Blood Bond 5 Read Online Free PDF Page A

pulling a hand on the back of a chair. “This doesn’t have to be,” Sam finally spoke.
    â€œYeah, Breed,” Chuckie replied, his voice hoarse. “It has to be.”
    Sam arched an eyebrow and waited.
    â€œAre you gonna grab iron?” Chuckie called.
    â€œIt’s your play,” Sam told him, his voice calm. “I never wanted this trouble.”
    Chuckie began to have doubts. Sam was just too calm and collected. But he made no move to wipe the perspiration from his face. Any more now would be taken as a move toward a gun. He silently cussed the situation. The damn breed was just too sure of himself. He just stood there, waiting, his face showing no emotion at all.
    â€œA hundred dollars on Chuckie,” Bull said softly.
    â€œYou’re on,” Matt took the bet.
    â€œChuckie killed that Utah gunhand, Rodman, down on the flats,” Bull said.
    Matt chose not to reply. He’d watched Sam put his left hand on the chair back and wondered what his brother had in mind. Matt lifted his beer mug with his left hand and took a sip, always keeping one eye on the men in the saloon. And the men knew it. Bull had placed both hands on the bar. They all were familiar with the unwritten rules of gunplay.
    Chuckie lost his composure and began cussing Sam, the spittle flying from his lips. Sam waited, his face impassive.
    â€œNow!” Chuckie screamed, and grabbed for his guns.

3
    Chuckie’s first mistake had been in bracing Sam. His second mistake was in reaching for both guns, for that cut his speed down by a half second.
    When Chuckie’s hands lifted and just before they closed around the butts of his guns, Sam sidestepped and threw the chair. The chair slammed into Chuckie’s chest and knocked him backward, his two shots going wild, the booming reports sending men jumping and cussing and hollering and scrambling for the floor and under tables.
    Sam leaped across the short space and collided with Chuckie, riding him down to the floor, his fists hammering into the man’s face and body.
    His face bloody and his eyes wide and wild, Chuckie wrestled Sam away and got to his feet. He tossed Sam to one side and grabbed at a hideout gun behind his belt at the small of his back. A gunhandler, one of his own buddies, tore the gun from him and tossed it to another man.
    â€œFists, Chuckie,” the gunslick told him. “He could have killed you three times over. Now settle it with fists.”
    â€œDamn your eyes!” Chuckie told the man.
    The hired gun shrugged his shoulders and stepped back. He might hire out his gun, but a man had to have some honor.
    Chuckie took a wild swing at Sam, and Sam ducked it, busting Chuckie hard in the gut. The air whooshed out of the man, and Sam hit him twice to the jaw, left and right. Chuckie went down in a sprawl of arms and legs and came up cussing and swinging. Sam backed up and let him come on. He rocked Chuckie’s head back with brutal jabs to the mouth and nose. Blood was dripping from the man’s nose and mouth, and one eye was discolored and closing.
    Chuckie took a wild swing just as Sam was planting his boots. He hit Chuckie flush in the mouth with a left and followed that with a booming right to the side of the jaw. The gunless gunhand went down and didn’t move.
    Sam looked at the unconscious man for a moment, shook his head in disgust, and then returned to the bar and picked up his half-eaten sandwich. He met the barkeep’s eyes. “Beer,” he said. “Right now.”
    The barkeep looked at Sam, new respect in his eyes. Chuckie had not managed to land even one good punch. The barkeep shrugged his shoulders and pulled a brew, sliding the full mug down the bar to Sam.
    Bull Sutton counted out one hundred dollars in gold coin and placed the money in front of Matt.
    â€œSam didn’t draw,” Matt said.
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” Bull said. “It was a good and fair fight, and the breed