New Storm Rising

38. Showdown!

Dammit! How did he draw his gun so quickly?

Glancing over my shoulder as inconspicuously as possible, I was just able to see a tiny gun in his hand, then suddenly realized: he hadn't drawn his gun at all. He had hidden one in his sleeve.

Goddamn blasted professional killers!

"Did you really think I wouldn't expect this?" Creed demanded in a scathing tone. "Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared?" Jabbing his gun into my back, he jerked his head at Mr Ambrose and his men. "You! Over there, backs to the wall, hands over your heads!"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose's jaw worked and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his grip on his revolver tighten. "I suggest you stop this now. Drop your weapon and release her, or I promise you will regret it."

"Shut your mouth! Drop your gun and move, now!" Grabbing me by the back of the neck, Creed jammed his gun even harder into my spine. I was so going to beat the crap out of that bastard and have Ambrose Junior use him as a camel lavatory. "Or do you want me to put a bullet in your broad?"

A muscle in his jaw twitching, Mr Ambrose took a step back. Slowly, his grip loosened and a moment later...

Thud!

His revolver hit the ground.

Creed smiled. "Good boy. Now get up against the wall, all of you!"

"You can't seriously think you will get away with this!" the sheriff demanded. "Who do you think you are?"

In answer, all Creed did was point at the wall.

The sheriff snorted. "I'm not going to stand against the wall on the order of some lowly—"

His words abruptly cut off and his eyes widened. Apparently, he had just noticed the poster hanging on the aforementioned wall showing a handsome face with large, bold letters above it:

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE

Ellard Simeon Creed

Reward: $215,000

All colour draining from his face, the sheriff stumbled a step backwards—then quickly moved over to the wall and plastered himself against it.

"Smart guy! Now the rest of you!"

Hurriedly, everyone followed the sheriff's example, until all of them were lined up against the wall: Mr Ambrose, his men, a fuming Marshal Angleton and various deputies. Only I and the other desperados remained in the centre of the yard.

Crap, crap, crap! Mr Rikkard Ambrose, what did you get me into? Next time you get a brilliant idea like this, I'm gonna take it and ram it up the place where you shit gold!

And you know what the worst thing was? The way the bloody son of a bachelor's face didn't even twitch once! Instead, it stayed cold and unmoving, and utterly emotionless! He didn't even glance my way! He was my husband, dammit! He was supposed to rescue me from these kinds of situations! Even if I would smack him afterwards for treating me like a damsel in distress, he was at least supposed to try!

Meeting his gaze, I tried to gesture with my one free hand, plead with my eyes, do anything and everything to try and convey the message.

His response was to cock his head about half a millimetre.

If I somehow survive this, I'm going to murder him.

But before that, I was going to have to kill the slimeball who was currently jabbing his gun into my back. Slowly, imperceptibly slowly, I moved my one free hand towards the place where, apparently unnoticed by anyone, my loaded revolver still hung, just waiting to be drawn and—