“Muera, pendejo. Die, you bastard,” she said, aiming the heavy revolver at his chest.
Lucho had no time to draw his weapon, but in the instant her finger tightened on the trigger, he lunged for her. The pistol roared, but Lucho’s move had thrown off her aim. The bullet struck his right shoulder, barely slowing the brute’s charge.
Slammed by the recoil, Rose staggered backward. Her feet tangled in the loose rug on the floor. Losing her balance, she went down hard, landing on one arm.
She managed to keep a one-handed grip on the gun, but now he was standing over her, blood streaming down his sleeve. She could hear the hiss of his breath between his teeth as he reached for his holster, then paused, cursing. That was when Rose realized her shot had disabled his shooting arm. The flicker of distraction as he switched to draw with his left hand gave her the only chance she had left.
She cocked the .44 and pulled the trigger.