I spent the rest of the journey glancing over my shoulder.

I’d known that Bart came from a big family, and at the time of his execution I’d been worried there would be some stupid attempt at payback from his band of idiotic brothers, but when none happened, I figured that they’d agreed that raping and choking and beating a woman was an offense that deserved hanging.

Since then, I’d dealt with an endless number of ass holes and the horrible man had gradually slipped from my mind. I guess his brother hadn’t been as quick to forget.

Bart’s brother had been drunk and I’d been a sitting duck on horseback. Maybe it had been too good for him to pass up the opportunity to try and exact his revenge. Sometimes cowboys were stupid—thinking without acting. Sometimes their stupidity ended their lives. I could hardly be held accountable—what was I supposed to do? Let him shoot me? No.

The sun sank behind the clouds when we finished the last leg of our journey. The ranch, by all outward accounts, was nice. Wooden fence penned in herds of cattle. There were barns and stables and random buildings erected along the road leading to the main area.

Jon stopped and I followed suit.

“What now?” I asked.

“We go in and get my son. We shoot the man whose shape I’ve worn. And we get out of here alive.”

He said the words like they were the most obvious, simple instructions ever given. Never mind there was a one hundred percent chance we’d be shot at. Or that things were bound to get messy real quick.

“Jon, tell me you have more of a plan.”

His jaw tightened, and he remained silent.

“You mean to tell me you’ve been masquerading in this man’s skin, killing baddies and gathering information, and this whole time, you haven’t been considering what you’d actually do?”

“It isn’t that simple, Little Wolf. I only found out about this ranch when I met Mary-Bell. Since then it has taken the whole of my concentration to not ride over here and kill everyone who gets in my way. I have shown restraint, but my attempt to come up with anything resembling a true plan...it has been difficult. I just want...no I need to get my boy home safe. That is all. I will kill anyone who stops me.”

I sighed. “Okay, cowboy, let’s do this then.”

We rode down the dirt road toward the smoke, until a house came into view. It was a simple, rectangle structure with a chimney on either end. It was by all accounts plain. I am not sure why this surprised me—I had been expecting grandeur. Multiple stories and white washed exteriors with grand wrap around porches and balconies are the visions I’d conjured on the ride over. I guess in my mind, excess was linked with immorality. Probably because I had parents that believe that doing without built character—and they’d raised me to have a lot of character.

Next to the houses, three mares grazed near a trough. Cattle stood around lazily behind fences, with the occasional mule joining them in the field.   There were no guards posted around the property, like you’d expect from an evil mastermind. It was...bizarre.

The large front porch held a few rocking chairs. The house could have belonged to anyone. It could have easily been the home of a couple of happy, caring grandparents. There was nothing giving away the evil who lived inside.

The planks of the porch creaked under our boots.

With one hand on the door knob, Jon turned back to me and silently held up his fingers. 1.2.3.

He pushed the door open, his weapon drawn. I covered his back, but stayed out of sight.

“Hands in the air,” Jon growled. He stepped further into the room. I followed him. My pistol was raised in front of me and I swept it over the room. A woman screamed. She’d been lounging on a settee near the fire, dressed in purple and red silk with a plunging neckline. She was made of big hair, cleavage, and white teeth. Her hands shot skyward.

The inside of the house was as normal as the outside. Wood floors. Wood walls. Shelves in the kitchen area. A large fire burned in the fireplace, with a rug spread over the floor.

The woman continued to scream, so I crossed the floor in five steps. I cocked my gun and said, “If you want to die, keep it up.”  I had no intention of killing another woman. Ever. With few exceptions, I’d come to understand most monsters were men. However, I’d been proven wrong a few times (example, Mary-Belle.)

The woman snapped her thick, ruby lips closed.

“Now,” I said, “Where is he?”

Her voice shook. “Where is who?”

I brought my gun closer to her face. “Don’t play stupid. Your husband, that’s who. I don’t know if you know this—but he is a bad man.”

The woman smirked. She met my eyes, then spit on the floor. “My husband, huh? Do I look like anyone’s wife to you?”

I swept her body with my gaze. Purple and red silk. Rouged cheeks. Bleached curls. None of it screamed propriety. “Okay, then. Whatever that man is to you, he is bad. And we are here for him.”

“That man—Malachi—is nothing to me. He paid for the night, so here I am. Nothing more. If you get him, just let me collect my fee.”

I stared at her a moment more, then lowered my gun. “Deal,” I said. Far be it from me to keep another woman from getting paid—especially if she has put in the work.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Jon had come to stand next to me. His weapon wasn’t pointed at the woman, but it wasn’t lowered, neither. He kept it trained steadily across the room, in a great sweeping motion anytime there was a noise of any kind.

“We just got back from New Duluth. When we were riding up, some of his cattle were out. I’ve never seen a man fly into a rage like that. He let me in the house and then said he’d be back. Said he had to teach someone to do a better job at their duties. I don’t know who he has hired to work with his livestock but I can tell you I am glad it ain’t me.” Her painted eyelids opened wide. “He was practically red.”

I looked over my shoulder at Jon. His bronze skill paled. “Go,” I said. He nodded and then bolted from the house.