The Pale Dance
Act I "Hold him down, you stupid mule, or I’ll feed you to the river myself." Faye Yancey’s boots sank into the black silt of the Rio Grande crossing, the mud sucking at her heels with a wet, sucking sound that echoed the low, static hum of the desert air. She pinned the smuggler’s arm against the cold, wet earth, her rifle barrel pressed hard against his temple, while the man screamed in a...
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