Page 35 of Mail Order Bride

“Not everything,” he says, waving me off. “I digress... But just so you know: never trust a girl who looks like a pinup model or Playboy centerfold, because nine times out of ten, they're dirty-dealing heartbreakers that could gut a man like a fucking fish.”

“Speaking from experience, eh?”

“Damn straight,” he says, pulling a pistol from his waistband. I should have known better than to let my guard down around him. I’ve been a little preoccupied ever since the sun came up.

He smiled. I’d seen his smile before, and this one was no different. It was the one that signaled the end was in sight. I knew it the moment I saw it. It's the kind of smile a man wears right before he rips your face off. “How ‘bout you, cowboy?” he asks. “Ever had your heart broken?”

“What?” I look down at his hands, which hold the gun in a surprisingly steady grip. I can almost see the light flashing at the end of the barrel.

“Well, if you haven’t, you’re one lucky bastard.”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Well, then you got a lot to look forward to.”

“What're you talking about?”

“Cruelty,” he says, leveling the barrel of the gun at my neck. “Those pretty girls will break your heart, for sure. All women,” he says. “But damn, you gotta watch out for the pretty ones.”

It has not escaped me that he called me cowboy. Only one person calls me that.

“So you know Layla then?”

This feels like a setup. A trap.

He smiles. That smile. It is the smile of someone holding all the cards. “I can't say that I do.”

“That a fact?”

“It sure is,” he says.

The smile grows wider.

I can see it. I can see the man behind the smile. “And why is that?”

His smile disappears.

I stare into his cold eyes. I don't know what he's getting at.

“You know her. A pretty girl with a gun in her pocket. She your whore, or what? Can't be too careful these days.”

“Layla's a little more than that,” I tell him.

He grins this time. It's smug and certain. Deadly. “Is that right?”

“You tell me.”

“Layla's a lot of things. She's a good time. I'll give her that. She's a pistol, too. Reckless. Out of control. I thought so, too, once upon a time. Then... Well, you know. Thinking back, I'm not so sure. People change.”

He levels the gun at me. He is bigger and stronger, but I am sober and he is not. I can take him.

“She's a lot of things,” he continues, “but she's no friend to you. She's a liar and a backstabber. She can't be trusted.”

He pulls the trigger. But he doesn't stop there. He keeps pulling. The gun’s hammer clicks and clicks and clicks, clicking for what seems like an eternity. The man doesn't stop. I'm still alive.

His eyes widen. He looks at me as if he's seeing me for the very first time.

“What the hell?” he says, looking down at his gun like he can't believe what just happened. Then he looks back at me again, and I see it in his eyes. Hatred. “Layla,” he says.

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