Page 7 of Coyote

Nobody had ever asked me that. I'd never gotten tired of anything I decided to keep, and I'd never had to say it out loud, and standing in a dead man's cage I couldn't think of a way to prove it to a man who'd been sold before.

"Guess you'll have to stick around and find out."

He thought about it longer than I liked. Then he came through the gate and followed me.

We were a stone's throw from the fence when three Javelinas came around the trucks. Two were empty-handed. One had a rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. All three were drunk enough to be slow and nowhere near drunk enough to be safe.

"The one with the rifle," I said quietly. "He's yours. Put him down, and the other two are mine."

The big man stopped.

"I can't."

I looked up at him. "Can't what?"

"Hurt him. Not on purpose." He held my eyes. "Don't ask me to hurt a man on purpose, little one. I can't."

A giant who could kill a boar with his bare hands, who wouldn't hurt his own captors. It didn't compute. I decided it didn't have to. He didn't have to be built for killing.

I was.

They spread out as they came closer, the rifleman hanging back half a step while the other two walked ahead of him. Not trained, then. Just sober enough to remember a gun worked better with bodies between it and the problem.

The first man opened his mouth.

I caught him by the shoulder, turned him into the rifleman's line, and opened his throat. Blood sprayed hot across my hand. He grabbed for the cut with both palms, making a wet sound where the shout should have been, and I shoved him backward.

The second man jumped away from the body and reached under his shirt.

I went with him, stabbing him in the side of his neck before his hand cleared his waistband. I felt the point strike something hard, turned my wrist, and pulled free. He folded around the wound and dropped.

The rifleman finally got his weapon off his shoulder.

He swung the barrel toward me. I knocked it wide with my forearm and stepped in before he could bring it back. My fist caught him under the jaw. His teeth snapped together, and his head went back, but he kept his grip.

I drove my other fist into his gut. The air left him in a grunt. His fingers loosened, and I tore the rifle away, reversed it, and brought the stock across his temple.

He dropped to one knee.

His hand went straight for the knife strapped to his ankle.

Persistent bastard.

I caught the rifle in both hands and swung it down behind his ear. He hit the gravel face-first and stopped reaching.

Four dead Javelinas in one night. They were going to take that personally.

I wiped the knife on the first man's shirt and straightened.

The big man was staring at me.

I beamed back at him.

"You're hurt," he said.

I looked down. My knuckles were split. I hadn't felt it and wouldn't for an hour. "It's nothing."

"Let me see."