The gang boss fell beneath the boy's foot. Keeping his foot on the boss's chest, he said, "So, you're the leader of the Peter gang, huh?"
The boss struggled to get up but couldn't move an inch.
"Yeah, so what if I am? I'm the youngest brother in the Peter family, Mark Peter," he spat, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Oh, thanks for the information. Now I can kill you," the boy replied with a smile.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a bulky, muscular man kicked him hard, sending him crashing against the side of a nearby house.
"Thank God, Bitts, you saved me!" the boss exclaimed.
"It's nothing, boss. You should get somewhere safe; it isn't safe here," Bitts replied.
"Hey, nice kick, Buffalo," the boy said, getting back on his feet.
Bitts stared at him, confused. Who is this man, standing on his horse and shooting down my men, then kicking one of the Peter brothers? Is he crazy? Bitts thought. Either way, this could be fun, he smiled.
"Your name is Bitts? What a weird name. You're strong, and your kicks are impressive. Finally, I have an opponent to test if my training has paid off," the boy thought, returning the smile.
"Who are you? Some kind of fancy hero?" Bitts taunted.
"I guess so," the boy replied with a grin.
"Listen, kid, I don't have time for games. If you hand over your gun, I'll let you walk away."
"What, my gun?"
"Yeah, it looks gorgeous." His voice dropped to a menacing tone.
"If you want my gun, let's settle this in a one-on-one duel."
"Sounds good to me."
"Don't mess around! Bitts, take him down already!" the boss barked.
"Don't worry, boss; it won't take long."
The two began to fight hand-to-hand.
They were evenly matched, but suddenly, Bitts reached for his shotgun, shooting at the boy continuously. The boy dodged each bullet with agile movements.
Bitts seized the opportunity to close the distance. The boy threw a punch, but Bitts caught his hands and wrested away the boy's two golden pistols.
However, the boy retaliated with a knee strike to Bitts's stomach, creating some space between them.
Ah, he knows how to handle guns, but he also knows how to fight. This kid is one crazy bastard, Bitts thought.
Both fighters looked exhausted.
Fck! He took my guns, that buffalo motherfcker! the boy thought.
"Hey, give my guns back, you f*cking buffalo!"
"If you want them, come and take them."
Fueled by anger, he charged carelessly at Bitts.
Bitts dodged his punch and kicked him hard. The boy flew back, crashing into a pile of wooden crates.
Bitts walked toward him, a smirk on his face. "What happened, big boy? Got tired or something?"
He remained silent.
"What's wrong? Lost your strength to talk? How about I give you a taste of your own guns so you can rest forever?"
Bitts reached him and placed his foot on the boy's throat. "What an idiot you are, going to die by your own gun. Be more careful in your next life, so you won't die like this again, okay?"
"Yes! Kill that bastard!" the boss shouted.
"Hey, you don't know one thing," the boy said defiantly.
"What's that?"
"My gun won't shoot me."
"Ha ha ha! You think this stupid trick is going to work on me, you little punk?"
He was shocked, unable to believe the trick had failed.
"I'm not an ordinary cowboy, punk. I'm an ex-police officer. I know all about this type of gun and how to disable that feature."
"F*ck, now what?" the boy thought, panic rising.
Bitts worked on the gun, successfully turning off the back-firing feature. "Now, say goodbye."
BANG!
Continue...