Alice choked back her rage, began to squeeze the marbles in the sock,
pushing them around under the cotton fabric, wishing now she’d had
something to match the firepower of the two men squared off against
them. Never at a loss for an idea, she cycled through all the ones she
could think of, but none of them was a good idea, and a lot of
them might get someone, or several someones, killed. She cut her eyes
left, to Shane, who was now standing to her left, swinging the tire
iron slowly back and forth at her side.

Marina watched the face off between Alice, Shane and Jake, who was the
obvious top dog of the two-man pack. If Jake backed down, Harlan would
do the same. She stepped forward, empty hands outstretched. “Listen,”
she said in a calm voice, “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.
I’m sure she didn’t do anything.” Marina knelt beside the woman on the
ground. “Did you.?” Her eyes asked for a name.

“Cinnamon,” the dark woman answered. “They call me Cinnamon.”

Jake gripped the forestock of the shotgun. His finger twitched on the
trigger. Harlan brought his gun up, hand shaking slightly. Mouth dry,
he tried to think of a way to get Jake to chill out. The women in front
of them didn’t seem like the kind to back down. They were wary, but not
frightened. And Harlan, of all people, knew just how scared of Jake
they ought to be.

Jake had been raised to violence by a violent father who’d never been
mean enough to earn his own father’s respect. Jake had been expected to
be as mean, if not meaner, than the old man. And though his grandfather
was long dead, Jake was still trying to measure up, prove himself a
better man than this father. Tonight just might put him across the
line. It wasn’t one that Harlan himself felt like crossing.

“They can’t take all of us down,” Shane said, teeth clenched point on
point. She stepped forward. Jake leveled the shotgun at her gut.

“Easy, folks, easy now.” The dark woman levered herself up with her elbows, trying to breathe calm into the situation.

“You shut the fuck up!” Jake planted a booted foot on her chest and
shoved her back down. He gave a guttural laugh, gripped the front of
her caftan and jerked her to her non-existent feet. She screamed and
teetered on the stumps of her legs, pain searing up through the bone.
“Can ya walk, bitch? Huh, can ya? Can ya run for your life?”