The Dreadful Six were a group of men who considered themselves outlaws in a world of outlaws. At first I'd thought it was completely stupid, but upon turning around to see the uncomfortable looks drifting over to the dark, gaping hallway entrance and the silence, that mocking attitude disappeared when I realised everyone was scared of them.
The one who I pegged to be the leader was a man probably in his mid fifties with salt and pepper hair connecting down to a neatly trimmed beard. His piercing pale blue eyes scanned over the room slowly, making me subconsciously shrink back to avoid being seen by him.
He was good-looking, put together with a debonair vibe that came to light as he smiled at one of the women closest to him.
The rest of the men who'd stepped into the room as well were more or less carbon copies of him with the only exception being their facial features and ages. He was the only one who came off as remotely charming, though.
