Someone pulled Cole away and kicked him in the ribs, but he spat out the piece of ear in triumph. The small victory was worth the pain.
Chapter 5
Cole wouldn’t stop moving. The cold of the stream still clung to his flesh, as if the borrowed union suit he’d gotten to wear while his own clothes dried were also soaked all the way through. Restless, he paced the tiny cell like a lion confined to a small cage.
Cole first seen one when he’d still been a boy and Tom had taken him to the circus so he could feast his eyes on the rare magic of women balancing the rope high in the air with almost their entire legs on show. They’d eaten honey-roasted nuts, played games before the spectacle began, and had even gotten a tour of the animals.
The fond memories of the trip had been what had attracted him to find work at a circus a few years ago. He’d attempted to rob one of the wagons, and that mess had ended up in a shootout. He’d taken Jan Dudek hostage, but the entrepreneurial owner of Dudek’s Fantastic Show and Other Curiosities, impressed by Cole’s skill, had somehow talked him into starring in his circus as a sharpshooter. Jan had never got robbed, while Cole became The Deadeye for a year, showing off his talent for money.
But just like the circus’s one lion couldn’t live in captivity, so Cole couldn’t find his place among humans anymore. He still remembered how Terje, the animal tamer, had invited him for an audience with the wild beast.
The lion had been moving like Cole did now, its huge yellow eyes pinned to him like Cole’s were now pinned to Ned, thirsty for a chance to draw blood. The coppery tang of Ned’s blood still filled Cole’s mouth, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be the vulture to break through his breastbone and feed on all the organs while the bastard was still alive. But as badly as he longed to get his hands on the damn wretch, two sets of iron bars kept them apart, which left Cole to nervous pacing while his teeth chattered from the cold.
Ned, on the other hand, sat still, wrapped in a blanket, and holding a rag against his ear, even though the blood must have stopped flowing by now. Why did he get a blanket when Cole didn’t? Then again, what did he expect when life proved itself unfair countless times already?
“A little whiskey would warm me up,” Ned muttered to Rory, his little cousin, who was now their jailor. What a twisted sense of humor fate had.
Now that Cole had more time to study him, he could see the family resemblance, especially when it came to Rory’s large nose on an otherwise slim face, but it was obvious which one of them had taken the better path in life. Unlike Ned, Rory was the picture of health and energy, with a narrow body that would not stop moving, and lively eyes that betrayed sharp wits.
“He’s a damn drunk. We’re both to die anyway, so why waste good booze on the likes of him?” Cole snapped, grabbing the bars and staring straight at Ned.
“I’m not a drunk, I’m just cold! Lost a lot of blood too,” Ned grumbled, eying Cole like a cornered scorpion.
Rory got up from his seat by the wall opposite them with a sigh. “Do you want some?” he asked Cole and walked over to a large wooden desk in the corner of the tidy office.
The two jail cells were part of one large room that made up the building. It likely housed drunks and brawlers more often than serious criminals, but the walls were stone, as if to enforce the notion that there was no leaving this place before the law allowed it.
A shiver went down Cole’s spine, and he hung his forearms out of the cell, staring at the deputy with knots of anger twisting in his belly. “If he gets it, then I want some too.”
Rory pulled out a bottle from the bottom drawer of the desk and lined up two glasses, but after a moment’s hesitation, swapped them to wooden tumblers. He poured them both generous amounts, leaving Cole to wonder what he wanted in return. No one was this nice for no reason.
Ned got up so fast his blanket fell to the floor. “Thanks, Rory. You always were my favorite cousin.”
Cole’s face twisted, and he shook his head in anger. “Looking for favors, O’Leary? I spoke to your aunt, and she told me she had no nephew.”
“What? You visited her searching for me?” Ned mumbled, drinking from his tumbler as soon as he got it. While Cole’s union suit was too large and sagged on him, Ned’s was too small and clung to him in a way that prompted Cole to stare. Even its red color reminded him of a time when all he could think of was unbuttoning Ned’s underwear. The suggestion behind Ned’s words made his insides twist in rage, but he kept his cool.
“I came here to kill you. So yes, I did ask about you.”
Rory glanced his way, pressing his lips into a tight line. “There’s no love lost between you two.”
Ned glanced Cole’s way, calmer now that he drank from the stupid tumbler with Welcome to Beaver Springs carved on it. “A lot of love lost.”
How dare he.
Cole pulled away, only to throw his body at the bars. They vibrated upon impact, as if the whole building echoed with Cole’s anger. “Fuck you, O’Leary! I wish you die first, so I can piss on your corpse before I hang!”
Rory took a step back, as if he were in danger, but Ned remained calm and held the empty tumbler out to his cousin in a silent plea.
“Can you do that, Rory? Hang me first?” he whispered with damp hair hanging in his face.
A stab. Like a knitting needle sinking deep into Cole’s heart. He squeezed the metal making up his cage and swallowed the howl rising in his throat. He’d been barred from expressing the extent of his anguish, like a castrated dog that still wanted to fuck but couldn’t.
His cousin let out a deep sigh and sat on the desk. “Oh, Ned… I really wish we’d met in different circumstances. For years, I believed that you’d been framed, that you couldn’t have done all those terrible things they accused you of, but now it turns out you were also the Wolfman? Terrorizing innocent folk, stealing from them in the mountains—”
“You have no idea what kind of man your cousin is. He’s got no loyalty, even to his friends,” Cole hissed through his teeth and let go of the bars, back to pacing to reduce the pain of the storm raging inside him.
“Your drink?” Rory reminded him of the tumbler he’d left on the floor in front of Cole’s cage.
“Sometimes a man’s got no choice,” Ned mumbled with a shrug.
His cousin shook his head. “There’s always choice. You really killed that agent, Homer Craig?”
Ned shook his empty tumbler, and only complied with answering once it was filled. “Cole was shot and in pieces, his horse—dead. I had to do what I had to do.”
Cole bit down on his tongue, struggling to breathe. Something inside him, the part that was left of the naive young man he used to be itched to believe Ned, but even if his actions had been motivated by fear for Cole’s safety, they didn’t excuse the months of deception, the broken trust, and the loss of so many souls to the noose.
Back then, Cole would have confessed anything to Ned and had been ready to sacrifice everything for him. His friends. His family. His life, if need be. But Ned never trusted him, and that fact spoiled the loveliest of memories from their time together.
“It was only your third kill that day,” Cole added.