This ain't romance, this is a reckoning. Ropes. Gags. Chains. Clamps. The love of two men. Welcome to the Wild West, motherfuckers. Holly Quinn, wanted dead or alive, is separated from her gang after a heist gone bad, she finds herself the prey of a...
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If Mac's Daddy had known he was acting up like this, he'd have called him a pussy, thumped him up the side of the head, then given a sermon on how he didn't raise no sissy.
Therefore, for the first time in all the green—eyed desperados years, while he wearily sighed at the hard calluses on his hand still faintly scented with copper, he was glad his old man was dearly departed, buried somewhere along the trail so long ago only his eldest sister could remember where.
It's true, Pa would have been embarrassed to have raised a son that couldn't act like a man.
Maybe that's why he killed himself, for raising such a sister—boy.
The air was heady, his heart humming with liquor, and after pulling off a score worth forty thousand dollars, especially three days before Christmas, he should have been smiling more.
Or at least have the spirit to fake it.
It wasn't lost on the boy that after the money had been split six ways, they each received six thousand six hundred and sixty six dollars.
That was a bad omen.
There was a secret place he would sometimes go, where blooms of indigo flowers erupted from the Whetstone mountains—and when it rained he would stand on the cobalt peaks and scream with the lightning.
But when it was warm, he would sprawl against the tree carved with lovers names, sink his bare feet in the soil and read for so many hours his eyes would burn.
Knights. Princesses. Elves and unicorns. A life that didn't involve nineteen consecutive life sentences after a hanging, and those people who wanted to hack his finger away from his hand simply for a memento.
It was nice to dream.
And Mac realised he should have appreciated the quiet when he had the chance, because down in New Orleans, where Grimm existed on an entirely different page, no such luxury existed, even when the law was afraid of you.
A theatre grand as this wouldn't be the first place you would imagine a hustle of bleary eyed outlaws looking for a little relaxation to be.
Oh, this little slice of paradise with it's fireworks and dancing floors, grand pianos and buss boys in bowties, fancy wines, crystal chandeliers, and an all white dress code that everyone conformed to but them, it was all a little rich for their attendance.
