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Blood’s Thicker Than I Thought

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“Honestly Ed, what else did you expect me to do?” she asks, with her horse still shivering and steaming from its run between them, reins clutched in one hand, her pistol in the other.

He fancies he can still smell the gunpowder, though the outlaw who raided the town brothel must be a good five miles away, bleeding out in the dust beside the road, if Susan left him alive at all; Edmund looks at the way the light of his sheriff’s badge catches the blood shining on his sister's split lip, and wishes he could have killed the man himself.

“You knew what he was, even if you couldn't prove it,” she says, sliding her gun home in its holster, wincing as his thumb brushes her lips, coming away bright with blood, though it doesn't stop her words: “I have to be vengeance, when your justice isn't enough.”