Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Cole followed them in broad steps, his blood so hot he was surprised the snow wasn’t melting around his boots. And as he came closer and saw Ned in the bright glow of the fire, his stomach squeezed as if he were hanging off the edge of a steep cliff. Like that time he’d almost fallen off a rail viaduct and only Ned’s intervention had saved his hide.
Even now, Cole remembered each freckle on that disproportionately big nose by heart.
“Look at the scar on his cheek, Cole. I knew it. Ned O’Fucking-Leary!” Lars laughed out loud despite still being out of breath. “You think they’ll pay us both bounties?”
Cole remembered that scar so well. Zeb had kicked Ned in the face during a scuffle, and his spur had cut through Ned’s cheek, leaving a deep scar. It still curved upward, and while the color of the line in flesh had faded, it remained clear, just like Cole’s desire for Ned had been that day.
“Can’t be him. The bastard disappeared so long ago,” Cole muttered, standing over Ned with no idea what he ought to do. His beef with Ned was private, and Lars was an intruder.
Unaware of his thoughts, Lars shook his head and squeezed Ned’s cheeks with one hand. “I’m telling you it’s him. He’s got the big nose and everything. Come on, Wolfman, might as well tell us, huh?”
Ned roared and arched fast enough to slam his forehead against Lars’s so hard the poor guy fell back into the snow like a rag doll.
With blood shining in his beard, Ned gave a mad laugh and crawled on his knees. “Ned O’Leary is dead! Just me now!”
It wasn’t the first time a mark tried to wiggle his way out of their hands by pretending he was someone else, but the behavior was so unlike Ned Cole only knocked him down after a second of stalling.
“Motherfucker!” Lars yelled and got to his feet just as Cole kicked Ned over. Still holding his own forehead, he exhaled clouds of steam when he glanced Cole’s way with a squint. “Let’s check.”
He straddled Ned’s writhing form, and Cole’s stomach clenched when Lars pulled out a Bowie knife. Lars might have had a handsome face and eyes bluer than a cloudless sky on a summer’s day, but he could be a mean bastard with no mercy for his marks.
Had Lars attempted torture, Cole would have been forced to intervene and disclose things he didn’t want to share, but the blade dug under the sleeve of Ned’s jacket and cut. One of the wolf paws still attached to the fur flapped about, and despite no blood being shed, Ned screamed and swore as if the sharp tip had eaten into his flesh.
Lars grinned in triumph and presented Ned’s forearm to Cole in the glow of the buzzing fire. The skin was mangled with burns, but even that hadn’t completely hidden all of the ink that used to make up the cleaver tattoo.
“It’s him. That’s why you punched him so hard. You two got some bad blood you ain’t telling me about?”
Cole’s throat pulsed, and he focused on Lars, knowing he might lose his temper again if he met Ned’s gaze so soon. There were answers he’d cut out from under Ned’s skin if necessary, but he didn’t want to explain himself. Didn’t want to reminisce about things that should stay buried in the past. “Ran from the camp like a coward while the others fought,” he said and spat into the snow.
It was better if Lars never found out how deep Cole’s resentment ran. He needed to calm down. Get himself together and be a man about the whole damn thing.
Lars got up and would have kicked Ned for good measure if Cole hadn’t stood in his way with a squint that expressed all the resentment in his heart. The Wolfman might have been Lars’s dream prize, but Ned O’Leary was Cole’s.
“This one’s mine.”
Lars waved his hand in dismissal. “Then take him, by all means. Just don’t forget that skull hat of his. We’ll show it to the sheriff. Folks will come from across Colorado to see this ridiculous costume. Now I wish we’d gotten the dog too.”
“Leave him be,” Ned croaked, and Cole found himself staring down at him in cold satisfaction.
“It better be gone for good, because if I ever see it again, I’ll blow his head apart like you had that girl’s.”
Ned stared into Cole’s eyes, but if he was trying to communicate something, the times of being able to do that through a look alone were long gone, drowned in blood. Ned must have understood that too, because he hung his head in silence. “I am what I am,” he mumbled.
“Yes. The fucking Wolfman of the Rockies, who in reality is just a filthy traitor, who forgot what a bath is,” Cole growled and made himself move.