Lobo’s smile didn’t waver. He pulled out a second pistol—a compact .22 with a suppressor already threaded on. “Then you die knowing something true. Shame you won’t tell anyone.”
Lobo reached for his piece on the table.
“You’re dead,” Lobo whispered.
Kael stood in the doorway. Head bandaged. Left hand wrapped in bloody cloth. Right hand holding Lobo’s own silenced .22.
The .22 had grazed his skull—plowed a furrow above his left ear, knocked him cold, stopped just short of his brain. Enough blood to fool anyone. Not enough to finish the job. Death Before Dishonor 2 Pistols Zip
Zip.
The rain had stopped. The ravine was quiet except for trickling water and the buzz of flies already gathering. Kael’s body lay twisted among broken pallets and trash. His eyes were open. Glassy. Lobo’s smile didn’t waver
Lobo handed the gun to his man. “Dump him in the usual ravine.”
