Goddamn, enough of this.“I hear you like stories.”
Callihan’s gaze swung toher. “Stories?”
“Storiesabout you. There are many dime novels about you.”
Callihan scowled. “Thoseain’t stories. They’re true and correct recount of my deeds,” heblustered.
The sheer arrogance ofthe man. “Perhaps when you were in your prime. Now….” She lifted ashoulder.
“They’re thegoddamn truth and everyone knows it. You all know it,” he saidloudly.
She smiled prettily. “Thetruth, you say? They haven’t been exaggerated just a tad?” She heldher thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“They’re thetruth,” he thundered.
Dispassionately, she eyedhim. He wasn’t dismounting. His voice wasn’t as loud as he thought.He looked tired and unwell. The boys beside him remained silent andon their horses, their gazes flicking to Jake and his hand on theheel of his gun.
This shouldn’t be soeasy.
“They’re thetruth and you know it. You have to know it.” His eyes lit. “You doknow it, don’t you? What did I do to you, girl?”
Pain. Red. Her family,dead. “Twenty years ago, you killed me.”
“You seem tobe alive, darlin’.”
Anger burned bright. No.That’s what Jake called her. He didn’t get to call her that. “Mymother. My father. My sisters. My brothers. Our farm. You destroyedit all.”
“Am Isupposed to remember this?” he sneered.
“No, I don’tsuppose you do. We were one of dozens. Retribution always comes,though, and behold, I am she.”
He snorted. “Your fancytalk don’t mean much, girl.”
“No, itdoesn’t, does it? Actions are always louder. Which is why I’vetaken action.”
He suddenly lookeduneasy. “What?”
“I have tolda story, Mr Callihan. Stop me if you’ve heard it. It’s the story ofa man, dangerous and fearsome in his prime, and of his decline.It’s the story of Ozymandias, of arrogant man everywhere. It’s thestory of time, and how it erodes everything.”
“Still withthe fancy words. This don’t mean nothing, girl.”
“I sent atelegram, Mr Callihan, to every reporter and newspaper I couldthink of. On it was six words. Do you want to know these words, MrCallihan?” She smiled sweetly. “He’s not what he once was.You see, Mr Callihan, I don’t need bullets to destroy you. Atelegram will suffice.”
Suddenly, he looked lesssure. “They won’t believe you.”
“But somewill.”
“Youcocksucking whore.” He spat the words with venom.
She didn’t flinch. “Therewill be other stories now, stories that question you’re yourlegend. Wherever you go from now on, people will wonder. They willwhisper and stare, and you will never again know if it is from fearor ridicule.”
He ripped the gun fromhis holster. In the blink of an eye, Jake’s gun was in his hand. “Iwouldn’t, Callihan,” Jake said softly.
“I can shootyou, too, boy,” he snarled.
Jake didn’t waver. “Youcan try.”
A gunshot split theair.
