Swiftcurrent Creek cowpoke

A failed barter for life shouldn’t have surprised him. The ragtag crew were clearly cutthroat and missing a moral compass or two. 

Red eyes stayed on him, calculating. Threatening.

Spittle—some threats about something terrible being unleashed on them. That was a thought for later—truth of the matter was he could suffocate the girl as he was slowly doing now—or, if he was so magnanimous, he could make it quick and snap her neck. The other one could barely stand. 

That left two against one.

He could also give Arric the word and let the man finish what he had started—his comrade could clearly hold his own. 

Thing was, unlike Colt, the Mayfair was unwilling to gamble the life of his companion. His money would have been on the large man—but the stakes were too high. 

Pale gold eyes met red. His jaw clenched tighter, a warning to her as she tried to garble a plea to the other man. I don’t think he cares much about you, sweetheart, he rumbled, voice muffled. 

So he released her, dropping her like a dirty rag—hoping common sense prevailed and she would see who the truly spared her life in that moment. 

He ducked low, a lunge forward as his pushed from the ground. His jaws now seeking purchase to the side of the man’s neck—his ushered snarl an encouragement for Arric to jump in. 

Just maybe they could make quicker work of this now.