It wasn’t hard to spot the pistol pit on the other side of Deadshot. All the better if I got out with a few coins in my pocket, too. Tonight I was getting out of here with at least my life. I figured I looked more like some lost nomad than a real sharpshooter, but so long as I didn’t look like a girl it didn’t much matter. I was wrapped up to my eyes, and even hours after sunset I was sweating under the padding like a sinner at prayers.

My hand snapped to my sheema before I could think better of it, checking it was still tightly fastened so the better part of my face was covered. The doors of the bar banged open, spilling out light and noise and a fat drunk with his arm around a pretty girl.

Everything I owned belonged to my uncle anyway, according to law, down to the clothes on my back. I’d stolen the hat from my uncle, along with the horse. I tugged the wide brim of my hat lower as I stepped out of the yard. Or maybe that was just his two black eyes. The kid sitting against the fence was sizing me up suspiciously. I slid from Blue’s saddle and tethered her to a post behind some bar called the Dusty Mouth. Then again, I wasn’t exactly up to no bad neither. OL20021510W Page_number_confidence 92.68 Pages 330 Partner Innodata Pdf_module_version 0.0.18 Ppi 360 Rcs_key 24143 Republisher_date 20220331213243 Republisher_operator Republisher_time 251 Scandate 20220329200305 Scanner Scanningcenter cebu Scribe3_search_catalog isbn Scribe3_search_id 9780451477538 Tts_version 4.They said the only folks who belonged in Deadshot after dark were the ones who were up to no good.

Access-restricted-item true Addeddate 17:08:22 Bookplateleaf 0008 Boxid IA40416708 Camera Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control) Collection_set printdisabled External-identifier

Rebel of the Sands by Alwyn Hamilton