Scarlet held his gaze, unflinching and unapologetic. He was serious.
"You fucking—" Stutely bit off the sentence, shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose against the oncoming headache.
After all the high hells the Sheriff had brought down on them by splitting them up, coming at them alone.
(He hoped they'd made it hurt good and long.)
After all they'd talked about going after him as a group, to say fucking nothing of how they'd spent the last two days looking over their shoulders.
(He hoped they'd sliced him up and fed him to the rats.)
Those idiot, reckless, shit-for-brains—
Stutely looked back at Scarlet, his mouth pressed into a hard line. "So, that discussion we all had," he said in carefully measured tones. "You know, about a coordinated hit. As a group. With an actual plan. All of that... just sailed clean over your heads, did it?"