Chapter Eleven
I walk down the main road of Crescent Oak, taking in the sound of Mollie ’ s in full swing.
As I walk by the double-swinging wooden doors, I glance inside briefly. I chuckle when I see the preacher, relieved in a way that he ’ s still alive.
That was one of the deals I made with Mollie when I let her open her whorehouse in town.
Rob him, beat him, take anything you want from him, but let him live. I warned her that if she broke our deal, I ’ d shoot her dead where she stands.
At first, she didn ’ t seem to be too bothered by it until I told her about my special bullets. The ones meant for monsters like her; ever since then, she ’ s taunted me to use them, hoping that I ’ d break my end of the deal that she forced on me.
None of them die so long as she keeps the preacher alive and her whorehouse in business.
Sometimes, though, I think she wants me to use them because she ’ s sick of living the way she does.
Not so much as a monster, rather as a used-up whore with nothing else to trade but her dangerous cunt.
As I attempt to continue my patrol, the doors slam open, and a clearly enraged Mollie starts to make her way toward me.
“ Stop right there, Mason .” She growls my last name like it ’ s the most bitter thing she ’ s ever tasted in her life. “ We need to talk.”
I grip the brim of my hat and nod it at her in the most gentlemanly way that I can. There ’ s never been love between myself and Mollie, and if curiosity didn ’ t always seem to get the best of me when she ’ s in one of her moods, I would keep walking.
“ What ’ s bothering you tonight, Mollie?” I ask her in a bored tone.
She stops short of few feet away from me and places her hands on her hips. The way her eyes bear an intense fire into mine makes me wonder if she wishes looks could kill right now.
“ The brat told me what you did.”
I roll my eyes and sigh loudly.
Sometimes, Clem is still very much the little girl she was before she had her incident and blabs things she shouldn ’ t to people she shouldn ’ t.
“ And what did I do?”
“ You bent over and spread ‘ em for Silas!”
The tenor in which she spits her venom is so loud and accusing that it rattles the windows of her establishment, which promptly falls silent.
I shrug in indifference. “ And whose fault would that be?”
I want her to admit it.
I want her to tell me that she ’ s the one that bartered off my Elyse so I can end her miserable existence once and for all.
Or, I want her to give up the ghost on who did and see if she thinks that ’ s enough for me to call off the mob.
“ It ’ s yours ,” she seethes. “ You ’ re the one that still lives in some fairytale world where you and Elyse Danforth can be together like some cosmic power ’ s perfect little children, and you can ’ t. You know that, damn you!”
I turn to face her and push my duster coat aside, ensuring her that I ’ m packing the special bullets that she ’ s afraid of, and take a step toward her.
“ Who did it, Mollie?” I ask her softly.
She juts her chin defiantly as she holds my glare, placing her hands on her hips. Her facade of bravery only lasts a moment as she sighs and runs a hand over her face tiredly. “ You won ’ t believe me if I tell you the truth.”
“ Try me,” I shoot back evenly.
Mollie crosses her arms over her chest, glances up at the night sky, then back at me again.
“ Ask Silas when he gets here. Tick, tock, Boone. You ’ re gonna have one hell of a mess to clean up if you ’ re stupid enough to let them into Crescent Oak.” Mollie takes a step toward me, pointing a finger at my face. “ And I promise you that it won ’ t be ours.”