Rush

act v. { pretty with a pistol }

{ ❧ Song of the Section; Kiss With a Fist by Florence + The Machine }

❧ "Why don't you just go sleep with your lady love? Gemma, was it?" Mercy piped up. "Sounded like she could use some good business. Not that I want to make any assumptions about your..." Her voice trailed off and she gave me a lazy once over. "Capabilities." Her dainty arms were crossed and she stared at me with doe eyes. We both stood on opposite sides of the one and only bed the small inn had to offer us.

"I'll let you borrow a quarter," she bribed.

I croaked, aghast at the thought of spending the evening with Gemma. My eyes wandered around the burgundy colored room we found ourselves in, searching for a comfortable alternative to the single bed. Nada mucho, as I believe they would say down south.

I averted my attention back to the young lady in front of me and unbuckled my holster. "A quarter, huh?" I then unbuttoned and shrugged off my vest and slung it over a modest chair in the corner. The wooden floorboards beneath our feet heaved and creaked with each subtle movement. "I hate to break it to you, but she ain't my lady love. Besides, Gemma's worth a bit more than a quarter, sweetheart."

Not that I would know. They'd have to pay me double what I was payin' Gemma for me to lie down with that dove. I smirked at my wit and turned back to face Mercy, noting the way her eyes darkened whenever she looked at me. As if she had to be on high alert. She had that look on her again, like she was made of tough stuff. And I suppose she was.

"I sleep unshucked," I informed her while pulling off my boots. Disgust plagued her lovely face, but it didn't phase me. In fact, I just decided to wind that little top up even more. I made my way over to her, crossed my arms, and gave her a nice look over, like I knew how. "I don't s'pose you do, too?" 

In an instant, I felt a stinging slap to my face. I shot her a ruthless glare and rubbed my stubbled jaw. If she wanted me to be ugly, I'd be ugly, alright. I'd be real ugly. So, I continued on. "I mean, those fancy new threads of yours are awfully nice, Mercy, but I'm more interested in what you've got underneath 'em," I jeered.

Maybe it was a little twisted, but I enjoyed messing with Mercy. Mostly because I knew that little cat liked messing with me, too. It was a game to the both of us-- and everybody won. So, I kept windin'.

She chuckled and ran a hand through her glossy blond hair. "Not on your life, Boone."

"Don't pretend you wouldn't enjoy it."

I hadn't been in the presence of a real lady in so long that even the delicate arch of Mercy's neck and the curve of her wrist had an appeal that hooked me. I was starved for a woman's attention. And I guess, at the time, Mercy's medicine was just what I needed. Or wanted. I muddled the line a bit.

"I'm a married woman," Mercy chided, crossing her arms to mirror me. 

"Not for much longer," I speculated, giving my stinging jaw one last soothing rub. 

"Ain't that the truth," Mercy laughed, sporting one of her devious smiles. She played with the cuff of her sleeve and straightened it out. Her perpetually rouged lips puckered in speculation, those grey eyes of hers got all dangerous and smoky. "You know, Boone, I don't really need your services anymore."

"Oh?" The candlelight danced on our faces and I was pleased to find I was close enough to smell her rose water perfume again. I hadn't known Mercy for too long, but I sure could recognize when she was talkin' smack. Which I was starting to realize was about ninty-nine percent of the time. "Why's that?"

"I know where the Bell brothers are now. That was the only real reason I kept you around." 

"Is that so?" I flashed her my smile and moved ever so close to her. "Here I was thinkin' you enjoyed my company."

She shook her head slowly in disagreement. The familiar sound of a tantalizing click broke through the silence and sent my stomach lurching. I felt a shiver shoot down my spine as the cool metal tip of Mercy's Colt '45 pressed against my gut. She sure looked pretty with a pistol. A moment of silence passed between the two of us. And in that moment, I felt as if the distance between me and my holstered gun might as well have been a thousand miles away. 

I figured I'd try my shot at smooth talkin' my way out of it. "You know what they're going to call you on the wanted posters?" I inquired in a calm fashion. Like I'd mentioned before, I wasn't necessarily unaccustomed to staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Pray tell?" Mercy tilted her head in curiosity, digging the pistol deeper into me. I shot her a hardened look.

"Merciless Montgomery," I muttered, growing more irritable with each passing minute. Vulnerable was a color that didn't suite me quite so well.

"I like the sound of that, Boone," Mercy laughed and moved even closer to me. Teasing me. Her lips danced agonizingly close to mine. She repeated her new nickname, trying it out on her tongue. It amused her in a way that I wasn't quite sure I'd ever fully understand. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

The back of my neck heated up and my heart pounded in my chest. In fact, I was rather self conscious that perhaps Mercy might even be able to hear it. 

"Why don't you just admit that you've wanted me ever since I had that gun to the back of your head?" Mercy suggested, still not letting up on the pistol.

"You want me to admit what?" I snarled, looking down at her with fire in my eyes. I let out a short laugh of disbelief and shook my head. This woman was going to drive me to drink.

"I want you to admit that," Mercy repeated in a calm manner and with a nod. She hugged the trigger with her lacquered finger. Mercilessly. I was tempted to gag at the irony of it all. 

A lengthy sigh escaped my lips and I slicked a hand back through my hair. Things were turning real sour, real fast for me. "I've wanted you... ever since you had the dead sherrif's shotgun... pointed to the back of my head," I snapped at her with bountiful amounts of sass. 

The worst part of it all was that it wasn't untrue.

Mercy clicked her tongue and gave me a dramatic endearing look. "See, that's what I thought," she cooed. Right when I was about to relax, Mercy pulled the trigger. A felt a pang to my stomach, but only from my own damned nerves.

The cylinder was empty.

"Jesus Christ, woman," I snapped, a sick mixture of horror and reprieve came over me. More than anything, I was just relieved to feel her put the gun down and let it rest by her side. "How the hell did you know it was empty?"

Mercy rolled her eyes and tossed the revolver on the floral quilt veiling the bed. "I didn't," was her disinterested and lazy reply. Frustration burned through me like a wildfire at her answer. I was certain the young woman would be able to see the rage in my eyes. Mercy moved to turn away, but I snatched up her wrist and pulled her back into me.

In an instant, her body collided with mine, and my lips crashed into hers. I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and the other hand around the small of her back, kissing her furiously before she could protest. But she didn't protest.

Her small, elegant hands craddled my face and she stood tall on her tip toes to close the space between us. Mercy was warm and tasted like the sweet berries that used to grow in the bramble behind my childhood home. I pressed her back against the dresser and let my hand wander up her corset. Those things were always such a chore to take off. 

"Mercy, you're a pain in my ass," I grumbled between each buss. My fingers intertwined themselves in her loose curls, while hers ventured to explore the chest she'd just held at reckless gunpoint. 

"Good," Mercy replied definitively. 

And I don't mean be too explicit, but I do believe that night marked the first time I ever took a pair of trousers off a woman.