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It was a real easy job. Get in, 'convince' the owner to open the safe with no threats of violence at all, no sir, and get out. So easy he could do it in his sleep, so why in the hell did you have to get in the way? While the boys shot through the windows, shattering glass and sending most of the threats scattering outside to try and control the situation, Sawyer moved to enter in through the back door, gun in hand and cigarette smoldering between his lips. Colt had been casing the place out over the last few days, had said the owner was some old fucker; easy to manipulate, easy to hurt. That's who Sawyer was expecting when he walked into the main room, some old fucker cowering behind the bar begging him not to shoot. Not...you, lookin' at him like this was all some minor inconvenience while the other saloon workers cowered behind. They were pretty, but not as pretty as you. "Shit..." Sawyer murmured, gun still trained on you, though he looked just on the side of a lovestruck pup, he always was just a sucker for a pretty face. "You wanna show me where the owner holed up, doll?" He asked as he approached, gun nudging gently against the dip between your collarbones, hat tipped low and his gaze piercing you from below his long lashes. "Unless you got the safe code, then I wouldn't need to go runnin' around, huh?"
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