“I’m warning you,” Paul said, his voice low, his hand steady.
“Ooh, I’m so—”
The second crack of gunfire in as many minutes cut off his words. Martha looked up, noting the perfect black circle between Phil’s eyes. His arm went lax. She rushed away from him before he fell face first to the floor, blood oozing into the sawdust.
Paul’s features hardened as he took Martha’s hand, pulling her behind him and addressing the room. “This is my wife. Do you understand? She’s my wife, not your whore. And if you look at her with a disrespectful eye, I’ll shoot it right out of your head. Do you understand?”
Everybody in the room nodded.
“Get this man buried,” Paul said, holstering the gun. “Come on.”