Page 39 of Master of Games
Whitehouse gave him a deathly grin. “Good. I call the weapon as pistols.”
“My man, John, will be my second,” Caden agreed. “Twenty paces, turn and fire.”
“Agreed,” Whitehouse gestured for the men around him to give him space. The horses were pulled to the side, the others lining up to bear witness.
Caden needed to win. If he lost, all of the men he was trying to protect would be in danger. He nodded to one of the footmen in line. “See the doors barred.”
The man nodded back, racing up the stairs.
Caden, drew his pistol and stepped up to Whitehouse. Subtly, he gave a small nod to John, who nodded back.
If Caden went down, John would need to fight like all their lives depended on it.
“My man will do the count,” Whitehouse said as he took his position behind Caden.
“One,” a gravelly voice boomed over the quiet of the night. Each man took a step.
It was a delicate balance. The larger the steps, the harder the shot would be when they turned.
The shorter they made their strides, the more danger they faced.
Caden knew one of them died tonight. So he kept his strides steady but not too long.
“Two. Three. Four.”
Each step moved him a little further down the gravel drive. He kept his hand light on his pistol. Tension only worsened his shot.
“Five. Six. Seven.” They’d endlessly played games like this at the Club. He’d thought them mad at times. Why unnecessarily put themselves in danger?
But right now. He understood.
“Twelve, thirteen, fourteen.” He drew in a long breath of cleansing air, keeping his ears open.
Whitehouse would try and cheat the count. That’s what men like him do.
He’d turn early. Attempt to fire at Caden’s back.
“Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.”
His jaw flexed, every muscle going rigid as prepared for what he knew was about to come.
“Nineteen.”
He didn’t hesitate. Instead, he ducked down into a crouch, spinning on his heels even as the sound of Whitehouse’s pistol filled the night.
He heard the bullet whiz overhead, the ball too close for comfort but still missing him. Caden exhaled, preparing himself for what came next.
The smoke filled the air, making a shot impossible.
A muffled scream sounded from the house. Tabbie. Was she watching? Later, he’d have to tell her how foolish that was while he held her in his arms. But right now…
“Did I hit him?” Whitehouse screeched. “Let the righteous prevail, and the wicked be damned!” he screamed into the night. “I told all you men that God guides my hand and that I alone will redeem us when God has finished with our trials.”
Whitehouse’s outline became visible through the smoke. It was his right to take the shot. Leveling the pistol, he fired.
He didn’t need to ask if he’d shot true, he heard Whitehouse’s body hit the dirt.
But just in case, he drew his second gun, shifting it to his uninjured hand.
