Bareroost: Guns, Gold, and Vengeance
by Ayra Atkinson
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Western Sex Story: A gritty Western book cover in cinematic style: two rugged gunslingers stand in the dusty main street of a desolate frontier town under a blazing sun. One is tall, wearing a weathered duster coat, hand resting on a Colt revolver; the other shorter but broad-shouldered, gripping a rifle. In the background, a faded wooden saloon with swinging doors, a sheriff’s office, and a red-lit brothel sign reading “Red Hot Lantern.” A steam train is faintly visible in the distance, symbolizing escape.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Crime Superhero Western Humiliation Cat-Fighting Violence AI Generated .
“You reckon it’s safe to stop for the night?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with the dust of the trail behind them, as the two weary travelers approached the outskirts of a town that seemed to have been forgotten by time itself. The buildings that made up the skyline were a hodgepodge of weathered wood and rusted metal, the kind that had seen more than their fair share of battles and burials. The name of the town, Bareroost, was etched into a sign that had long ago lost its paint to the unforgiving sun. The wind played a mournful tune through the abandoned streets, carrying with it the whispers of a past filled with the echoes of gunfire and the cries of the desperate.
John, the taller of the two, squinted into the setting sun, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any signs of trouble. The saloon at the center of town looked like it had seen better days, its doors hanging on their hinges like a drunkard’s eyelids. The town was eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of a piano playing a sad, out-of-tune melody. It was a tune that seemed to match the desolate mood of the place, a place where the only law was the one you made for yourself.
“Can’t say for sure, Billy,” John finally responded, his voice a low drawl. “But we ain’t got much of a choice, do we?” Billy nodded solemnly. They were low on supplies and their horses needed rest. They had been riding hard for days, trying to outrun their pursuers. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like fingers reaching for them, beckoning them to enter the town’s embrace.
They tethered their horses outside the saloon, the clink of the iron rings against the wooden post sounding loud in the quiet. The saloon’s doors groaned open, revealing a dimly lit interior that smelled of stale beer and forgotten dreams. A handful of patrons glanced up as they entered, their eyes filled with suspicion and wariness. The piano player didn’t miss a beat, his eyes never leaving the yellowed keys, as if the music was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.
John stepped up to the bar, the wood sticky with a mixture of spilled whiskey and sweat. The bartender, a burly man with a face that had seen more than its share of fights, looked them over, his eyes sharp as he wiped down a dusty glass with a dirty rag. “What’ll it be, gents?”
Billy took off his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Two whiskeys and a place to rest our heads for the night,” he said, his voice hopeful but cautious.
The bartender’s eyes narrowed, sizing them up. “Whiskey’s a dollar a shot. Rooms upstairs are two bits each. You pay up front,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
John nodded and slammed a silver dollar on the bar, his hand still hovering near his holster. The bartender’s eyes flicked to the gun before he filled two glasses with the amber liquid, sliding them across the counter with a thud. The whiskey was rough, burning a trail down their throats, but it was the sweetest nectar they had tasted in weeks.
Their eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing the saloon’s inhabitants: a few grizzled miners, a couple of cardsharps with their hats pulled low, and a woman with a tired smile who sang along to the piano tune from the corner. Her voice was smoky, a stark contrast to the youthful hope in her eyes. The travelers took a table near the back, close enough to the stairs to keep an eye on the door and the exit. The conversation in the room was hushed, filled with secrets and the occasional laugh that didn’t quite reach the ears.
As they drank, John couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced around the room, but no one met his gaze for long. The tension in the air was thick, like the fog before a storm. Above the bar, a mirror reflected the room in a distorted fashion, as if the very essence of the town was trying to hide its true nature from them.
The woman who had been singing stopped, her eyes meeting John’s in the mirror. For a brief moment, something unspoken passed between them, a shared understanding of the weight that Bareroost carried on its shoulders. She tipped her hat in a silent greeting before resuming her song, the melody now carrying a hint of sadness.
As the whiskey loosened their tongues and the tension in their shoulders, Billy leaned in closer to John. “You think we’ll find what we’re looking for here?” His question was barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace of the saloon.
John took a moment to consider the town, the people, and the stories that were surely etched into the very fabric of the building around them. “I reckon we might,” he said, his voice low and contemplative. “But it won’t come easy. Nothing ever does in a place like this.”
The bartender, having overheard their conversation, slid a piece of paper across the bar, folded into a neat square. “If you’re looking for work, there’s a job going,” he said, his eyes flicking to the stairs before returning to theirs. “But you ain’t the type to be looking for that kind of work, are you?”
John’s hand hovered over the note, curiosity piqued. “What’s the job?”
The bartender leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Madam Hattie ‘Bad’ Lynn is looking for a few good men. She’s got a fancy for the finest women, and she’s willing to pay a pretty penny for them. She’s got a brothel on the outskirts of town, the kind that caters to the wealthiest of miners and cattle barons. But she’s running low on stock, and she’s not too particular about how you acquire them.”
John’s eyes narrowed, the whiskey’s warmth turning to ice in his gut. “What’s the catch?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
The bartender leaned in even closer, his breath reeking of tobacco. “The catch is that the sheriff’s got his hand in her pocket, and he’s not too keen on competition. You’d be crossing a line that most folks around here wouldn’t dare to even look at.”
John’s jaw clenched, and he pushed the note back across the bar. “Not our style,” he said firmly. Billy nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting the unease that had settled into his friend’s voice.
“Suit yourselves,” the bartender shrugged, taking back the note without looking at it. “But if you change your minds, she’s always hiring. Just find her place, the Red Hot Lantern. Can’t miss it.”
Billy cleared his throat, the whiskey burning a question into his mind. “Is it usual for folks around here to sell women like that?” His voice was steady, but the disgust was clear.
The bartender’s expression didn’t waver. “In Bareroost, we have our ways.” His eyes darted around the room before settling back on the two travelers. “Some call it opportunity. Others call it survival. Madam Lynn has a good thing going. Keeps the sheriff paid and the town ... entertained.” He spat the last word out like a piece of gristle he hadn’t been able to chew down.
John’s hand tightened around his glass, the muscles in his forearm flexing. “And what happens to the women?”
The bartender shrugged, his eyes cold. “Depends on the buyer. If it’s Madam Lynn, she makes ‘em her whores, no payment but their lives. They work until they can’t no more, and then...” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication hung in the air like a noose waiting to be tightened.
John took a deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check. He didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. “Tell us a story,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “One about a time when someone did something different.”
The bartender leaned back on his elbows, his gaze distant as he recalled a tale from the town’s dark annals. “Ah, I remember a time when a group of roughnecks brought in a lady from the east, dressed all fancy like she didn’t belong here. Word had it she was some kind of noblewoman, lost her way and her fortune. They had her strung up in the saloon, planning to sell her to the highest bidder.”
John and Billy exchanged glances, their interest piqued despite the grimness of the story. “What happened to her?” Billy asked, his voice tight with tension.
The bartender took a moment to pour himself a drink before continuing. “Well, as luck would have it, a lady rancher by the name of Matilda McGrath heard about it. She had herself a son, young and strong but simple in the head. Always looking for a way to secure her family’s legacy, she saw this as her chance. So, she waltzed in here, dressed to the nines and looking like she owned the place, and bought that poor girl right out from under their noses. Paid a small fortune for her, too. Word got around that she wanted a few good men to marry her son off and start making babies.”
John’s curiosity grew as the story unfolded. “What’s so special about this ranch?”
The bartender took a swig of his whiskey, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “McGrath Ranch is the biggest spread around these parts. Got more cattle than the eye can count and gold in the hills. But it’s not the land that makes it special. It’s Matilda McGrath herself.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They say she’s got a heart of gold and a shotgun to match. She’s fair but fierce, and she’s been known to help those in need, provided they’re willing to work for it.”
John’s eyes lit up with interest. “What became of the girl?”
The bartender’s smile faded, and he took a deep, solemn breath. “Ah, the girl. She didn’t last long, not after what they put her through.” His voice grew quieter, the room seeming to lean in to hear the tragic tale. “Forced to bear child after child for that simple boy, her spirit broke. She was nothing but a breeding mare to them. The last time I saw her, she was a shadow of her former self, her eyes hollow, her beauty faded. And then, one day, she just didn’t wake up.”
John nodded solemnly as the bartender finished his grim tale, the weight of the town’s corruption settling heavily on their shoulders. Billy leaned in, his voice hushed, “We can’t be sure Matilda’s the same as she was back then. For all we know, she’s in on it too.”
A heavy silence fell upon the saloon, the piano playing a tune that seemed to mourn the unspoken fate of the woman in the story. Billy’s hand clenched into a fist under the table, his knuckles white with anger. John’s gaze was hard, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the faded, dusty floorboards.
“What did you say her name was?” John’s voice was deceptively calm.
The bartender swiped at the bar with the dirty rag. “I didn’t. But it was a sad tale, ain’t it?”
Billy leaned in, his eyes searching the bartender’s face. “What about the sheriff? Did he know about this ... women trade?”
The bartender’s expression grew tight, his eyes flicking to the stairs before he spoke again. “The sheriff? He’s got his cut of everything that goes on here. Including that sad business with the eastern lady. He turns a blind eye to Madam Lynn’s dealings as long as she keeps his pockets full and his ... other needs satisfied.” His voice trailed off, leaving the rest to their imagination.
John’s jaw tightened, the injustice of the town’s situation gnawing at him like a ravenous beast. He took a long pull of his whiskey, the liquid fire burning a path through his chest. “And what of this Matilda McGrath? Does she know about the sheriff’s arrangement?”
The bartender shrugged, his eyes never leaving theirs. “Matilda’s got her hands full with the ranch. But she’s got a good head on her shoulders. I reckon she suspects something, but she keeps to herself, mostly. Doesn’t bother with town matters, not unless she has to.”
Billy leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the bartender’s face. “And the mayor? What does he have to say about all this?”
The man’s expression turned sour. “Mayor? Ha! That title’s just a fancy hat for the sheriff’s puppet. They’re two peas in a pod, those two.” He spat on the floor, the sound echoing through the saloon.
John’s gaze hardened as he took in the information, his mind racing with thoughts of justice and retribution. The whiskey warmed him, but the coldness in his soul grew with every word spoken about the town’s moral decay. “We’re not the type to let things like that slide,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
The bartender’s eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, understanding the unspoken threat. “Just be careful,” he warned, his voice a mix of concern and resignation. “Bareroost’s got a way of chewing up folks who stick their noses where they don’t belong.”
John and Billy finished their drinks and climbed the stairs to their rooms, their thoughts swirling with the whiskey and the weight of the town’s secrets. The creaking of the stairs was the only sound in the saloon, a stark reminder of the quiet desperation that lurked beneath the surface of this lawless place. They found their rooms, simple but clean, and collapsed onto the beds, their heads buzzing with the beginnings of a plan.
The night passed in fitful sleep, their dreams haunted by the spectral faces of the exploited and the lost. As dawn broke, the two friends met again in the saloon, the same sad tune still playing on the piano. The other patrons had cleared out, leaving them and the bartender in the dimly lit room.
“We’ve got to do something about this,” Billy murmured, his eyes dark with determination.
John nodded, his hand resting on his gun. “But we can’t go in guns blazing. We need to play it smart.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the mournful tune from the piano. Then, Billy spoke up, “What if we go to Matilda McGrath? Maybe she’d be willing to stand up against the sheriff and Madam Lynn.”
John considered the idea, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Could be risky, but it’s worth a shot. She sounds like the only one around here with a shred of decency.”
Billy nodded, his mind racing. “We’ve got to be careful, though. We can’t just ride up to the ranch and accuse her of being part of the problem. We need to tread lightly, build some trust.”
John’s eyes narrowed as he thought over the situation. “You’re right. We’ll need to get to know the town, its people, and figure out who’s who. Maybe we can find a way to help without stirring up too much trouble.”
They decided to go undercover as job seekers, looking for work at the local ranches and mines. It was a risky gamble, but it was the best way to get close to the heart of the operation without raising suspicion. They spent the day cleaning themselves up and patching their worn clothes, trying to look like they had been traveling hard in search of honest work.
John approached the local blacksmith, who was known to be tight-lipped but fair. “We’re looking for some work, maybe on a ranch or a mine. We heard McGrath Ranch is hiring,” he said, his voice casual as he leaned against the anvil.
The blacksmith, a burly man with a face that had seen too much sun, paused in his hammering, his eyes flicking up to meet John’s. “McGrath Ranch, you say? They’re good folk, but they’ve got enough hands as it is.” His expression grew wary, his hammer hovering above the hot metal.
John held up his own hands, calloused and scarred from years of hard labor. “We’re good workers,” he assured him, his voice steady. “And we can keep a secret, if there’s something going on we should know about.”
The blacksmith studied them for a long moment, then nodded curtly. “Matilda McGrath’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she’s got her own troubles. If you’re looking to stir the pot, I’d think twice.”
John and Billy exchanged a look, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They had hoped to find an ally in the town, but it seemed that even the most upright citizens were wary of crossing the powerful rancher. “What kind of troubles?” Billy asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
The blacksmith’s hammer clanked against the anvil, sending sparks flying. “The kind that come with having gold in your hills and cattle on your land,” he said cryptically. “But I’ve said too much already. If you want work, you’re better off talking to the foreman at the Double-T Ranch. They’re always looking for a couple of strong backs.”
John and Billy exchanged a knowing glance. The mention of gold and cattle piqued their interest, hinting at a deeper conflict within the town. They knew they were treading on thin ice, but they couldn’t let the plight of the women in Bareroost go unnoticed.
They set off towards the Double-T Ranch, the sun beating down on their hats like a silent warning of the trials ahead. The journey was long and dusty, but the promise of work and the chance to uncover more about the town’s underbelly kept them going. Upon their arrival, they were met by a gruff foreman with a face as weathered as the landscape around them. He took one look at their tattered clothes and weary expressions and offered them a job without much fuss.
John and Billy quickly discovered that the Double-T Ranch was a microcosm of the town’s moral decay. The foreman, a man named Jenkins, had a cruel streak a mile wide, and the ranch hands were a mix of desperate souls and hardened criminals. The work was backbreaking, but they kept their eyes and ears open, listening to whispers of the sheriff’s dealings and Madam Lynn’s nefarious trade.
One evening, as the sun painted the sky in shades of red and orange, they found themselves in the bunkhouse with a few other hands. The talk turned to the town and its secrets, and John noticed a younger ranch hand, Timmy, with a haunted look in his eyes. He sat apart from the others, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“What’s the matter, kid?” John asked, his voice gentle despite the exhaustion etched into his features.
Timmy looked up, his eyes flickering with hope before he realized the futility of his situation and dropped his gaze. “It’s my mother,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “The sheriff took her. Said she owed a debt to Madam Lynn.”
John’s hand tightened around his coffee mug, his knuckles whitening. “How long ago?”
Timmy sniffled, his eyes welling with tears. “Two month,” he whispered. “My pa’s a good farmer, just had some bad luck with the cards. Now she’s up in that ... that place, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”
Billy’s gaze drifted to the floor, his heart heavy. “Why doesn’t your pa do something about it?” he asked, the question burning in his mind.
Timmy’s eyes filled with a mix of anger and despair. “He had a choice, you see. The sheriff said he could give up his land or his wife to settle the debt. Pa chose the land.” He paused, the weight of his words sinking into the room like lead.
John’s jaw clenched at the revelation, his eyes dark with anger. “What about your mother?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Timmy’s shoulders slumped even further. “After two months, Pa said she was probably gone for good,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “He started talking about finding a new wife, a young girl from the next town over. He don’t seem to care that she’s still alive and suffering.”
John’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, his jaw tight. “That’s a hard truth to swallow,” he murmured.
Timmy’s eyes searched theirs, looking for some semblance of understanding. “I know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “But I can’t just let her be a ... a whore for the rest of her life. I’ve got to get her out of there.”
Billy’s gaze softened. “What’s your mom’s name, Timmy?”
Timmy looked up, a spark of defiance in his teary eyes. “Mrs. Janine ‘the Busty Angel’ Gilbert,” he said, his voice a mix of pride and pain. “At least, that’s what they used to call her before she was ... taken.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “The Busty Angel, you say? That’s quite the name for a lady of the evening,” he said, his voice deceptively casual. “What’s the story behind it?”
Timmy’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “It’s just a name,” he mumbled, looking down at his dust-covered boots. “I don’t rightly know why folks call her that.”
Billy leaned in, his expression earnest. “What’s your pa’s name, Timmy?” he asked gently.
The boy looked up, his eyes misting over. “Homer ‘Gamble’ Gilbert,” he replied, the words sticking in his throat. “He was a good man, once. Before the cards took him.”
John nodded solemnly, his mind racing with the information. “Well, Billy and I are new to town,” he said, placing a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Maybe we can help you find your mom. We’ve got a score to settle with Madam Lynn anyway.”
Billy leaned in, his eyes earnest. “Timmy, if we’re going to help, we’re going to need to find you when we’ve got some answers. How can we get in touch?”
Timmy looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. “I sleep at the train station,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “My pa don’t care for me anymore, not since he lost everything to the cards and Madam Lynn took Ma.” He paused, his gaze drifting to the floorboards. “I make a few coins shining shoes and doing odd jobs around town.”
John and Billy shared a solemn look. They knew that the path they were about to tread was fraught with danger, but they couldn’t ignore the plight of Timmy and his mother. They had to act.
Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins, placing them gently into Timmy’s palm. “Here, kid,” he said gruffly. “Get yourself something to eat, and keep your chin up. We’ll be back, and we’ll find a way to get your mother out of that hellhole.”
Timmy looked up at them, his eyes wide with hope. “Thank you,” he murmured, clutching the coins tightly. “Thank you so much.”
John and Billy left the ranch that night, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of the town’s darker secrets. They had to formulate a plan to help Timmy and the other women trapped in Madam Lynn’s brothel without drawing too much attention to themselves. They knew the town was watching, and one wrong move could mean their deaths.
They headed to the Red Hot Lantern under the guise of looking for a good time, but their true intentions were as sharp as the knives tucked into their boots. The brothel was easy to spot, with its garish red lights and the sound of drunken laughter spilling into the night. The stench of despair and greed hung in the air, thick and palpable.
Inside, the walls were papered with the same fake gaiety as the smiles of the painted ladies who lined the hallway. John’s eyes searched for Janine Gilbert, but she was nowhere to be found in the sea of sadness and desperation. Madam Lynn, a heavyset woman with a face like a weathered cliff, eyed them shrewdly from her perch at the top of the stairs.
“Gentlemen,” she purred, her voice thick with greed. “Welcome to the Red Hot Lantern. What can I do for you this fine evening?”
John flashed her a charming smile, laying on the charm as thick as molasses. “We’re looking for something ... special,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Heard you’ve got the cream of the crop here.”
Her eyes lit up with dollar signs, and she beckoned them closer. “Oh, indeed we do,” she said, her smile a knife’s edge. “But our finest experiences come at a premium. You look like you can afford it.”
Billy played along, his voice gruff and filled with false bravado. “We’re looking for Mrs. Janine Gilbert,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Is she ... available?”
Madam Lynn’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes grew cold. “Ah, the Busty Angel,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She’s a popular one, that one. But she’s reserved for the highest bidder.”
John reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold coins, letting them glint in the dim light. “How high do we have to go?”
The madam’s gaze flicked to the gold, her greed overpowering her suspicion. “Follow me,” she said, leading them upstairs to a room at the end of the hall. She opened the door, revealing Janine, dressed in a tattered gown that barely covered her bruised body.
John’s heart clenched at the sight of her, but he kept his poker face firmly in place. “We’ll take this one,” he said, his voice cold and detached.
Madam Lynn’s smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Very well,” she said, counting the gold. “But remember, she’s not for keeping. Just an hour’s worth of entertainment.”
Once inside, Billy locked the door and pulled out his gun, turning to Janine with a look of fierce protection. “Ma’am, we’re here to get you out of this place,” he said, his voice gentle.
Janine’s eyes widened with fear and hope, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. “Timmy sent you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screams long silenced.
John nodded, his expression unwavering. “Yes, Timmy sent us. We’re here to help.” He took a step closer to Janine, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of a quick escape.
“Oh, God bless that boy,” Janine murmured, her eyes filling with tears. “What do we do?”
John’s gaze was sharp, his mind racing through the possibilities. “We need to get you out without causing a scene,” he said firmly. “Madam Lynn’s got eyes everywhere. We can’t risk it.”
Janine nodded, her chin quivering with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. “I understand,” she whispered.
John leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial murmur. “We’re going to get you dressed and out of here, but we need you to stay calm and follow our lead,” he instructed. “Can you do that?”
Janine nodded, her eyes shining with a mix of hope and fear. She quickly slipped on the clothes John handed her, the fabric feeling foreign against her bruised skin. Billy kept watch at the door, his ears tuned to the muffled sounds of the brothel’s activities.
When Janine was dressed, they made their way through the dimly lit hallways, the cloying scent of cheap perfume and sweat thick in the air. Each step felt like a lifetime, the creaks of the floorboards echoing like gunshots in the tense silence. They reached the back stairs, the only way out that wasn’t guarded by Madam Lynn’s men.
John peered down the stairs, his eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. “Alright, Billy,” he whispered. “We go slow and stay quiet. We’re not looking for a fight, but if we get one, we finish it quick.”
Billy nodded, his hand on Janine’s arm, ready to support her if she faltered. They descended the stairs, their boots making barely a sound on the threadbare carpet. The back door was their target, a beacon of hope in the otherwise suffocating atmosphere.
As they reached the bottom, a burly figure emerged from the shadows, a leer on his face as he recognized John and Billy. “Where do you think you’re taking that piece of our property?” he sneered, blocking their path.
John stepped forward, his eyes cold and deadly. “We’re just taking her out for a little ... fresh air,” he said, his voice low and threatening.
The burly man laughed, a sound like a donkey’s bray. “Madam Lynn don’t allow her girls to leave without permission,” he said, his hand dropping to the butt of his gun. “And I don’t recall giving you that permission.”
John’s smile didn’t waver. “Well, you see, we’re not the kind of folks who wait for permission,” he said, his voice as smooth as a river stone. “We’re more the type to take what we want.”
The burly man’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his gun. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he spat. “But you’re just two greenhorns in a town that eats boys like you for breakfast.”
John’s hand was a blur as he drew his Colt, the click of the hammer echoing through the stairwell. “We’re not looking for trouble,” he said calmly, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. “But we’re not backing down either.”
The burly man’s grin disappeared, replaced by a look of surprise as he realized the gravity of the situation. The sound of shuffling footsteps and hushed whispers grew louder from above, signaling that Madam Lynn and her men had heard the commotion. John’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his hand steady.
As the thugs descended the stairs, John’s gaze didn’t waver from the burly man’s eyes. “You’re going to want to step aside,” he warned, his voice like a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike.
The man’s hand hovered over his gun, sweat beading on his forehead. He took a step forward, but before he could draw, a shot rang out. Madam Lynn and her posse of men rushed to the stairs, their faces a mix of shock and anger at the sound of the gunfire.
John’s bullet found its mark, dropping the burly guard with a thud. Billy was right behind, his revolver at the ready. “Move, Janine!” he hissed, urging her towards the back door.
Madam Lynn and her entourage of thugs thundered down the stairs, their faces twisted with rage. John and Billy backed up, the wall of the stairwell at their backs. The air was thick with the scent of fear and adrenaline as the men closed in. Madam Lynn’s eyes were cold, calculating slits in her fleshy face.
“You’re not leaving with her,” she snarled, her hand on her own pistol.
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