𝘊𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘎𝘌 | ᴘʀᴇ ʀᴅʀ2

Chapter Two

Uncle Kurt's body sat bloody and battered. Blood dripped from his frame, dribbling against the floor, the green felt of the poker table covered in red. The patrons sat at it hadn't moved, still as a statue as they waited for the next movements of the madman in black. Their expressions were horrified as they took in the sight of the limp body next to them, but no one dared to say a thing or even scream for fear of being the next victim.

Rosalie tremored, sick to her stomach as she took in the scene of her Uncle's head with a bullet hole through it. It was something out of a nightmare. Her smiling, cheeky uncle was dead, his blood dribbling to the floor over a poker game.

She had a white knuckle grip on the glass of whisky in her hand, the other wrapped around the handle of her revolver. She watched the scene with shaky hands as she waited for the madman's next move. Would he turn his sights to her, or someone else in the room? She was petrified.

There was a click of a pistol.

Henry had his gun raised, glaring at the man dressed in black under the brim of his cowboy hat. "I suggest you put your weapons on the table and walk over here. Slowly."

Rosalie had no idea what her father was intending to do. This man was insane. Unhinged. It was even more apparent that he was not going to heed her father's instructions as an evil grin lifted to the man's face.

"Ah, know that guy, do ya?" The man's grin was eerie. He looked at Henry as though he were a toy, amusement at the situation dusting his features. "I think you're mistaken. My temper jus' got ahead of me... no need for violence, jus' like your friend said."

Men dressed similarly to him lingered in all corners of the room. Rosalie could see that now. She cursed herself for not being more observant when they picked this saloon for their scheme. Her father was right. They should have left the moment something seemed off. If only her father had said something to her about it, then maybe she could have agreed and they would have left. They could have avoided this mess altogether.

Whoever this man was, she was certain he was the O'Driscoll that the group at the bar was talking about. It had to be—there was no one else who could warrant this kind of behavior. This O'Driscoll man was not someone to trifle with, she could see that from the mad glint in his eye and the various men positioned all around the saloon.

Rosalie could see one man slowly creeping across the bar. One of his henchmen dressed in black came towards her. She wasn't looking at him, only noticing his movements out of her peripheral vision with her hand on her revolver.

She needed to be careful. She didn't want him to know she was aware of his prowling.

This man must have seen her come in with Kurt, or maybe been tipped off by one of the men from outside. Paired with Henry's strong reaction after the murder of her Uncle, Rosalie walking into the bar with Kurt, and the scream she let out after he was shot, this O'Driscoll gang had to know they were a group of three and had arrived together. They were either exposed by one of the men slithering inside and whispering what they saw, or from their carelessness, and now they were paying the price.

Rosalie felt sick. She was doing everything in her power to not look at the body of her Uncle.

She and her father were in a tight spot. She needed to focus, and couldn't let herself cave in to the emotions swirling in her gut that made her want to hunch over and throw up all over the saloon floor. Her heart thundered against her chest as she felt her body tremor with fear.

The prowling man slid himself next to Rosalie. He grabbed at her, pistol in hand. Quick as a whip, Rosalie let out a scream of rage and slammed the glass of whisky against his face. The man screamed as the glass shards and leftover drops of alcohol stung his skin.