The Man Who Loved Cole Flores (Dig Two Graves 1)

Zeb went on, “Gotta tell you I was damn angry when I found out Cole took you to Gedes. Thought you were too soft to do what needed to be done, if Adam Wild was there. Glad I was mistaken.”

Ned shrugged, remembering how Adam’s lax fingers slipped out of his grasp. “Didn’t have to do much, it was all Cole.” No point in lying about it. No one liked a braggart, especially one calling someone else’s actions his own.

“At least you weren’t in the way, huh?” Zeb said and slapped Ned’s back, prompting him to gently move away from the reach of Zeb’s hands. “Can’t believe that little piece of shit talked. After everything we’ve done for him.”

Ned clenched his hands on the reins. “Not everyone’s got your willpower, Zeb. The man was beaten to a pulp.”

Zeb snarled, and the gap where his two front teeth used to be made Ned look away with a flinch when the image of a hammer smashing into the front of Zeb’s face passed through his mind.

“A man’s gotta have spine. Anyone can shoot holes in other people’s heads. Protecting your family is something else. And he failed to protect us. Cole’s done him a favor.”

Because if Zeb had gotten to Adam first, the poor bastard would have been up for suffering way more horrific than the brief pain of getting a knife in the throat.

“Can’t give a man a second chance?”

Zeb squinted at him but made a thoughtful hum. “Cole used to have a soft spot like you, but he learned the hard way.”

Ned inched closer, thirsty for any information on Cole’s past. “What do you mean?”

Zeb took his time lighting a cigar and stuck it in the gap where his front teeth used to be while Ned waited. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself? Or did you and your sweetheart have a falling-out?” His eyes twinkled with mean glee, because throughout the past two days, it had become obvious Ned and Cole weren’t on speaking terms, and everyone was bored enough to look for gossip wherever they could find it. Zeb probably still held a bit of a grudge over the shooting incident, but the ugly scar forming on Ned’s face had to be sweetening his mood.

“It’s our business, and has nothing to do with Adam. Or the gang.”

“A lady then,” Zeb said and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Something like that.”

“Well, Cole must have been, I don’t know… sixteen maybe? He was told to get rid of a snitch and couldn’t do it. It wasn’t his first kill, so I don’t know what the deal was, but he let the fucker go. Once a rat, always a rat, any man with experience will tell you that much. And this dirty bastard sold Cole to certain people we used to have quarrels with. The Vultures, they're called. They took him, thinking Cole knew where Tom stashes his money, and the sick animals kept him underground, in a coffin. By the time we got to them and rescued him, the boy was clinging to life by a thread, and we only found him because he screamed into the thin straw he had for air down there. We thought he wouldn’t make it, but he survived and hadn’t made a peep. You heard of Spartans?”

Ned shook his head, fighting off the nausea clutching at his throat when he thought of Cole in a state even remotely similar to the one Adam had been in when he died.

Zeb shrugged. “Doc knows such things from his fancy books. They are a people who live in Greece, and they have this story about a boy who stole someone’s fox. He’d been caught but kept lying about it even when the damn varmint ate into his guts under the coat. The Spartans tell this to children as a lesson on bravery. And they call the West wild, eh?”

When Ned didn’t answer, Zeb glanced at the barrels stacked under the canvas stretched atop the wagon in front of them. “Cole is like that. Real loyal. Real brave. So don’t you try to steal his girl. Find yourself another.”

Ned craned his neck to see whether he could get a peek at Cole riding at the front of their group, but no such luck. He nodded to Zeb, but when his face twitched, he lifted his bandana over his nose to hide his feelings. There was enough dust coming at them from under the wheels to excuse it.

An experience like that explained the brutality of Cole’s choice. He’d learned the weight of his decisions the hard way and now chose to follow rules the gang lived by—not because he thirsted for blood but because he cared for the people, Adam Wild’s weakness might have hurt.

Adam Wild had worn the gang tattoo on his left forearm. He’d known what was expected of him, and what the consequences of his actions would be. Had he remained loyal, Cole would have stormed that jail and did everything in his power to break him out. Doc would have nursed Adam to health, and Bertha would have fed him the best cuts of meat. Everyone would have done their share to ensure he was safe for as long as he needed protection.