The man’s lips parted and Dakota listened as his breath rattled. “Why-” he rasped.

“If you’re gonna sling guns, best make sure you never gotta ask that,” she responded in a flat tone.

“Why is-” Dakota just frowned at the man as he was splayed out on the lavatory tiles, his blood gathering in the grouted grooves. “Why… is momma… always right?” He whispered.

Dakota sighed heavily and hung her head. She barely remembered her mother or father. They were just a worn old photograph now. “Because no one loves you like she does. And she knows that bleeding out in the lavatory is a shitty way to die.”

“You… you got me first,” he said, a slight question on the tip of his statement. She stood and studied him for a moment. He was not a bad guy. He was barely older than her, but he had wanted to collect the reward and she had no desire to go to the Feds.

“I was quicker,” she said simply. “My want was more.”

His face contorted in pain and frustration. He shook his head a little as though he might be able to rewind his decision through denial. Dakota turned and walked out.

The man just closed his eyes and listened to her boot heals click against the tile, barely audible through the roaring wind in his head. He thought to himself. He wished that he had pulled the trigger as soon as he’d opened the door… ‘stead of staring at that moon-pale skin. A breath rattled out. The roaring in his head was silent.

Fin.Cheers,

~D