"That's the kind of company I kept," Vasquez agrees and thinks of the other Seven that he'd ridden into town with. True, they probably all had decently qualities, but Vasquez knew they were no peaches, not really. They had murder counts and more bad habits than guns in Rose Creek, which means a good time.

He tugs on the rope again as his eyes blaze with the glint of adrenaline and pleasure, tipping his head to one side as he considers the line of Bobo's neck, letting his head fall back as he curses with pleasure for that first touch. "How do you feel about hair pulling?" he hisses out, meaning, in this case, Bobo's being pulled.