Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
“Do you think it’s right what we did today?” Ned whispered, searching for an answer to his dilemma.
Saul’s face hardened into a mask. “A wrong always needs to be righted. They killed one of us, and for what? Offending a brothel madam?” He shook his head. “All who chose to live in that town agreed to its brand of justice, and therefore they need to suffer the consequences. I have no other family than those I share this with,” he said, presenting Ned the tattoo, “And a death in the family cannot go unpunished. You better understand this if you want to keep riding with us.”
Ned had learned a lot about the Gotham Boys since he’d joined them, and Saul’s answer told him to think of himself first and keep his mouth shut. But there was truth to the man’s words too, and it hit Ned with the ferocity of a snake seeping its poison into flesh.
Ned couldn’t leave until he took his revenge, and there would never be a better time than now. Cole would never know that Ned’s conscience held venom too.
“I understand. Blood costs blood. I haven’t seen Tom around the campfire. Do you know where he is?”
“He went to visit Scotch’s grave. I talked to him about you and Cole already. Both of you did well today, so it might be a good time to speak your truth.”
Ned stood that bit straighter and nodded. “Thank you. You really helped me make up my mind.”
Saul patted Nugget’s side and tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You’re one of us now,” he said and walked off with a squeeze to Ned’s shoulder.
Left with the horses, Ned could have just mounted up and left, but Saul had been right about one thing: a wrong done to family needed righting. The Pinkertons could have Zeb, but Ned had hardened during his time with the Gotham Boys. He wanted to look into Butcher Tom’s face and see fear. See him die.
His heart didn’t rattle with nerves and his palms weren’t sweaty when he grabbed Nugget’s reins and led the horse down a path away from camp, to where he and Cole had buried Scotch’s remains. The stars shone bright, and he was sure he’d never forget neither the way they twinkled tonight, nor the scent of dry desert land, even if he were to never return.
He smelled burning tobacco before he even saw Tom standing in front of the pile of stones placed atop the grave, and the rudimentary cross made of two twigs. The drunk bastard had gotten way more than he’d deserved in death, but it wasn’t Ned’s concern anymore.
“Are you choosing to leave us after all?” Tom asked.
Now that Ned approached, he wasn’t sure how to go about the deed he’d imagined so many times. Was he to just shoot? Say some final words? He settled on, “I wouldn’t leave Cole.” Which was true, because Cole was coming with him and they’d both abandon this wretched way of life.
Tom turned to face him, the pipe hanging from his mouth feeding whatever thoughts he was entertaining in his bloodthirsty mind. “So it’s settled then? You won’t drop this madness?”
Ned clenched his fists and stepped closer. “You can spare me the talk about degeneracy. Especially after today.”
An orange glow brightened Tom’s face when he inhaled from the pipe. “I know why you’re here,” he said, making Ned’s heart freeze.
Impossible. Or was it? Could it be that Tom had known who Ned was all along? His hand found its way into his pocket, and a sense of security overcame him when he gripped the razor. Tom might expect Ned to reach for his gun, but not this.
“You do?” Ned rasped.
Tom nodded and stared into Ned’s eyes. “You’re not happy with the way things are at the camp, how others treat you and Cole. You’re here with demands. You know that if I bend, others will follow suit and accept the relationship you two have.”
Ned swallowed, so surprised by the assessment, his tense shoulders sagged. Where was Tom going with this?
Tom closed the space between them and pulled Ned close so unexpectedly Ned’s flesh turned into rock. The six-fingered hand patted Ned’s back. “I accept you. Cole is like a son to me, and if this is what he wants, I can’t deny him. You might be an unexpected addition to our little family, Ned O’Leary, and I might not understand what it is you two share exactly, but I won’t judge you, and—”
Death to hesitation.
Ned opened the razor and stabbed it into Tom’s throat. The pipe fell to the ground when Tom stumbled toward the grave, his eyes wide as instinct told him to stop the bleeding rather than reach for the guns at his hips. His breath came in an unpleasant wheeze, but Ned wasn’t done yet. He grabbed the fluffy curls on Tom’s head and used his superior size to spin the bastard around. Then, he cut at the desperate fingers as if they were strings, and he, a fiddler.