Chapter Text
It’s dusty outside today. Hot gusts of wind blow across the prairie; covering the Creosote bushes with a thick layer of brown dirt. The sweat on your brow never fully dissipates; sometimes trickling down into the inner corners of your eyes. Each inhale feels scratchy and your hair has been matted down since the morning. Summers are unforgiving in this part of the country. The only relief would be from the monsoon storms, and with the way the wind has been blowing, you reckon one is due to arrive tonight.
It’s been just a few weeks since you’ve found yourself in this dreary little town. You're still unsure as to why you picked here of all places to settle down. Surely you could have found work in all the other towns scattered across the southwest. Perhaps another would have been better. Though, when you first arrived and stepped off of the train, despite it looking like the entire town was practically abandoned; its structures put together half-heartedly and covered in dust, tumbleweeds blowing by in the hot desert winds, and a quietness you found only in the most desolate of places- you saw that the Claret Cups of the cactuses that dotted the town were in full bloom, painting the streets in a deep scarlet red. Their blooming season would surely be over in a matter of days; the petals wilting off and blowing away just as everything else does out here, but it was no matter. It was the first town you came across that felt like a decent enough place to call home.
As of two weeks later, you’re now spending your afternoons exactly as you’ve been since arriving, polishing the glasses in the saloon you found work in while waiting for customers. A few are already mixed across the room; some are drinking gin, others playing card games, while the rest talk amongst themselves. Being a barmaid was hardly on your list of future professions, especially in a lawless place like this; where the men drank, gambled, and drew arms every chance they got- but your future had changed drastically, and this was more than good enough for the present moment.
“It’ll be slow tonight.” The girl behind the cash register says; her long black hair spilling across her shoulders. “Travelers will be scarce with all that dust out there. No good for ridin’.”
You nod absentmindedly, instead focusing on the squeaking sounds your rag makes while pressing over the glass. The burgundy hue of your skirt shines through; though a layer of dust mutes its color.
“Weather like this over where you’re from?” She asks, interrupting your distraction.
You tense up at her question. You had yet to be asked for any details regarding your hometown. In fact, no one spoke about their hometowns here. Seemingly, everyone here kept silent about earlier times. You felt it to be an unspoken rule that the past stays the past in a place like this.
“Hardly. Colder and wetter up there. Not dusty like this either.” You speak flatly, feeling it rude to ignore her question. Surely she understood just as well as all the rest did. Besides, you had heard that she had been here the longest.
She shakes her head. “You never get used to the dust.”
You smile curtly and place the glasses over to where they belong. “Remind me how long you’ve worked here?” You ask her.
She meets your gaze and laughs at you. “Gosh… too long I’d reckon. Most girls get out of here in far less than half the time I’ve been here.”
You continue placing each glass against the wall of the bar. “Seems awfully difficult to move on from a town like this. Hardly any money to be made to start elsewhere.”
“Not if you pick the right customers. Always a man who comes around and offers the right price for a specific sort of favor,” she says flatly as if it’s common knowledge. “The girls take that money and run.”
You look over at her with wide eyes. “They accept a job like that?”
“Of course. Money like that is hard to turn down… you’ll see, especially when it gives you a chance of a better life.” She sighs before brushing off her apron. “Better than ending up in my position.”
You look at her with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t believe I could do something like that.” As you speak, you look down at what you're wearing. A plain burgundy skirt, a long-sleeved white blouse, and a pair of leather boots. Nothing to signify where you had come from… you looked like all the rest. Perhaps every girl who had traveled through this town had said the same as you.
“Just wait,” she meets your gaze and smiles. “One day you’ll be offered a sum that’s too difficult to turn down.”
You smile back at her nervously. You haven’t been here for long, and you hope you never have to turn to that, but you know she isn’t wrong when she talks down on working as a barmaid for the better part of your life. However, the position you're in now seems far better than the one you came from. You try not to think about it too seriously as you finish putting the rest of the glasses away.
“We’ll be gettin' more customers soon… go ahead and ask one of the girls to pleat your hair.” She says softly before going back to counting cash at the bar.
You offer a nod in response and head to the back, searching for someone to do your hair up for the night. Despite your hair being quite dirty; all covered in dust and tainted with the smell of tobacco from the customers who smoked, having it done made you feel much prettier. Your dress might be plainer than the rest, and your summer freckles mixed in with the dust might make your face appear slightly grimy, but at least your hair would be done in a number of attractive braids… that alone made all the rest worth it.
One of the younger girls, Caroline, is sitting alone in the back room. Positioned near the liquor cabinet straightening out her dress, she offers a warm smile once she sees you. Since you had arrived, you always thought she was the prettiest of the bunch. She had a slender, tall frame and long golden hair that made her blue eyes sparkle. She was sweet too. You liked her company.
“Mind doin' up my hair?” You asked her.
She nods enthusiastically and stands up behind you, taking your hair in her hand and humming softly. “I think I’ll be heading out early tonight.” She says. “Boss says it’ll be slow.”
“Hope so.” You muse. “It’s been awfully busy these past few nights.”
“Gets to be that way in the summer. The heat gives a thirst for liquor.” She sighs.
The sound of doors opening and voices growing louder grabs both of your attention. Assuming from the noise that fills the saloon, it seems a large party of men have just entered.
“Guess I’d better hurry.” She laughs.
“I suppose we might be here a bit longer than we thought.” You close your eyes and shake your head.
Caroline shrugs. “Might make the night go faster… besides, with the weather comin-”
Before Caroline can finish her sentence, the sound of glass shattering rings out through the saloon. You both snap your head towards the doorway, hearing men shouting and furniture being thrown from just behind the wooden panel. You and Caroline stand frozen in place. Behind the doors, the two of you are unable to see anything; though the sound of the commotion is as clear as day. A deep voice shouting to open the cash register, the whimpered voices of your coworkers doing as told, and the occasional laugh coming from a few men… surely the ones causing all this.
Neither of you move as you stand stuck in place. Caroline’s hand is glued to your braid while you hold your breath in awful anticipation. It’s not till you hear three, distinct popping sounds that Caroline breaks her stupor and moves to action.
“Gunshots?” You whimper quietly.
“In here.” She whispers before grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the liquor cabinet. She shuts the door hurriedly as the sound of gunshots continues; a few short screams mixed in between each one. You don’t want to assume, but you surely recognize the voices those screams belong to… each and every one of your coworkers is across the door in the saloon.
You look over to Caroline with wide eyes; tears begin to form in the corners of them. Caroline does not meet your gaze. Instead, her attention is fixed on her clothing. She presses her body into yours and begins hitching up her skirt; trying to make room in the small enclosed space the two of you are stuck in. As she does so, the sound of gunshots, people screaming, and glass breaking continues uninterrupted. A few moments later, Caroline stands straight with a small revolver in hand. She presses it to her chest, takes a deep breath, and mouths an unintelligible prayer; her hand shaking wildly all the while.
You keep your gaze fixed on her; your eyes continue to pour tears till she looks up at you. She gives you a soft smile first, then a reassuring nod, before wrapping one arm around you and her other pressing to the wood in order to open the door. Though, before her hand can even touch the wood, another shot rings out, and as you look up, you see it travel directly through Caroline’s skull. Her eyes go wide while her jaw drops before going lifeless. You attempt to scream, but as her body goes limp she begins to fall out of the cabinet. The weight of her body entangled with yours causes you to fall to the floor with her. You hit the ground hard; the breath getting knocked out of you.
You lie there for what feels like hours. However, less than a second passes before you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of shining silver. At that moment, the adrenaline kicks in and you reach out your hand to grab the gun Caroline had dropped. You do not look up to see the assailants, you take no breath while extending your arm; even the blood pooling on the floor around you is ignored. Despite not having ever shot one, your focus tunnels to nothing other than grabbing the gun.
However, before your fingers can touch the cold metal of the grip, you’re quickly halted by a boot stepping atop your wrist. The thick black leather presses down, hard. Not just feeling, but hearing the crunch of your wrist causes you to yelp quite loudly, and after taking a sharp inhale, you look up to see who is above you. Instead of a face, you’re greeted with the barrel of a revolver staring at you; the hand behind it pressing down on the hammer.
You knew then, were completely sure of it, that you were going to die. Was this really how it was all going to end - splayed out on the floor of an old saloon, your hair matted down and covered with dirt, and not even being able to see your assailant's face? It seemed wrong, but what was there to be done… nothing much. In fact, your only thought was if going like this, with a bullet through the skull, hurt at all. You supposed it couldn’t hurt as much as the boot atop your wrist did, so you shut your eyes and grit your teeth, focusing on the sound of your muffled breaths till the time came for the trigger to be pulled.
“Hold it.” A deep voice suddenly speaks.
You refuse to open your eyes; unwilling to be distracted by the looming fate of death.
“What the fuck is it? We need to git outta here.” The man above you says… the one holding the revolver to your skull.
“I recognize ‘er.”
The mans words hardly register to you as he speaks them. You’re too focused on getting a bullet through the skull… you have no time for distractions.
“The hell you talkin’ bout Ryomen? If you’re just wantin’ a quick fuck now isn’t the time. We gotta go.”
“Shut the hell up and fuckin’ look.” He says before spitting on the floor.
With your eyes still tightly shut, the sound of heavy boots grows closer to you. You hear the man reach into his pocket and pull out a piece of paper; uncrumpling it and showing it around the room.
“That’s her ain’t it?” He laughs and crouches down to where your face is pressed to the floor. “Hey darlin’.” His voice practically drips. “Look up ‘ere.”
Before you can react, you feel a calloused hand wrap around your jaw, turning your chin to face him. You open your eyes in surprise, and the second you meet his scarlet-colored eyes, your breath catches. Covered by a black hat, the rest of his face looms over you. You're unable to look away from his stare; seeing only the thin black markings that cover his face and a worn bandana tied around his neck out of the corner of your eyes. He looks like trouble.
He nods slowly, and after a few seconds of meeting your gaze, he flashes an awful smile… like he knows something you don’t. His hand grips your jaw a little tighter as he speaks in a deep raspy voice. “Your daddy's looking for ya darlin.”
─────⋆☾⋆─────
The day you left home was like any other. Despite it being early summer, you were woken up by the cold; the stove in your room had gone out long before dawn. The sky was gray, the ground was wet, and the air reeked of iron and coal. With the sun still below the horizon, you took this as your only opportunity… there would not be another chance.
You had packed a small bag the night before; taking nothing but a change of clothes and enough money for the train fare. If you made good time, you'd be able to get to the railway station in less than a week. From there you could take the train south for a few days. That should put more than enough distance between you and your father. You wanted to ensure that he, along with anyone else, would not be able to find you.
The previous day, your father had come home from the mines in an especially good mood. He was grinning ear to ear despite having dealt with a cave-in for the past week. After having lost over a dozen able-bodied men at the peak of the mining season, seeing him with a smile on his face was a shock as he had been heavy on the bottle since the loss.
Before you could greet him, he placed a hand on your shoulder and smiled contently. “Put on one of your nice dresses. You’ll be meeting someone special for supper.”
You pursed your eyebrows at your father, opening your mouth to ask just what was going on, but before you could speak, he went upstairs without another word. Your mother had already left for the day and your brother was still at work, so no one was around to offer any sort of explanation. You knew your father wouldn’t give you one, so you dutifully listened to his request and put on one of your nicer dresses. It was better than getting disciplined for not doing as told later on.
Less than an hour later, your father called you downstairs. You had put on one of the only dresses he had bought you. Over five years ago, while traveling out east to see a city for the first time, your father felt it appropriate to get you an outfit that made you appear as if you haven’t been living in a vapid mining town your whole life. It was deep purple in color, and despite loving it when it was first purchased, you now found it to be quite ugly. Besides, it hardly fit any longer, though you knew it would make your father happy enough.
“You look wonderful,” he hummed once he saw you. “Perfect for tonight! I have someone special I’d like you to meet.” You watched as he fiddled with his tie before walking towards the door. “He runs a well-off company, has good money, no former wives or the like… he’ll make a good husband for my little girl.” He beamed.
Your heart dropped as he said those last words. This was a marriage proposal. This was what your father had planned for tonight. That was why he was so elated when he came home. Even worse, you knew that this was not a matter you had a choice in. It was a proposal only for the man your father was about to open the door for. Surely, your prospective husband must have something your father wants… and you’d be sent off to him in order for your father to receive whatever that may be. You stared at him coldly, resisting the urge to run back up to your room in fear of a far worse punishment.
A few moments later, there was a sharp knock at the door. Your father ran over and quickly opened it; revealing a short, stocky man. He was wearing an expensively tailored brown suit with a Montie hat placed on his head; taking it off and covering his chest with it in to offer a proper greeting.
All it took was a singular look at him to know you would rather die than marry the man in front of you. For starters, he appeared to be at least twice your age. Despite that, he was terribly ugly; his face lopsided and scarred up. He was even missing a few teeth. You hated to make opinions on the likes of superficial characteristics… but anyone who saw the man in front of you would sympathize.
“This here is Mr.Doolin.” Your father said to you. “He’s the owner of the company that produces the gunpowder for all the dynamite we blow up out here.”
The connection was quickly made once your father mentioned what Mr. Doolins' business venture was. If your father could get in good standing with one of his biggest suppliers, then he could save an exorbitant amount of money while also creating a new business partner. Surely, offering up his daughter as a marriage partner would do the trick.
After your father's introduction, you turned to the stranger and gave him a silent nod. He looked you over for a brief moment, but only returned a cold stare before turning back to your father. To your relief, he didn’t seem particularly taken by you.
Your father led the two of you to the dining table and gestured for you to serve him and Mr.Doolin. Doing as instructed, you silently scooped each man their serving as they talked between themselves.
“How has business been?” Your father asked cheerfully.
“Same as always,” the stranger spoke in a hoarse voice. “It’s growing as more states continue to prospect.”
Your father laughed. “That’s great to hear! A proper man should be able to provide for his wife and children.”
You looked over to Mr.Doolin as your father spoke of familial matters. His expression did not betray him; he continued to give an impassive glance towards his dinner plate before meeting your gaze; his eyes traveling over you. You bit your lip in response; you knew not to speak without being spoken to first… you desperately wanted this to be over.
He let out a deep sigh before looking back at your father. “Can she cook?”
Your father nodded proudly.
“Clean?”
Another nod.
The young man met your gaze; looking you up and down. “She’s pretty. But that isn’t worth much… she’s not infertile is she?”
Your cheeks turned hot with anger, but you kept your mouth shut. It took practically everything in you not to strike Mr.Doolin across the cheek.
“She can do her womanly duties just fine.” Your father laughed nervously. “But let's save that talk for when there aren’t any ladies present.”
Mr.Doolin took one last look at you before giving a firm nod and returning to his dinner.
The rest of the night went smoothly. Your father and Mr.Doolin no longer spoke of marriage; instead, conversation was largely about their business with one another and plans for the coming summer. You spent the time in silence; not being spoken to once. That was fine with you though; you had no interest in speaking to both your father and the stranger across from you.
After dinner was finished, you began clearing the dishes as your father walked Mr.Doolin to the door. While in the kitchen, you craned your neck to peek at them through the door frame; seeing them shake hands and your father offer a relieved smile. You knew then that the marriage proposal had been accepted. Feeling your blood run cold, you turned your head and hurried to finish the dishes. Strangely, you did not feel angry or upset or any emotion of the sort. Instead, you felt a strong call to action… Whatever the cost, you would not be marrying that man.
You knew that your father would not take no for an answer. He had spoken to you before about his desire for you to marry a well-off man who could not only take care of you but also the entire family. He had now found someone he deemed acceptable, and when your father did not get his way, he became quite angry and violent. For years, your mother had to bear the brunt of his outbursts. However, as you’ve gotten older, his temperament had begun to be more directed at you. ‘No’ was not an acceptable answer.
That night, after your father went to bed, you locked yourself up in your room. Disturbed by no one, you made quick work of packing a bag and counting out the amount of money it would take for a train ticket. Before the sun rose, you put on one of your plain dresses, braided your hair, and left for the railway.
You were on foot for only three days; reaching the station before the last train of the day departed. The ticket cost all that you had, and with a small bag of keepsakes and clothing, you abandoned your life up in the small mining town of the mountains and left for the deserts of the southwest.
─────⋆☾⋆─────
“Pick ‘er up.” The man with the facial markings says. “We’re takin’ ‘er with us.”
The man who has his pistol fixed on you lowers it with an exasperated sigh. “You’re fuckin around Ryomen. Just because you took her poster to jack off to doesn't mean she’s comin' with us.”
Despite their conversation, you could now only feel a deep sense of relief with the barrel of his pistol no longer pointed at you. Though, it wasn’t long before you realized the consequences of their words. Your gaze snaps over to the man with the facial markings… the one who said he’d be taking you with his group.
He met your stare with a sly smile. You scowl in return before he looks back at his men. “There’s a reward for bringin' ‘er back. If the three of ya'll had half a brain you’d see she’s fixin' to make for a nice payday.”
Before you can move, you suddenly feel a pair of hands wrap around your waist. You attempt to get away but are lifted off the ground and thrown over Ryomens shoulder. He wraps a solid arm around your waist, giving you no room to release yourself from his hold.
“Put me down!” You yelp, kicking your feet and trying to push yourself off of him.
“Stop yer squirmin.” He grunts, his hand gripping your waist tightly. “I won’t hurt ya.”
As he carries you away, you suddenly stop fighting once you see the carnage the four men left behind. Your eyes go wide with the view of the saloon now littered with bodies; your coworkers, the other patrons, your boss… everyone has been shot dead. Not one is left alive; only you. Blood is smeared across the floor and mixed in with spilt liquor, shattered glass is everywhere, bullet casings are strewn about… it is an absolutely awful scene.
Luckily, you don't have to look for long. Ryomen is quick to take you out of the saloon and throw you to the ground. You hit the wood with a soft grunt and look up at the man with the facial markings. Before you can process what is happening, he takes out his revolver and points it directly at you.
You shy away in response; picking up your skirts and scooting backward, taking care not to get too wet from the rain pouring outside, though you keep your gaze on him. As you stare at the man pointing his gun at you, it’s now the first time you’re able to get a good look at him. He’s clad in a pair of leather cowboy boots, black trousers, a maroon button-up covered by a black vest, a worn red bandana around his neck, and a black cattleman hat covering his light rose-colored hair. He wears a leather holster around his waist, attached to his belt buckle. Now that you’re able to see him up close, you realize the black markings he had on his face are on his limbs too. With his sleeves rolled up, his calloused forearms show evidence of being marked up just the same as he is on his cheeks and jaw. You have never seen anyone with those types of markings…
“You got weapons on ya?” He asks firmly, the barrel of his revolver glittering in the moonlight.
You shake your head. Strands of your hair are sticking to your face as you lie there on the wooden boards. You desperately want to get away… want to fight back, but after seeing what they had left of the saloon, you know that all your efforts would be in vain. They had no trouble killing over a dozen able-bodied men… and women. They would not hesitate to kill you. Did the man above you mean what he said? He knew you, he knew your father, and was now going to bring you back to him? The thought makes you sick.
He nods and reholsters his gun, taking a step closer to you. “You gonna cause trouble for us?”
You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat. “I ain’t going back home.” You manage to squeak out. You know you have no say, but you feel a small sense of pride by voicing your opposition.
“Well that ain’t your choice to make.” He says flatly before wrapping his calloused hands around your arms and pulling you to your feet. “You’ll be coming along with us.”
Before you can respond, the rest of the men exit the saloon. Ryomen lets go of your arms and turns to face them alongside you.
“Are we shootin' er or what?” The man who had originally pointed his gun at you asks. You notice now that besides his long black hair, a deep scar traces the entirety of his forehead.
Ryomen shrugs. “It’s her decision. She says she ain’t going home. If that’s the case then kill 'er.”
You look over at Ryomen with eyes full of fear. You can only manage to speak just above a whisper. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you… I swear on my life.”
Ryomen moves to grab a few sacks, seemingly money and liquor, from the other men. “Don’t matter. We don’t leave survivors.”
You turn to the man with the forehead scar. His hand is already on his revolver. “Don’t look at me.” He grunts. “I should've shot you dead 20 minutes ago.”
One of the other men, wearing a purple button-up and his hair tied up in two buns, sighs deeply. “Are you sure this is credible? There isn’t even a fixed amount on this missing poster. It only says ‘reward’.”
Ryomen nods. “I know her pa. He’s real rich.” He looks over to you with a smile. “Ain’t that right darlin'?”
You say nothing in response. Only give him a nasty frown. He clicks his tongue at you and turns away to tend to his horse.
Without hesitation, the man with the forehead scar draws his revolver and clicks down the hammer. “She ain’t lookin' like she wants to come.”
You take a step backward in fear, hitching up your skirts as you do so to save yourself from tripping over them. “Quit pointing your gun at me.” You plead. “I ain’t got much of a choice here.”
Another man you hadn’t seen yet exits the saloon and laughs. “You made your decision then?” He has shaggy black hair and is carrying a few bottles of gin; unscrewing the cap and taking a swig from one.
The man with the forehead scar shakes his pistol at you, urging you to go on. “We gotta leave before the lawmen catch wind of us.”
The situation you’ve found yourself in is formidable, to say the least. Less than an hour ago, you were working for meager wages in a town you had just arrived in. Now, you're surrounded by four men… four outlaws, who have killed everyone in the saloon and are now on the verge of killing you. They each stand around you, picking at their teeth and brandishing the weapons they carry in their holsters. Whatever choice you're to make, you know you’ll be finding yourself in an awful position.
Though before you can say anything, you feel two hands wrap around your waist. You look behind you in surprise to see Ryomen there, hoisting you up and setting you atop his horse. His expression does not betray him as he does so; looking at you absentmindedly as he effortlessly positions you where he wants. You don’t move once he removes his hands from you and sticks his foot in the stirrup; swinging his leg over the horse and pressing his chest against your back as he grabs the reins of the horse. Your body tightens in surprise at his actions; unsure of what exactly is going on.
Ryomen grips the leather of the reins tighter as he looks down at the three men of his group. “She’s coming with us.” He says flatly. “Grab the loot and let's get on.”
You make no effort to disagree with Ryomen. You watch mindlessly as he steers his horse to the north, keeping you flush against his chest as he directs the two of you into the monsoon rains of the desert.