, or worse,” she said, her eyes pleading.
Christelle stepped forward, her eyes alight with the same fiery resolve that had seen her through countless battles and daring escapes. “White Hawk is right, General. I can sneak in, unseen. I’ve done it before. It’s a risk, but it could save her life, and you can trust me because i am an acrobat circus performer,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest.
The General studied her for a long moment, his eyes flickering with doubt and then, slowly, nodded. “Very well, Christelle. But be careful. We do not know what lurks in that mansion. Mrs. Galloway is a cunning snake, and my instinct says she will not have left her precious ‘castle’ unguarded,” he warned.
Christelle took a deep breath and gave a curt nod before slipping away, her lithe form melting into the shadows. She approached the mansion with the grace of a panther, her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The windows were shuttered, and the doors looked as solid as the fort’s gates. Yet she knew from her previous visit that there were ways in that weren’t immediately apparent.
Her hands found the rough bricks of the mansion’s side, and she began to climb. Years of performing daring acrobatics had honed her muscles and reflexes. She scaled the side of the building, her heart hammering in her chest with each step. The chimney was her goal, a beacon of hope that led to the hidden corridors inside.
White Hawk and Oscar watched anxiously from their vantage point. The General’s hand rested on his gun, his eyes never leaving Christelle’s form as she ascended. The town was eerily quiet, as if it held its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The tension was palpable, and the air was charged with the promise of a storm.
When Christelle had reached the top, she signaling to them, “I’m in.” The General’s expression didn’t change, but White Hawk saw the relief in his eyes. She stepped forward and put a comforting hand on his arm. “Sir, Christelle is more than capable of this. She’s done it before, and she’ll do it again,” she assured him, her voice calm and steady. “Trust me, she’s the best at what she does.”
The General nodded curtly, his eyes never leaving the mansion. “I hope you’re right,” he murmured. “The fate of my beloved grandchild rests on her shoulders.”
They waited, the tension stretching out like a taut wire. Hours ticked by, the sun climbing higher in the sky, casting stark shadows across the town. The townspeople remained hidden, the silence a testament to their fear of Mrs. Galloway and her ilk. The horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their unease palpable. The soldiers shifted in their saddles, eager for the battle ahead, yet respectful of the gravity of their mission.
Oscar’s eyes darted from the mansion to the town, his thoughts racing. He had lived here once, knew every face that now peered at them from behind drawn curtains. “They’re scared,” he murmured to no one in particular. “They know what’s coming.”
White Hawk nodded, her gaze sharp. “There’s something off,” she said, frowning. “Where is the black gardener that we saw when we first came here? He’s usually out front.” Her senses were heightened, her instincts honed from a life spent navigating the treacherous waters of the Wild West.
Oscar’s eyes narrowed as he studied the mansion. “You’re right,” he murmured. “It’s too quiet. Mrs. Galloway must have known we were coming.” His stomach twisted into knots as the reality of their situation set in. “We need to be ready for anything.”
White Hawk’s gaze followed Oscar’s to the mansion’s rooftop. “Look,” she pointed, her voice a harsh whisper. There, in the shadows, she could see the silhouettes of armed men. “They’re waiting for us.”
Oscar’s hand tightened on the reins of his horse. “Christelle,” he murmured, his eyes searching the windows for any sign of her. “We need her get out safely.”
White Hawk nodded, her grip on her rifle unyielding. “She’s smart and quick,” she said, trying to reassure herself as much as Oscar. “But we need to be ready for anything. This won’t be a simple rescue.”
Their unease grew with each passing minute until finally, the grand double doors of the mansion creaked open. A figure emerged, and for a moment, hope surged through their veins. It was Christelle, her eyes wide with fear, but alive. And then they saw her, the Duchess Athelesia, a fragile beauty with a crown of gold and eyes that bore the weight of a thousand nightmares.
But their relief was short-lived as the shadow of Sheriff Cutter loomed over them, a Colt revolver pressed to Athelesia’s temple. His leer was unmistakable as he stepped out into the light, his hand shaking with a mix of rage and triumph. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, his voice carrying the sound of a man who knew he had the upper hand. “Looks like the circus has come to town a little early this month.”
White Hawk’s grip on her rifle tightened, her knuckles white with tension. She could feel the anger rising within her, the same anger that had fueled her through countless battles and daring escapades. But she knew that one wrong move could mean the end for Athelesia.
The General’s eyes bulged with fury as he saw the sheriff holding his granddaughter hostage. He could no longer contain his rage. He stood up in his saddle, his voice thundering across the dusty street. “Cutter! Release her this instant, or face the wrath of my soldiers!” His voice was a storm that could not be silenced, echoing through the town and shaking the very foundation of the corrupt regime that had taken hold.
Sheriff Cutter threw his head back and laughed, the sound a chilling mix of arrogance and madness. “Rank means nothing to me, old man,” he jeered, his gun still firmly pressed against Athelesia’s pale skin. “You think a title and a few soldiers can scare me?” His eyes glinted with a malicious amusement, his grin widening to reveal a set of rotting teeth.
The General’s face went ashen, but his resolve didn’t waver. “You’re a fool, Cutter,” he growled. “You’re playing with fire, and you will burn.”