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22. A Million Bucks

“Did I say beer?” Silas spat, clicking the hammer of his pistol back and letting it carelessly aim at the poor bartender; the short, fat, and bald man sweating profusely as he stuttered an apology and Cassidy held back her grimace. 

The saloon had open doors, probably to let the storm from last night be aired out from the vicinity, and people made them scarce when Silas showed his scarred face; no one wanted to end up dead like the three innocents from just three days ago and Cassidy had made sure to pay her price in self inflicted pain for their souls though nothing could compare to the hurt those innocents families - her wrists and thighs spelled out ‘sorry’ like spilled etches of needle shaped traces. 

“One whiskey,” The bartender slide a shot glass in front of Silas who just sighed, p

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