The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

Cole’s heart thumped, pumping blood out of his head until thinking became almost too hard, because how was he to respond? Lars had stripped him of the lies he’d been hiding behind and left him naked for Ned to ogle.

Maybe he’d really gotten soft? Maybe his past feelings were what kept him from getting the answers he wanted, and it was time to forget everything he believed in and put that hot poker to Ned’s flesh?

“It’s you. Makes me ill when I hear you breathe, you maggot!” he roared and tossed an empty can Ned’s way.

The light in Ned’s eyes dimmed, as if he were a deer only two heartbeats away from bleeding out. “Do you love him?”

Even air burned Cole’s insides now, but his feet led him back to Ned, so he could look down on him, see him in this pathetic state and remind himself what this was. They were not about to get friendly. They would not play music together, nor sing, nor speak in bird calls.

He wanted answers, and now that Ned was no longer ill, it was high time to make demands.

“Yes,” Cole lied. “And once you’re rotting underground, I’ll have him fuck me in your bed. We’ll celebrate for a whole day and night. Do you not see how handsome he is? How could you ever compare?”

It was cruel and untrue, because he’d never let Lars have a go at his rear, even if the man wanted it. Lars was callous and wouldn’t hesitate to use Cole’s vulnerabilities against him, if their relationship soured, but the torment was almost too effective, and Ned shrank onto himself as if he were about to shed tears.

“We can’t all be Cole Flores,” he mumbled with his eyes trained on his bound hands.

Something snapped inside Cole so hard he could have sworn he heard his patience creak. He was so used to covering his scar that he barely noticed the presence of the bandana anymore, but now he yanked the cloth off and tossed it at Ned. “You see those damn letters? I don’t even know what this bastard’s name was, but I’ll carry his initials until the day I die. Because of you,” he roared, touching the twisted flesh that would remain forever numb to touch and mar his good looks.

Ned swallowed and dared to meet his gaze, cowering as if Cole had hit him already. “How did it happen?”

Cole swallowed and stared out of the window, as if seeing snow could soothe the burn he still remembered so vividly a phantom of it awoke him some nights. But the scent of searing flesh? He couldn’t stand the odor or taste of burnt meat ever since.

“I lost Thunder, so I tried to steal a horse at the nearby ranch. Didn’t work out. The owner and his hands felt like punishing me themselves. They took everything, all the valuables I’d gathered over the years, everything but the clothes on my back. And then they sent me on my way on an old, bony nag. That’s the story. I was trying to save myself from your mess and avoid the fate of all those I’d later seen hang. So now I have a memento for life.”

“I’m sorry… I did all I could to draw the Pinkertons away from you,” Ned mumbled as if that was supposed to be good enough. Goddamn traitor.

“There would have been no Pinkertons to protect me from if you hadn’t betrayed us. So why? Clearly not for money, judging by the state of this fucking place, and the fact that you then turned around and betrayed the Pinkertons as well. You make no sense,” Cole said, scooting down to grab Ned’s chin so the lying piece of shit couldn’t look away. His beard was soft now, like the hair Cole had washed two days back, because the scarecrow mane offended him too much to leave Ned as he’d been.

The green eyes held an answer, and it infuriated Cole that he couldn’t just crack open the shaggy head and dig the truth out with a spoon.

“I…” Ned licked his lips, which were still healing from being cracked in several places. “I don’t want to remember. It’s buried now.”

It wasn’t for Cole. He couldn’t move on until he found out what really happened, and the weight of knowing that for certain had him squeezing Ned’s face until he flinched.

Perhaps Ned should have also been stripped of any protection he still had. “I’ll make you remember who you really are,” he said and let go, walking off to the cooking area where he’d left his bag of grooming supplies. He poured a bit of water in a bowl and approached Ned with the razor already open.

Ned recoiled like a cat trying to flee from a washing bowl, but the iron collar didn’t offer him much leeway. “I’m the Wolfman,” he said weakly, as if he knew the threat of that boogeyman wasn’t effective against Cole.