The young man's index finger tightened on the trigger, taking up the slack with slow, theatrical malice, pressing the cold steel barrel deeper into Cole's chest.
"What do you say, old man?" he whispered, his grin splitting wide. "Should I pull it? One little twitch, and I punch a hole straight through that stubborn heart of yours."
He stared intently into Cole's face, searching for the crack.
That was what he truly wanted. Bullets were cheap; watching a proud man shatter was the real prize. He wanted to see those eyes widen in frantic, animal panic. He wanted to hear the old bastard choke on his own blood, sobbing, clawing at the dirt, and begging for just one more breath. He wanted Cole on his knees, kissing the tip of his boot, admitting that he was nothing more than an old stray who had crossed the wrong man.
He waited for the terror to surface.
But... it never came.
