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)
The anxiety over the upcoming meeting with the man who still featured in his nightmares was making Ned sweaty, but the familiar scent of floral hair oil soothed his rattling heart. Cole had revealed the aroma came from an exotic plant called ylang-ylang, and Ned couldn’t help but think it fit such a unique persona. He’d never had a friend who’d be so liberal with touching him, but he didn’t mind it one bit.
“Let’s hope I survive my audience with Butcher Tom then.” Ned smiled and tipped his hat, but it was hollow flirting. He wasn’t used to women offering their affections so freely, and had no idea how to respond to such shamelessness, so he acted the way he knew was expected of him.
Cole put Nugget’s reins in Ned’s hand, then rested his palm on Ned’s back, prompting him forward. The conversations ahead got louder, and the squeaky trill of a northern flicker was like a trumpet hailing their arrival. He picked up the scent of venison stew with root vegetables. How many people were there in the camp? Would they get to vote on whether he could stay or not, or did Butcher Tom govern with an iron fist, as if he were the ruler of a tiny ramshackle kingdom, and the gang members—his subjects.
“So… about that thing you said. How unfamiliar with the ladies are you?” Cole asked out of the blue.
Heat flushed Ned’s cheeks, and his thoughts shifted away from the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. “I… I’ve been respectful,” he mumbled, worried someone might overhear him. “I’ve waited to do things proper. Get married.”
“You poor soul,” Cole whispered and leaned in for a brief hug that had their hips touching.
The closeness Cole offered was so unexpected, it exasperated Ned each time. He swallowed and patted Cole’s back without certainty. “Not everyone’s got your looks. With a face like yours? I bet the girls pay you for the privilege of some horizontal refreshment,” he teased.
“I never tell a soul about the arrangements I make,” Cole said but kept his hand on Ned’s back while they walked, as if touching the sweat-dampened shirt didn’t bother him. “But those sturdy arms of yours have the potential to win you some favors.”
Ned went silent, growing ever hotter. He wasn’t used to compliments, especially when a man like Cole was the one offering them. He imagined what it would be like to have a woman keep her hand on his back the way Cole did, but his mind wouldn’t let him focus on that for long, always pulling Ned back into reality. The fingers all but scratching him were long and graceful, yet too large to belong to a lady, and their touch kept sending hot shivers down his spine. The damn blindfold was surely what made him so very aware of his body, and he couldn’t wait to get it off.
The folded cloth had been letting in barely any light, but yellow illumination started sneaking its way under the roll of fabric as the air warmed. Just as the voices Ned had been hearing for some time became loud enough to understand, everything went still.
A calm before the storm.
“Who the fuck is this?” A low male voice that came straight from the throat. Its accusatory tone made the pleasant scent of food bland, and Ned stiffened, realizing that getting his shotgun out would take precious seconds, especially with the blindfold still on.
“Easy there, Zebediah. I vouch for him,” Cole said in a tone that suggested this was nothing out of the ordinary.
Zebediah Rudabaugh, one of the three founding brothers of the Gotham Boys. They had been known to call themselves that in the early days of the gang’s existence, since what reportedly bound them was not blood but their youth in the dirty streets of New York City. In his childhood, Ned had only got a close look at Butcher Tom, but he’d heard the names Zeb and Scotch from his cupboard hideout too many times to count. None of them were good eggs.
He’d seen likenesses of those men on wanted posters, and if nothing had changed from the last time one had been drawn, Zebediah was a man in his forties, with a mean look in his eye and a huge mutton chop moustache, his distinguishing feature—the lack of both upper front teeth. Word was that he’d lost those bare-knuckle boxing back in New York. Though he was way more notorious for murdering an entire family in Kansas, because the father had laughed at the gap in Zeb’s teeth.
Zebediah snarled. “Let’s see what Tom has to say about this. If it falls through, I’m taking his horse.”
Ned frowned and pulled Nugget that bit closer. “My horse goes where I do,” he said, eager to make a stand, because meekness would get him nowhere with the Gotham Boys.