In the real world, two men locked in a tumble, and the noise they made drew in onlookers, who exchanged comments about the fight, but not one soul chose to intervene and stop Doc from smashing his fist into Scotch’s nose.
Sarah flinched at the creaking sound but didn’t try to stop her lover and stood back, crossing her arms under the small mounds of breasts pushing at the white cotton shirt she wore along with denim pants. Some people laughed when Doc finished the beating with a kick to Scotch’s ribs, but he ignored them and stepped closer to Sarah, who cupped his face and looked him over as if he’d been the one to get pummeled into the dirt.
Bertha leaned closer to Ned and whispered, “he called her cunny a fruitcake and said he’d suck on the raisin.”
Ned hid half his face in his hand. At least between men there would be no such foolishness.
Blood dripping from Scotch’s nose changed the color of his unkempt stubble, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet and wagged his finger at Doc. “Should’ve said her cunt was unavailable, I would have asked for the other hole. Maybe she likes it that way since she dresses like a man—”
Doc turned around like a tornado of fury and pulled out his knife. “Shut that roach-infested mouth, or I’ll cut your tongue out!”
Pure instinct made Ned step in between them, but his mind caught up fast. Proving himself to be a reliable friend was the long game, but one he should play. Ned raised his hand to Doc, signaling he’d take over from here, and scooted next to Scotch.
“Stop barking at ‘im. Come on, I’ll clean up your nose.”
“My nose needs professional help,” Scotch complained, slowly getting to his knees. Ned could’ve gotten intoxicated on the man’s breath alone. No wonder the bastard stood no chance against a man as strong and tall as Doc. He wouldn’t have been able to overpower a woman in a fistfight either, unless he straightened up his act.
Doc spat at the ground, but at least put the knife back into its sheath. “I hope it rots and falls off!” He put his arm around Sarah and guided her away, as if to let everyone know the show was over.
Bertha gave a rumbly laugh, which made Scotch curse under his breath, but no one else showed any interest in his plight. Most gang members liked him as much as they liked suffering from the runs, and the only thing keeping him riding with the gang was Tom’s long-standing friendship.
“Hey Scotch, if you want a piece, you know where to find me,” called out one of the girls before walking off with a chuckle as if it were only a joke. Then again, maybe she hoped to drink Scotch into a stupor and take money for services she never had to perform?
“You heard that, boy? They think their cunts are made of sugar,” Scotch growled, spitting blood as Ned helped him up.
By the time Ned led him to the barrels of water and sat him on a crate, Cole and his intoxicating body were long gone, but Ned could swear the phantom smell of ylang-ylang hung in the air.
“You know Sarah’s under Doc’s protection, so give it a rest with the vile comments about her backside.”
Scotch grinned with his half-bloody, half-yellowed teeth. Maybe the alcohol dulled the pain in his broken nose as well. “I was offerin’ her cunt a favor, ‘cause I doubt it could take my prick. Some of those dirty girls like me knocking at their back door.”
Ned stalled with his mouth half open. The wet rag in his hand couldn’t extinguish the heat flaring up in his belly when he thought back to the curve of Cole’s backside. “You’re disgusting.”
“No, you’re a simple bumpkin who’s never pickled his cod in a cunny. Bet you wouldn’t even know the difference in the dark. That other hole’s tighter than your own fist,” Scotch rasped before breaking into a lecherous laughter. He only stopped once more blood spurted down his face.
Ned had no words. He was surprised the drunk old bastard still found women willing to service him, even if for a fee.
Scotch sat back against the wheel of the supply wagon and rubbed his face, smearing blood everywhere. He should really take a bath too, but Ned’s heart wasn’t pure enough to take off the man’s clothes and experience the pungent smell of his unwashed body without the barrier of fabric.
“Maybe the ladies would have liked you more if you cleaned up your act.”
Scotch glanced at Ned from between his fingers before erupting into a dark, hoarse laughter. “I’ve been riding with Tom longer than any of you lily-livers. And those girls? Most are moochers and have no respect. I deserve a little something for my troubles.”