OUTLAW

(x)

“He an’ his daddy liked goin’ around an’ hurting folk. Well, they hurt the wrong folk one time, and ol’ daddy Bell got put to jail for it but his son managed to wriggle away. My own daddy’s been workin’ this case up until he died, God rest him, so now it’s my job.” He sets a bottle of bourbon between them with two glasses as they were tucked away in the back.

“The man is a dangerous killer, I say, lookin’ at another dangerous killer in front’a me but I’d like t’doubt you’d go an’ kill an innocent homesteadin’ family only because they didn’t have the ‘right’ skin tone.” He pours Arthur a glass, leaning back to watch him. “I aim to have that man swingin’, cher, an’ you can either give him up or swing next to him. I’d hate to see your neck snap though, pas très souvent un homme aussi beau que vous est né. So you gonna help me, or am I gonna have t’use you as bait?”

Damien’s smile is sweet like honey, but his eyes are sharp and deadly. This was a man who had no qualms putting a bullet into Arthur to get to his quarry.

Arthur took the offered glass, turning over the information he’d been given. It didn’t sound too out of the question considering everyone knew exactly what Micah thought of anyone a shade too dark.

“Gonna have to speak English if you’re wantin’ to make a lick of sense,” he grunted in place of an answer. Beyond recognising the sounds to be French, Arthur had little clue what might have been said, but he supposed that was probably the point. 

Arthur took a thoughtful sip despite his better judgement, the man’s smile a foil for his scowl even if it felt just as dark. “I ain’t sayin’ he don’t deserve everythin’ you wanna give him and more, I just ain’t sure this is the right way to go bout it.” 

“Just peachy,” Arthur answered drily, the hot sting of a raw wound perhaps adding to the sharp edge of his words more than any real irritation at the question. With the bandage peeled back for changing the wet mess of his side could be seen, glowing red, radiating heat like a damn poker in his stomach. “How’s it look?”