Bandits and Badges (Preview)

Chapter One

Chapter 1

Louisiana, 1876

“I shouldn’t have doubted you, Armand. We can barely carry all this silver.” Michael laughed as he pulled his steed to a stop, tugging the reins so harshly that the horse whinnied in surprise.

“What did I tell you, eh?” Armand halted at his brother’s side, offering a smile. He straightened his face, sat taller in his saddle, and adopted a fine Eastern accent. “They were always going to fall for the act of the silver inspector who needed to check on Fielding’s precious cargo on a freight train.”

Michael and the rest of the gang continued to laugh as Armand climbed down from his horse.

It had been a successful night. The plan to rob the freight train had gone smoothly, with only a little improvisation needed when it came to the act of conning his way onto the train, right under the nose of the conductor.

With night falling across the wilderness, Armand passed the door of their hideout and walked toward the twins in the gang, Benjie and Monty. They were still young, in their early twenties, and had the eagerness for the gang life that was sometimes missing from the older three. Their wild blond hair was even more erratic than usual, the strands sticking out at odd angles thanks to the mad ride back from the train station.

Armand reached between them to the crate they had jointly tied to their saddles and dragged along behind them. Snatching up a crowbar from where it leaned against their hideout, he jammed the end into the lip of the crate and levered the lid open.

“Stand back,” Benjie called. “If my dreams have come true, then this should burst open with silver.”

“Yeah, yeah. If it was one of your dreams, a woman would be leaping out of there,” the last of their gang called. Darryl, the oldest just by a few years and coming up to his fourth decade, trotted forward on his gray horse. The others laughed as he descended from the animal and went to help Armand. “You did good, kid.”

“Ever going to stop calling me a kid, Darryl?” Armand laughed.

“Probably not.” Darryl shook his head and pulled on the lid.

Armand was just five years younger than Darryl, and the leader of their gang, with his brother, Michael, a close second in command. It didn’t seem to matter how many jobs Armand ran or how wealthy he made Darryl, he was always going to be the “kid.”

“Push harder,” Darryl called.

Armand shoved down on the crowbar and the lid popped out of place. In the moonlight, the contents glowed silver.

“Well, it’s as good as a woman, eh?” Monty said from beside his brother. The twins elbowed one another and pointed at the silver.

“You could buy a few nights with a woman for this.” Darryl chuckled as he lifted a bar of silver out of the crate and held it in the air. “Rattlesnakes,” he cursed softly. “How did you get him to just hand it over, Armand?”

“He was glad of a silver inspector’s help.” Armand adopted that Eastern accent once again and gestured down to the fine clothes he had donned for the evening. It was unlike his usual jeans and plaid shirt, with the fine suit and shiny black shoes suggesting a much wealthier position.

“Didn’t even question why a black man was a silver inspector, did he?” Michael asked, moving to Armand’s side. “Haven’t seen one of those before!”

As brothers, the two bore similarly dark skin that glowed in the moonlight. Where Armand was tall with long black hair, tied at the nape of his neck, Michael was much shorter, his own hair curling near his temple.

“Not for a second,” Armand assured him. “It’s all in the act. The confidence.” He bowed flamboyantly, urging his brother to laugh once again.

“How he didn’t see through you, I’ll never know.”

“Come on, let’s get this inside.” Armand looked around at the horses that had grown tired, their noses drooping low to the ground. Their exhaustion was a testament to the late hour, and with the moon growing higher and higher into the sky, Armand knew it was time they got inside the hideout.

It’s my rule. At a certain time, we hunker down and stay safe.

The twins jumped down from their saddles and lifted either side of the crate, carrying it into the hideout. Darryl followed them inside, saying it was time they opened a bottle of scotch to celebrate. Michael hung back with Armand and helped him put the horses back in the stables.

“Something wrong?” Michael asked, elbowing him as he hovered in the doorway of their shack that stood for a stable. “You should be happy after what you’ve done tonight.”

“I am.” Armand smiled easily. “But I won’t lower my guard, not for a second.” He nodded to the horizon, prompting Michael to stand beside him and look out between the trees and the vast river in the distance. “Remember what I told you, eh? About staying free, living out here where no one can catch us.”

“I remember. You’ve told me that so many times it’s like your mouth is incapable of saying anything else,” Michael teased him.

“Ha! You like me, brother.” Armand wrapped his arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah. I have to. And yes, I remember what you said.” Michael nodded at the horizon and the river that glittered in the moonlight. “‘If we’re going to live in this world, we have to stay not only one step ahead of Sheriff Shep Zimmer, but three steps ahead.’”

“Exactly.” Armand’s eyes darted between the river and the trees. He could see no one, but since leaving the freight train, he hadn’t shaken the feeling that someone followed behind him. When shadows moved, he suspected there was someone out there, rather than it being just the branches of a tree dancing in the breeze. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

Armand waited until his brother went in, practically skipping in excitement.

“Now, where’s that scotch?” Michael called.

Armand followed but at a much slower pace, casting one last wary gaze at the horizon before he closed the door and stepped into the building.

Two candles had already been lit by Monty, as Benjie sat on a tatty old rag they used for a rug and counted out the silver. Between them, Darryl poured out glasses of scotch and passed them around, his heavy cheeks wobbling every time he took a gulp. Michael knocked back the first shot without hesitation.

“You should have seen that conductor’s face, Armand, when he realized he’d been conned,” Darryl said as he passed him a scotch. “Turned as red as a tomato.”

“Did he, now?” Armand laughed and took the glass, but he didn’t raise it to his lips. He could have sworn a shadow passed by the nearest window. He moved toward it and placed his glass down on the windowsill.

“Didn’t you hear him shouting? Ha!” Benjie paused his counting of the silver and sat straight, tipping his blond hair back from his forehead. “He bellowed so much, the rafters of that platform were in danger of coming down.”

“Armand?” Michael interrupted everyone’s laughter, moving to his side. “Something wrong? Thought you’d be happier than any of us.”

“Wait.” Armand pointed beyond the window. Michael bumped his shoulder in his effort to look outside. “What do you see?”

“The moon and the trees.”

“I thought I saw… never mind.” Armand feared his mind was playing tricks on him. He rubbed his eyes and stared out again. He was tired; he’d been awake for hours on end as he planned this job. It would make sense if his eyes weren’t working properly after that length of time.

“You worry too much,” Michael assured him, tapping his shoulder and walking back to the others. “Darryl? Where’s more of that scotch?”

“About time we pulled something as big as this,” Darryl said as he topped up the glasses. “Paid the law back for all it’s done, chasing us these last few years.”

“A little justice,” Monty agreed.

“A taste of it, at least.” Benjie tapped his glass to Monty’s, with the chink ringing out loudly.

“Who did the money belong to?” Monty asked, sitting down beside his brother.

“Casper Fielding,” Michael explained. “Big wealthy businessman, in textiles, I think. As Armand says, he can afford to lose a little silver. He walks around like money drips off him.”

Armand never once took his eyes away from the window. Another shadow moved beyond the glass, and he stiffened, certain this time that something was wrong.

“Someone’s out there,” he called to his gang. They all froze, their laughter falling dead. “Stay quiet for a minute.”

He waved a hand at Michael, who crept forward, moving slowly to Armand’s side. Across the hideout, Benjie, Monty, and Darryl had all halted in place, their glasses hovering near their lips in various frozen positions.

“Are you sure?” Michael asked. Then his lips parted, his bright copper eyes widening. “God have mercy.”

Armand returned his focus beyond the glass, seeing what had frightened Michael to the core. It wasn’t just one man outside, but many. In total, five men had gathered. They stood a short distance away from the hideout, all wearing bandanas around their necks or the lower halves of their faces.

“They’re gang colors,” Michael hissed.

“Which gang?” Darryl asked, coming to stand beside them. “I know those colors. They’ve been around for years.”

The plaid mix of black and navy blue stood out in Armand’s mind. He knew the colors too, for he’d seen it described on many wanted posters.

“It’s the Wild Ones,” he whispered. “What the…” Before he could say any more, the leader of the gang outside took the bandana down from his face, revealing his features.

“That’s their leader,” Michael’s whisper grew irate. “Mitchel, or something like that.”

“Malcolm Gaines,” Darryl corrected him. “Wanted for crimes across the state. Even murder. If they ever lock him up, they’ll throw away the key.”

Armand’s gaze danced across the face of Malcolm Gaines. He was a short, stocky fellow, with muscular arms and little hair on his head. What hair he had was mostly around his chin, cropped into a straggly black beard.

“What are they doing here?” Armand muttered. “Quick, hide the silver.”

Monty and Benjie closed the lid of the crate and lifted a floorboard, dropping it down into the earth in their usual hiding place.

“Tristles!” Malcolm’s voice bellowed from outside. There was a strong Southern accent to the voice, one inflected with a Mexican lilt. He stepped forward, his hands loose at his sides and dangerously close to the guns in his holster that gleamed in the moonlight. “You heard me, Tristles?”

“He’s talking to us,” Michael whispered.

“I know!” Armand hissed, reaching for the guns in his own holster. But Armand was no killer. The few times he’d ever shot a gun were for his own safety, and he’d never even hurt a man before.

Tonight, that may change.

“This ain’t your town anymore,” Malcolm called, taking another step forward. “You hear me?”

“Look, look.” Darryl elbowed Armand. “That little one at the end. What’s he doing?”

Armand’s eyes flicked to the end of the line of men, watching as someone stuffed a rag in the open end of a bottle, then flicked a match across a nearby tree trunk and set it alight. Curse words erupted from Armand.

“Get back, they’re going to set us all alight. Monty, Benjie, up! Run for the door.” He grabbed Michael and Darryl, pushing them toward the back door of the hideout.

They burst through the adjoining door into the kitchen and Benjie reached for the back door, but it didn’t move. He and his brother threw their combined weighs against it, but still, it only rattled in the frame.

“Those asses have barred the door,” Darryl muttered.

A smash came from the front room, followed by a roar.

Armand reached for the adjoining door and pushed it open a little to see two bottles had crashed through the window. The fire spread across their rug and up the nearby drapes.

“Break the windows. We don’t have time.” Armand hurried back into the kitchen with his brother and grabbed the chairs. They broke the two windows on either side of the back door. When enough of a space was cleared, Armand took Benjie’s arm and vaulted him through the gap.

“Darryl, you next.” He reached for his arm.

“I’m no twig you can throw through a window.”

“You’re not burning to death in here either. Get out.”

Darryl didn’t argue again and clambered up through the glass. At the other window, Michael and Monty climbed through, dropping to the ground outside with heavy thuds. Armand followed Darryl out and stumbled on the earth, trying to keep his balance in his haste.

“They’re here. They’re making a run for it,” called a voice Armand didn’t recognize.

He angled his head up, looking around to see another member of the gang a short distance away. He pulled out a gun and fired manically in their direction.

“Get down!” Armand grabbed as many of his gang as he could. He tossed Darryl against the wall of the hideout, then grabbed Benjie and Monty and dragged them around the side of the building. When Michael tarried, reaching for his own gun, Armand took hold of the scruff of his shirt and yanked him away to safety.

“We have to fight, Armand,” Michael shouted to be heard above the fire. The group leaped back in unison as the fire grew and took hold of the rooftop, making the beams crack and snap in the heat. “We’ll die otherwise.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean any of us are getting killed tonight by not being careful.” He pushed his brother behind him as he snatched up his gun from his holster and checked the bullets. He had a few, but not many. “Come on. Stay behind me, Michael.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to work. I’m more likely to end up shooting you in the back by accident.”

“I’d just rather you didn’t get shot. Ready?” Armand waited for his group to nod.

They were all in various bent positions with their guns in their own hands. Monty and Benjie carried Colts Michael had stolen for them once, and Darryl had a long-barreled rifle he’d taken from a former soldier. Armand had a LeMat he’d taken off a sheriff.

“Now.” Armand walked around the final corner of the building, heading toward the Wild Ones, and fired.

He didn’t aim cleanly but hoped to scare instead, firing near the leader.

Great shouts filled the air as Malcolm ordered his men to take cover. They scrambled behind the nearest trees, shooting just as wildly. Armand dragged his men behind the wall of the stable, trying to keep them safe, but Michael lingered out in the open. When a shot landed near his feet, he practically leaped into the air.

“Michael!”

“I’ll handle this one.” Malcolm marched forward. He took hold of Michael’s gun in one swift movement and elbowed him in the nose.

No… not Michael.

Armand ran out from behind the stable.

“Armand! You want to get yourself killed?” Darryl called, but Armand didn’t bother to reply.

He hurled himself at Malcolm, tackling him to the ground so he couldn’t get near Michael again. The gun he’d been holding was knocked from his hand and a second punch landed on his jaw, dazing him. Grappling in his dizzy state, he managed to wind Malcolm, digging a knee sharply into his gut. He rolled the Wild Ones leader off him, onto his back, and punched.

“Don’t touch my brother again. You hear me!?”

The strike landed cleanly on Malcolm’s nose. Blood spurted out from the nostrils, yet Malcolm didn’t seem dazed for one minute. He lifted a boot and kicked Armand in the middle of the chest, knocking him onto his haunches.

Armand scrambled to stand, rubbing a sore spot in the middle of his chest. When the click of a gun sounded, he froze and looked around.

Malcolm stood a short distance away with his gun raised in his right hand. It was pointed straight at Armand’s chest.

“Don’t move,” Malcolm warned. Behind him, the rest of his gang all snickered.

One threw more flaming bottles at the hideout. The glass smashed loudly, and more flames took hold. Soon, both groups of men were bathed in the strong orange glow of the fire, with the heat blazing down.

“You didn’t listen to my first warning. Consider this a warning for the rest of your gang, Tristle.”

Malcolm pulled the trigger.

“No!”

A bellow reached Armand’s ears as he stepped back, wishing to escape that bullet.

What happened next passed all too quickly. Armand was no longer the one standing in the front of the gun. Michael ran between them. He took the bullet, straight in the middle of the chest, with the loud bang echoing even above the sound of the roaring fire.

“Jesus,” Armand cursed, his whole body erupted in pain despite the fact he wasn’t the one who had taken the bullet.

Michael staggered back on his heels and fell. Armand scrambled to catch his brother, lowering him down to the ground so he was cradled in Armand’s arms.

“The only warning you’ll get,” Malcolm bellowed, having to shout louder above the fire. “Leave town for good, or more of you will die!”

The Wild Ones ran off. They took horses that had been hidden in the trees and galloped away, laughing loudly as they disappeared.

“No, no,” Armand muttered and looked down at the face of his brother. “Michael, open your eyes.”

Michael’s copper eyes opened a little. His face was weak, the muscles barely twitching.

“You’re going to live through this, you hear me? Michael!” Armand moved his hands fast. He tried to staunch the blood on Michael’s chest, but the wound was so deep there was nothing he could do to stop it. Slowly, Michael’s white shirt turned red.

Behind him, Armand felt the blaze of the fire grow nearer. Footsteps moved closer, too, as Benjie, Monty, and Darryl came to stand with him.

“Michael, you’ll live through this,” Armand said, softer this time as he held his brother’s face, trying to keep his eyes open.

“I can’t follow your orders anymore, Armand,” Michael said with a gentle smile. It was an effort for him, his muscles plainly straining. Michael had often joked over the years about how he always tried to do everything Armand told him to do.

Not anymore.

Michael’s eyes closed.

“No!” Armand howled.

Chapter 2

“Vernon, this is not the place for you. For God’s sake, and my own, go home.” Sheriff Shep Zimmer stood up from the chair behind his desk and stared down at his son.

Vernon was still a kid, just fourteen years of age. For one so young, he was eager. He stood in the office practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. His auburn hair—which was a lot like Shep’s own, but longer, and curling around his ears—was wild. It needed a good comb, just as Vernon needed to tidy his clothes and tuck his shirt in.

“I can do it, Dad. Just give me a chance, please,” Vernon pleaded, his bouncing continuing.

“The kid is as eager as I was.” Delaney, Shep’s deputy, laughed from the corner of the room. The lanky fellow sat on a windowsill, with one booted foot on a chair nearby, as he flicked a switchblade back and forth in his hand.

“At least you were a man when you turned up at this door, keen as you like,” Shep acknowledged with a slow nod.

Vernon’s bouncing abruptly stopped. He matched Shep’s position, folding his arms.

“I can do it,” he said again.

“You can’t be a town marshal.” Shep shook his head. “You have some growing up to do first.”

“But, Dad—”

“No more of this. No more.” Shep stepped out from behind his desk, moving his muscular form swiftly to his son’s side. He tried to take Vernon’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged him off and stepped out of his way. Vernon’s face had grown narrower these days, and he increasingly looked like Shep and less like his mother. His nose was long and angular, his jawline high and practically triangular. Despite the change, it was still a child’s face, emphasized by the way that Vernon jutted his bottom lip out.

“You just don’t think I can do it,” Vernon insisted, his voice whiny.

“They haven’t even dropped yet, have they?” Banks called from across the room, not needing to say what ‘they’ were.

The old timer chuckled from the corner of the room, where he was looking through the latest wanted posters. His hair, which had gone gray, was tucked up under a wide-brimmed black hair. His stomach was rounded after so many years of sitting in this office as a town marshal and feasting on pies.

“Listen to that voice,” he went on. “As high as a girl’s.”

“Hey!” Vernon barked, taking a step toward Banks.

“Banks, don’t talk about my son like that,” Shep warned, but Banks merely continued to laugh, unafraid of Shep after they had worked together for so many years. Shep could hardly blame him. Banks had been in this office longer than any of them. He’d seen everything that had come before and had no time for an upstart like Vernon thinking he could do it all at such a young age. “Go home, Vernon. Please.”

“But, Dad…” Vernon shifted his focus back to Shep and lowered his voice. “Can’t you just give me this chance? Please. I’m older now.”

“He’s a kid,” Banks called from where he looked through the posters, his light blue eyes darting fast. “Likely to get himself shot.”

“Banks is right.”

“What!” Vernon pushed against Shep’s stomach. “You just don’t listen, do you? I can do it!”

“And you think trying to shove me over is going to make your point?” Shep asked. He was too strong in build to possibly be moved by his son’s feeble shoves. Vernon abruptly stopped. “Go back to school, Vernon. You need your education.”

“What for? The teacher is a waste of space, anyway. He’d rather stand around smoking outside of the schoolhouse than teach us anything.”

“Well, I’ll have to have a word with him then,” Shep said, stepping around the desk and returning to his seat.

“Dad, can’t I just come work here? I want to be a town marshal—”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

Shep rubbed his brow tiredly. He didn’t need this today, of all days. Vernon had come to him with this for years now. Ever since he was nine, he’d wanted to be a town marshal. The kid just didn’t seem to understand he wasn’t an adult yet.

“Go home, I have work to do.” He nodded his head at Delaney and Banks.

“Got all sorts to report to you, Sheriff,” Delaney said in agreement. “Trust me, you’ll want to hear it.”

“I know I do,” Shep said tiredly. “Vernon.” He waited until he had hold of his son’s gaze. Where Shep’s eyes were sage green, Vernon’s were much lighter, almost teal as the color had been mixed with his mother’s blue eyes. “Go home, and we’ll talk about this later.”

“But—”

“Now!” Shep’s voice was sharp. He lost his patience and pointed at the door.

Vernon cursed.

“What did you say?” Shep moved to his feet again, but Vernon left too quickly for him to say anything more. Vernon pushed out of the door, leaving a peal of laughter behind him.

Banks lowered the wanted posters from his lap to a nearby desk. “He’ll be a good town marshal someday,” he said, nodding slowly. “Once he’s grown up.”

“Foolish kid doesn’t see that,” Shep murmured. He was harsh with Vernon, he knew, but he had no choice. The boy had a habit of getting into scrapes, in his eagerness to be a part of the law.

He needs more time.

“Now, what is it you have to report?” Shep looked between Delaney and Banks. The latter stood, ready to make his report, when Delaney cleared his throat.

“No time yet.”

“What?” Shep looked around, confused by what his deputy meant. Delaney pointed at the door. Clearly, through the window, he’d seen someone approaching.

Shep held himself still, trying not to lose his patience again as another stepped through the door.

“Ah, sir.” Shep nodded his head in acknowledgment, that anger shifting as Mr. Caspar Fielding walked through the door. His bright blue eyes met Shep’s, and he smiled in his usual way.

“Sheriff Zimmer, you look tired. I hope you’re finding time to rest. Lord only knows what a difficult job all you men have here.” Fielding walked forward, his white handlebar mustache twitching atop his lip as he smiled. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Shep hesitated before the word escaped him. “No.” He needed to get back to work, but Fielding was a respected businessman, and a good man who frequently helped out the law. Shep would never disrespect him. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted a little chat.”

Fielding nodded at Banks and Delaney, who had both stood to greet him. Shep was hardly surprised. Besides the mayor, Fielding was the man with the most power and influence in town. Respect followed him wherever he went. Fielding walked forward, and Shep gestured for him to take a seat on the other side of his desk.

“I was up late last night talking with Mayor Thomas.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “A friend to me, though I will not deny, he is hardly the easiest man to get along with.”

“Well, you said it, sir, not me.” Shep sat down again, inclining his head in agreement.

“I wanted to come and speak to you, Zimmer, so you heard it from me and not his sharp mouth. That man has a tendency to walk around everywhere like a bull. You can’t have missed it.” He winced with the words.

“I haven’t.” Shep resented the mayor, having only met him a few times, but he’d heard enough stories to know the mayor didn’t bother to concern himself with those in town he considered beneath him. Shep’s wife, Minnie, had bumped into the mayor once in the streets. When she stood in his way, he had one of his men move her to the side, as if she was debris in his path.

I’ve hated him ever since.

No one manhandled Minnie. Had it not been Mayor Thomas, Shep would have found the man himself and beaten him for disrespecting Minnie.

“What’s he got to say?” Shep encouraged Fielding on.

“Ah, he’s worried about this spate of thefts—that gang, you know, the one with that funny name.” Fielding stroked his mustache, struggling to recall.

“The Tristles.” Shep stiffened, knowing the name at once. “It’s the surname of their leader, Armand, and his brother, Michael. Believe me, sir, I like them no more than the mayor does.” Yet they were proving difficult to catch.

“They’re slippery fellows,” Banks called from his side of the room, searching through wanted posters again.

“Like sand through fingers,” Delaney agreed, still tossing his switchblade back and forth, though he missed his latest catch and the blade dropped to the floor.

“Careful, you’ll take a toe out,” Shep warned. Delaney smiled and picked up the knife again, being more careful this time. “Sir, don’t worry about the Tristles.” He shifted his focus back to Fielding. “God knows I hate them and all they’ve done to this place. Theft after theft… It haunts me. I’ll do all I can to catch them. I can promise you that.”

“Good man, Zimmer.” Fielding stood and extended his hand across the desk for a shake. “That’s what I told Mayor Thomas myself last night. ‘Can’t stop our sheriff,’ I said, but you’ve seen the old fool.” He laughed and rolled his eyes. “He’s too busy thinking of the next election.”

“Yes, sir.” Shep shook Fielding’s hand and nodded. “You can count on us.”

“Excellent, I’ll tell him that. Sorry for coming like this, Zimmer, but I thought it best you didn’t get that bull walking in here making a scene.” He stood straight, chuckling. “Lord knows why I’m his friend. I suppose someone has to be. I’ll be seeing you. Good day, Zimmer.” He nodded his head at Banks and Delaney too, then walked out, whistling as he hurried across the veranda steps.

The moment he was gone, Shep moved to his feet and walked around the desk. He stood by one of the windows in the office and watched Fielding stroll down the street.

“Something wrong?” Delaney asked, dropping the switchblade once again.

“Nothing.”

“That man, always coming in here,” Banks said tiredly, slamming down one of the wanted posters so hard the table shuddered.

“His heart’s in the right place,” Shep said calmly, waving a hand to Banks to keep his cool.

“We hardly need him coming in here saying, ‘Oh, you know those men on all the wanted posters in your office? Well, we need them caught.’ What a shock.” Banks clutched his chest, pretending to suffer a heart attack.

“I know, Banks, I know.” Shep sighed. “He means nothing by it.”

As far as Shep was concerned, he’d rather have Fielding come and have that conversation than Mayor Thomas. At least Fielding was a tactful and understanding man, whereas Thomas only thought of his own gains. After what happened to Minnie, Shep wasn’t convinced he’d be able to stop himself from punching Mayor Thomas if he ever stood beside him.

“Right, enough of these interruptions.” He moved back toward his men, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me everything that has come in overnight.”

---

“Bandits and Badges” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

In a world where honor among thieves isn’t just a saying but a way of life, Armand’s peaceful existence is shattered when his brother falls prey to the brutal hands of a rival gang, the Wild Ones. His mission is now clear – avenge his brother’s death, even if it means breaking the unspoken rules that once governed his life. He will have to take a desperate decision that could land them all in jail…

Will he forsake his gang’s moral code to take revenge?

On the other side of town, Sheriff Shep wrestles with the ghosts of his past – an unfulfilled revenge against Armand and the burden of protecting his impulsive son Vernon. As the Wild Ones arrive, Shep’s perspective wavers, clouded by prejudice. When Armand offers an unexpected truce, Shep faces a dilemma: will he embrace it or confront the Wild Ones alone, risking the lives of those he holds dear?

When the enemy of your enemy offers a hand, do you take it?

To confront the Wild Ones, Armand’s gang and Shep’s men must unite against advancing attacks that threaten the town’s peace and joy. Can they overcome their animosity and forge an unlikely alliance? The fate of the town depends on their ability to stand together and confront the imminent peril.

 

“Bandits and Badges” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

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