He found her in a dark, grimy corner of the Valentine saloon. She was three whiskies to the wind and yet, somehow, entirely sober. Or at least, she thought she was.
“Get the living fuck away from me, Arthur Morgan.”
He gripped her arm hard, “That’s Arthur Callahan, Mrs. Callahan.”
His grip on her was unfaltering and the dark look in his eyes was proof enough that he had no intention of showing mercy on her.
“Open your mouth,” He gargled through the pooling blood from his lip, “Wide.”