cloudy

A long sigh escaped you as you dwelled over whether you'd just misjudged the situation, and whether riding out on your own to the nearest town, away from your outlaw family was your fault, and yours alone. Despite that, you couldn't help but harbor some contempt towards Javier. After all, he was the one who'd taken it up a level, when you were trying to keep it under wraps. You turned your nose up slightly as your mount finally plodded into Valentine, both at the smell of sheep, and at the fact that you were making your own self feel unworthy of being part of the gang. Hosea did enough of that, you didn't need your own head to do so too.

The mud squelched under your horse's hooves as you neared the hotel, and though you weren't too squeamish when it came to mud and other dirt, you had to acknowledge that you only had a small supply of clothing on you. You inched your horse as close as you could to the hotel steps and slid off the saddle, grabbing your suitcase off the back of the animal and leading it over to the hitching post where it'd spend its first night. You remembered the story Hosea once told about his saddle being stolen outside a saloon back in the day, and while you didn't want that to happen to you, you didn't have it in you right at that moment to do anything more about it than give it a minute's thought.

Boarding a horse was expensive, and besides, you were hoping not to be away from home for so long that you even needed to board your horse at all.

The hotel door swung open with a quiet creak as you entered what would be your new home for the foreseeable, and after asking if any rooms were available, you were directed up the stairs and to the end of the hallway. Reality kicked in even harder once you'd put your suitcase down and sat on the bed to take a look around. The room was quiet, devoid of personality, and the lack of snoring and cricket song that you'd grown oh so accustomed to would be sorely missed for the duration of your stay, as indefinite as it was now starting to feel.

It was late morning when you woke up, and after a quick trip to the general store opposite, you returned to your room where you had your breakfast, alone, in that awful uncomfortable silence. See, you usually liked the silence and having some time to yourself, but you'd quickly come to the understanding that you only liked it when you lived within a gang of 20+ people, because in that environment, a moment to yourself was pure bliss.

In this instance, you'd had no choice.

You'd had your gang taken away, and with the gang went the noise, the fun, the routines, and the feeling that you'd actually found your people. You couldn't imagine life without them anymore, and this isolation that'd been forced upon you was truly making you see that.

A moment to reflect was all that Hosea wanted for you. To take a step back and feel the things that you were currently feeling. To realize how silly your quarrels were when they could cost you your life as you knew it. To confirm through this awkward silence that going it alone was something you really did not want, for you'd done enough running on your own. The gang was where you were meant to be now, and where Hosea and the rest wanted you to be too, so if you were to stay, you'd have to work out your differences with Javier once and for all.

At least, that's what you speculated, because the gang didn't just cut people loose for their wrongdoings.

Dutch had imposed a rule and stuck by it for as many years as the gang had been active. "Once a traitor, always a traitor", and by Dutch's rules a traitor was to be done away with. And, who was to say that you wouldn't betray them were they to just let you go? Why wouldn't you run to the Pinkertons and save your own hide by giving them the 20+ bodies they chased relentlessly, now that they'd shut you out? Revenge stories like these were not uncommon in the outlaw world, though if the Pinkertons didn't go back on their word about guaranteeing your safety for intel, the gang themselves would sure come after you for treason were they to avoid the law's clutches.

Either way you'd be screwed. The Pinkertons couldn't be trusted, even if you complied to their demands. You were an outlaw, after all. The scum of the earth to them. Now it went without saying that you were sure you'd never do such a thing to your newly found, though dearly beloved family, and you hoped the gang knew that too, but people can change in the blink of an eye. They'd seen it happen before and they were sure it would happen again at some point in time. Such is the way of outlaws.

You took solace in the thought that if the gang truly wanted to be rid of you, they wouldn't take the risk of just letting you walk alive. It was for this that you felt that their words were a little hollow, but that didn't stop those hollow words from still being rather unsettling in their own right. For all you knew they could be plotting ways to be rid of you, though exile would be as good as anything. Forcing you out with no food, drink, shelter or any other basic human needs in the cold and often rainy Heartlands was as good as doing away with you directly.

Your nose scrunched as your mind wandered, there were far too many ways that these next few days could play out, and your stomach only sank further as you truly began to feel like the reason you were sat alone in a boring yet somewhat cosy hotel room was because of your own poor judgment. You'd let your feelings cloud your vision, a classic case of female hysteria as many men might have put it. If only you'd welcomed the smile Javier had given you at the campfire the night before, for it was presented to you so softly, without a touch of malice.

If only you'd sat yourself down on that log beside Charles and asked him about his day instead of losing yourself to your thoughts. While you did believe there was still an ounce of credibility to them, your mind was becoming clearer to the situation. Javier wasn't the type for power play, he had no reason for it. He was thankful for the people he'd been so graciously welcomed in by, and the resources they spared him to survive alongside them. A lot more than he would've had, had he not stumbled into Dutch that one fateful night.

You swallowed thickly. What had you done?

Maybe a stroll out to see the horses in the small holding pens by the stable could be on the cards for you today, or going to check for any familiar faces on the newly pinned bounty posters outside the sheriff's office. Truth be told, there wasn't much of you that actually wanted to leave the room at all, but with the way your thoughts were running away with you, you deemed it in your best interest to stay occupied.

But what if someone called for you and you weren't in to receive the verdict, would they search for you? You didn't imagine they'd take the time out of their day to do so for someone they currently held in low esteem - if anyone even came at all. Nevertheless, you deduced they'd be happier to come to a room and find you waiting rather than having to search all of Valentine for you, so maybe here is where you'd stay, at least for a little while longer.

With the only thing left available to you that you hadn't yet exhausted in the few short hours of your hotel room occupancy being a book you'd packed, you picked it up and turned it over to read the title. You hadn't checked before leaving camp, you'd just thrown it in your suitcase in a fit of rage, disappointment and upset, and lo and behold, it was a romantic poem book, of all things.

You opened the book halfway through and tried to focus on the poem that your eyes had been drawn to, but those same eyes were seeing words on a page, and nothing more. Words that your brain just wasn't taking in, and instead the words that your head was taking in, and unfortunately starting to obsess over again, were the last words you'd heard out of Javier's mouth before your untimely exile. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I left this morning with you-" he'd huffed, hurt in his voice now that hindsight had been bestowed upon you.

Night finally fell upon the now sleepy town of Valentine, and while you had left the simple comforts of your hotel room for only a short while to get yourself a hot plate of lamb's fry for supper, you'd returned to your room straight after with less than a full stomach, given that eating wasn't the highest priority on your list in your situation, too stressed and down in the mouth to enjoy the finest Valentine could provide.

Day two was the same: eat if you could in between the stress of the unknown, roam around town aimlessly if you felt you could leave the room at all, read the one same book, albeit a different poem each time, and sleep. It was on day three that you really started to worry. Maybe Dutch and the gang had decided on your fate, and that fate was to leave you in the dark, to fear the unknown and remain in a state of anxiety until you came to terms with the fact yourself that they weren't coming to get you. A cruel fate indeed.

You contemplated just going back - just riding into camp and fighting for your right to stay with them, to plead your case and show them what a mistake they were making by exiling you, a fine young gunslinger and a useful asset to them as a woman who wasn't afraid to use her charm to get what she wanted, when needed. You could think of a few who contributed less to camp life and the gang as a whole than you, yet were never reproached for it. All that being said, you didn't want to dig yourself a deeper hole, as that action surely would. Besides, you didn't think you could bear the embarrassment of making such a scene only to be turned away again. You'd look a fool in front of everyone.

You remembered when Micah had ridden off for a while back before Colter, and to earn back his respect he'd not returned to camp until he'd found a peace offering for Dutch. Now Micah wasn't one for good ideas, nor was he your favorite person to be around at all, but his method certainly seemed to work. You had more to lose by not attempting the same than you did by going out and returning with a peace offering of your own. Micah was far less of a desirable asset to the gang than you, wild and unpredictable. If he could do it, surely you could, your only crime within the gang being bickering.

With that, you left your room with nothing on you but your repeater and headed down the hotel stairs, out the door and across the way into the saloon where you ordered something to fill your belly before you headed out on the trail. Your appetite was the same as it had been the past few days, lacking, but you couldn't set out on such a mission without sustenance. Who knew when you'd next be able to eat a proper meal.

The saloon was quiet, unusually so. On any normal day, it was full of farmers, carpenters, stable hands and more of the working folk around Valentine looking to get their midday fill. Save for a working lady and a pair of Irish scoundrels loitering in the back of the dimly lit saloon, you were alone. You hid your face as best you could with the brim of your hat, ordering your meal at the bar before finding yourself a table by the window. You could see the Irishmen from your peripheral, but they wouldn't quite be able to identify you.

"You wouldn't happen to know why it's so quiet today, would you?" You asked politely as the barman brought the food to your table. "I apologize if it's not my place to ask." The bartender grimaced, not at you but at what he was to announce. "Talk of a big storm rolling in from the mountains, heavy rain or possibly snow. None of us are too sure, but something mean is brewing atop those peaks," he started. "And just when the mud was beginning to dry up." You hummed in agreement, walking over from the hotel hadn't been quite such a miserable few steps for the first time since you'd arrived a few days ago, your shoes mostly dry and clean.

"Most people are out trying to finish up any work that needs doin' before it hits us. I'm surprised you've not heard, miss." You nodded and picked up your fork, not wanting to bother the man much longer, though he did sound happy for the company on such a quiet day. "I'm not really one to read the paper or pay much mind to small talk," you gave him a soft smile, "thank you." The bartender muttered a gentle "of course", nodded and swiftly returned to his duties behind the bar.

Not one to pay much mind to small talk? In this instance that was a lie. Paying attention to small talk was something you'd had to do to survive for many a year. You'd tuned in on the O'Driscoll's conversation immediately as the bartender had left you, and while a lot of it was completely useless or positively foul, you caught wind of a shipment, though you didn't know what of. They'd planned to take it for themselves as it made its way somewhere up past Fort Wallace, tonight.

You weren't sure about your mission now, but you couldn't stay in Valentine any longer. It was becoming somewhat clear to you that the gang either weren't interested anymore, or were taking their sweet time to make a decision, letting you stew in your regret as long as they deemed necessary. Riding out and finding a good score was the only option you felt you had. If you rode out, though, there was a chance you'd get stuck in the storm without shelter, get hit by lightning or perish from hypothermia from the rain or snow. If you stayed in Valentine you'd be shin deep in mud, as opposed to just being ankle deep if duty called for you to leave the hotel, you'd be sheltered, but you'd most likely begin to tear your hair out with nothing much to do, indefinitely.

You stood with a quiet groan after you finished what you could of your meal, thanked the bartender again and headed back to the hotel for some light snacks and your old waterproof duster. While it was fairly sunny and warm as of that moment, you weren't taking the chance of riding out without it. Onto the back of your horse it went, wrapped under the same straps as your bedroll. Your poor horse was almost bored to death by now, so seeing you and the signs of leaving the town for different views had its ears perked right up.

"You'll be pleased to hear we're heading out, my friend," you stroked your hand down its neck, resting on its withers before giving it a gentle pat. "Let's go get us a score." You mounted up and rode north-east out of the muddy livestock town, tightening all girths and fastenings as your horse strode out towards Cumberland Forest, ears flickering with excitement and a slight bounce in its step. While you were a seasoned rider, this type of wild energy under you still filled your body with some amount of adrenaline.

With the later afternoon came more of a chill, and while you were used to the cooler climate now, it was enough for you to allow your horse to cruise while you reached for your duster, unraveling it and threading your arms through. You made sure it was tightly shut before retaking control of the reins, not that you'd had to direct your horse for a while now, who was naturally just following the trail. You rode for a half hour, cursing yourself for making the amateur mistake of leaving at a time where very few people - targets, would be traveling, but your mind was set on this alleged shipment above all else.

The roads were still, except for a squirrel here and a bunny there, the first few spooked your horse who in the short few days had come to believe that small critters crossings its path were infact, scary again. As of most nights up near Fort Wallace and beyond, the wolves, grey and timber were out en masse, howling coming from multiple directions, but not close enough for you to be fearful of it, more enthralled. Your horse however was less serene, snorting like a dragon and flaring its nostrils for as long as the howls sounded. "Easy now", you cooed, bringing your hand down to pat at its neck.

Passing by Fort Wallace, you glanced over at the gate, a few guards standing out front and a few more atop the wooden parapet. Swallowing, you squeezed your legs around your mount, urging the already prancing animal to pick up the pace just a tad more. You knew their eyes were on you, and while they couldn't see anymore than a silhouette atop a horse, making its way through the late evening as any passerby posing no threat would, you knew far better than to ride any closer. Instead, you decided to make one final push up to Bacchus Station, out of harm's way, from both fauna and firing squad.

As you approached the station, the voices of at least two men came into earshot, making you slow your horse to dull the sounds of its hooves on the now near frozen ground. Finally, you thought to yourself. You'd started to lose hope. "Another hour is all you have to stand guard for", the first guard spoke as you brought your horse to a halt. "Aye, but an hour in this cold feels like 10", his colleague replied, and the more you listened to their back and forth, the more you picked up on their accent being that of a particular Irish gang.

How was it that the O'Driscolls seemed to always be in the right place at the right time? How had they caught wind of this shipment and your gang hadn't? You half wondered whether you'd see any familiar faces cresting the horizon for it. Oh how your heart would sink, both in relief but in fear of what they might tell you. Unfortunately for the O'Dricsoll's though, in this case they just happened to be here at the wrong time, as whatever shipment they were waiting for was going to be yours, and their lives were more than likely going to be extinguished within the next hour if they tried to stop you. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

For the first and hopefully the last time, you were somewhat glad to hear their Irish drawl. It was familiar, and at least you wouldn't have to deal with the civilians that were expecting the shipment originally. They'd most likely already been dealt with by said O'Driscolls. You disliked that the civilians had suffered the wrath of those who followed Colm, however it did make your job easier with them out of the picture, as morbid as it was to admit they'd done you a favor. Killing for sport wasn't something you agreed with, allowing anyone who hadn't posed an immediate threat to your life to flee whichever scene you'd imposed on them in the past.

Your code was to avoid regular working folk as best you could, yes, but you had no moral qualms when it came to putting O'Driscolls down. Van der Linde or ex Van der Linde, the contempt instilled in you from them and for other personal reasons, made it so easy to snuff out their lives when required. You nudged your horse back in the direction you'd come from and headed up the base of the Grizzlies to find the perfect vantage point, one where you could see the trail and the O'Driscolls on guard duty, but where you were just covered enough by the tall, thin aspen-looking trees to not easily be spotted by them.

Bringing your horse to a halt once more, you slid off the saddle and told it to stay, not hitching in case it needed to run if things went awry and you didn't make it back, or, you needed a quick getaway. You hoped the latter would be the outcome if this were to go bad. Luck didn't seem to be on your side as of late. After fumbling for your binoculars in your saddle bag, you headed up the mountain just a few steps further and reached the vantage point you'd been looking for. Now all that was left to do was sit, wait, and keep an eye out for lantern light on the trails beneath you.

You checked your pocket watch here and there, sometimes with only a mere few minutes between. Your livelihood was dependent on this score, whatever the score may be. You were starting to hope that the O'Driscolls knew how to tell the time right, or if they'd somehow managed to get even that confused, but with that thought came lanterns in the distance, on their way up from the Cornwall oil refinery, perhaps. A large oil wagon pulled by two great draft horses crested the hill, your binoculars being only just clear enough with the cold weather to make out that it was indeed a Cornwall shipment.

An oil wagon was not what was on your list of shipments you'd be happy to take back to camp, but an oil wagon was what you'd been given, and what you'd have to take. It would be put to use somehow, or sold for a little extra cash for camp. You watched intently as the wagon closed in on the station, no more men popping out of the shadows led you to believe this was not a job that the O'Driscolls had run by Colm for his approval. Maybe the outlaws at the base of your mountain were also looking for a chance at redemption, too.

You slowly slinked your way down the hill, staying behind the trees and using the many bushes for cover as you closed in. Still no sign of any more than two men, it couldn't be more perfect for you. You readied your rifle as the wagon came to a stop, the O'Driscolls acting as though they were standing guard at the station, rather than waiting to put a few bullets in the two men atop your score. Stepping down onto the frozen ground, the Cornwall henchmen gave but a glance towards the O'Driscolls and headed inside the station. Poor men, completely unaware of the carnage they were about to find inside.

It took only a second for the guards to turn on their heels, pistols raised and harsh words on their tongues as they burst back out the doors to find their buyers' attackers. The O'Driscolls were on the wagon already, one shooting as best he could at their pursuers as the other cracked the reins down on the horses, pulling the wagon swiftly out of the station. You groaned at their incompetence and ran back up to your horse, jumping on and following the Cornwall guards and the wagon that was now heading northbound.

Northbound, dangerously fast at that, and right towards the jagged red rocks of Calumet Ravine.

Some spent their days swatting away said bugs and patrolling the grounds around the manor, keeping their eyes on the surrounding rivers for any curious gators, or worse, the law. Some patched clothes as they'd done many a time before. Some prepared the stew. And the last lucky few were out gallivanting, probably far away from the sticky swamp air. But Dutch, the man who gave the gang its name, was sat alone in one of the downstairs rooms of the manor, his elbows propped up on a table and his eyes glued to an envelope. It was rare that he received mail, and Dutch liked it that way. He made the gang use a fake name for a reason.

The writing on the envelope was beautiful, the sort of calligraphy that could only be from someone of high status. And with high status came great wealth, or so Dutch supposed. He racked his brain, trying to think of who he could've recently angered, but not one name with true significance came to mind. Besides, he'd tied up all the loose ends from Clemens Point, so this could only be someone new. Dutch picked up the envelope with one hand and tapped it into his opposite palm. He'd had a lot on his mind lately, and the fact he'd had a letter sent straight to his fake name when he wasn't expecting anything, unnerved him to say the least. "Dutch," Hosea's hand landed on his shoulder, "is everything alright?"

Furrowing his brows slightly, Dutch turned his head to his second in command. "Excuse me, Hosea," he grumbled, knowing Hosea had probably called him more than once, "I wasn't fully here." Hosea hummed knowingly and pulled up a chair. "I've never seen a letter trouble you so, but I suppose there's a first for everything," he chuckled. Dutch hummed, running a finger under the sticky flap of the envelope before delicately removing the letter and unfolding it. The writing matched that of the envelope, it was just as neat. Whoever the sender was; they were surely of the meticulous sort. That or, they just had far too much free time on their hands.

Tacitus Kilgore, or should I say, Mr van der Linde,

Having spent so many months doing research on the corrupt city in which I reside, I've grown tired and yearn for something new. With gangs becoming more common, larger, and more dangerous, I yearn to understand what pushes a person into such a lifestyle.

I have spent many days researching your kind, but there are very few sources of trusted information; many of my questions still remain unanswered. Therefore, you and the rest of your gang are cordially invited to my estate on the outskirts of Saint Denis for as long as you're comfortable.

Heed my words, I will have security on site to protect myself from you, but also to protect us both from the law, or whoever else may disagree with my decision to house you all.

It may seem that I'm making of myself an easy target, but do not underestimate me, I am not one to be toyed with. I look forward to meeting you and your gang.

Respectfully, (first initial & l/n).

     Dutch took a moment to scan the letter again, making sure he'd really read it correctly. "Quite the bold invitation," Hosea sat back and crossed an ankle over his knee. "Though, it does sound too good to be true. Who would willingly protect the likes of us?" Dutch nodded slowly, Hosea had a good point. "Who are we dealing with here, Hosea?" Dutch questioned as his hand came to rest on his chin, his eyes never leaving the letter. "The name sure sounds familiar, Dutch," Hosea sighed pensively, "and the mention of research leads me to believe it's the woman I read about in the paper. If you remember, I told you she lost her husband, and then lost herself to her research as a way of keeping the grief at bay."

"What sort of research?" Dutch's mind was going back and forth between sending a few of his best men to scout the estate, or keeping them safe within the confines of camp. "The overall corruption in Saint Denis, I believe, or the poverty rate. Maybe both." Hosea shrugged, "I do know however, that she dug up enough evidence to convict a few corrupt cops," he paused, "so whoever this woman is, she's not necessarily on our side." Dutch remained quiet momentarily, thinking hard on the plan he was concocting. "What if this woman isn't who she claims to be, and this is solely to lure us into a trap." He furrowed his brows, "what if she's working with the Pinkertons, and using her well known name and love for learning to draw us in and give us.. hope."

"Hope for a clean place to lay our heads, baths at our disposal, and guaranteed hot food for as long as we need?" Hosea chimed in, on the same wavelength as Dutch. "It's the perfect opportunity for the law to catch us, and that leads me to believe that this is no trap. It is truly, too good to be true." Hosea studied Dutch's face, trying to read what he was thinking. "Listen, Dutch. If the law wanted to catch us all together, they'd come up with something more believable." Hosea placed a hand on Dutch's forearm. "I think you're right, Hosea," Dutch returned the letter to the envelope with an almost defeated sigh. "Let's send Arthur, maybe Charles and Javier too, they can check the estate and let us know if it at all seems like we're being set up." Hosea nodded, agreeing with him.

"We’ll make a final decision when they return." With that, Dutch rose to his feet, extending a hand to Hosea as he did so. "Very well, Dutch." The pair left the manor and went their separate ways, Hosea to his usual spot around the campfire, and Dutch to his tent to await Arthur's return from his travels; he wasn't going to break the news until he had all three chosen ones present.

     Arthur returned only in the late afternoon of the next day, Dutch had almost started to grow worried by his absence. "Arthur!" Dutch was on his feet and making his way to the rugged looking cowboy before he'd even been able to dismount his horse. "It's good to see you, son." Arthur grunted and slid off the saddle, not bothering to hitch his horse. He knew what was coming, Dutch was only ever this joyous nowadays when he needed something done. "You seem chipper," Arthur's voice was the complete opposite of the word, "what've you heard?" Dutch seemed almost offended by his comment, as though Arthur was already doubting him.

"Not heard, my dear boy, not this time." Dutch took the envelope from his pocket and handed it to Arthur. "This time, it's something more concrete, something I read." Dutch stood with his arms crossed as Arthur too read the letter, shaking his head as he did. "It's a trap, Dutch," he grumbled, shifting his weight to one side, "surely." Dutch's arms remained crossed in a defensive manner. "I know what you're thinking, Arthur, if she's smart enough to figure out we're behind this fake name, imagine what else she knows.. what else she's capable of." Arthur nodded, he'd taken the words right out of his mouth. "Javier, Charles get over here!" Dutch beckoned to them with his arm.

"I've already discussed it with Hosea," he spoke while he waited for the other two, "we're aware it sounds risky, but it's an opportunity we can't afford to pass up. That's why I need you three to head over to her estate and take a look around," Dutch spoke with confidence as Javier and Charles finally made it over. Arthur rolled his eyes, wanting nothing more than to step away from the conversation. He knew Dutch's moves were getting more and more risky- but this? It seemed insane. "You should all rest up for now and head out tonight, under the cover of darkness," Dutch ordered, "Arthur, I trust you'll relay the rest of the information."

"Yes, Dutch," Arthur's voice was even less enthusiastic than it had been before, making both Javier and Charles look at him in confusion, though he was sure they'd soon feel the same. With a nod of his head and a hum of appreciation, Dutch turned on his heel and headed back towards camp to wait out nightfall, and ultimately their return.

     Dutch barely slept that night, though it wasn't uncommon. He rarely slept in general, and maybe that was contributing to his paranoia about the letter and the lady who'd sent it. A few hours into the night, he'd got up from his chair and paced his tent with the letter in hand, wondering if he was about to put his entire family in danger. The truth was, he wanted to take the offer. He wanted it for himself and he wanted to meet this lady face to face, to learn about her. He'd been having a hard time with Molly over the last month or so, and the idea of having a new interesting woman who already provided all the enigma that he liked to believe he did himself, was oh so alluring.

His mind hadn't left this new woman, you, since he'd read the first words you'd written to him. He already had a vision of you in his head; he'd pictured your beauty, your way with words and the smooth tone of your voice, and more importantly, the envious looks he'd get when others saw you on his arm. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely heard the boys returning. "What's the verdict?" His voice was hushed as he turned to greet them, not wanting to wake or worry the rest of the gang at such an early hour in the morning. "Well," Javier shrugged, "it all seems to check out." Arthur nodded, "nothing out of the ordinary, Dutch. We saw the estate, the security she mentioned, even caught a glimpse of her in her study."

It took all of Dutch not to ask them what you looked like, but he didn't want to reveal just how enamored he already was of the idea of you. "Good," he sighed, "good work." His words were enough to dismiss the boys, and he returned to his chair alongside his gramophone in an attempt to get some shuteye. He was looking forward to seeing daylight, and meeting you.

Shady Belle was soon graced with the first few rays of sunlight, quieting the frogs that had croaked a beautiful symphony all night long. Dutch was one among the early risers, pipe between his lips; he was one of the few who preferred to wake up with nicotine over caffeine. Though he hadn't slept much, he felt rejuvenated. Today was the day he was going to meet you, and perhaps today was the day that life as he and the rest of the gang knew it would change, at least for the next few weeks. He scanned camp, releasing a cloud of smoke into the air, wondering if Arthur had risen yet.

Indeed he had, he was sat quietly at the campfire with a coffee, while Javier and Charles still slept peacefully just a few feet away. Dutch would've liked to ride out with Hosea on such a fine morning, and for such a intriguing outing- but he'd been struggling with his lungs overnight and was in no fit state to ride. So, Arthur was next in line. Once his coffee was finished, he greeted Dutch with a new attitude, one that suggested he did have some faith left both in his leader and this new opportunity after all. It didn't take long for the two to gear up and head out, and they rode silently while they left the bayou behind for the cobbled streets of the city.

You were sat at your vanity, carefully applying your makeup as you did every morning, but you'd been taking a little extra care of yourself since you'd sent the letter to Dutch. Though you weren't sure if he'd even accept; you could see just how peculiar of an offer it would seem to an outlaw, you wanted to be sure that if he did happen to turn up at your doorstep, you looked your best. You wanted to look your best to give him a real idea of who you truly were. You were a woman living alone, sure. Maybe he'd see you as vulnerable or naive in a way; to present yourself to a criminal such as himself with such jewelry adorning your fingers and neck. Your jewels and the way you dressed couldn't scream "high society, highly educated and highly respected" any louder if they tried.

That was exactly how you wanted Dutch to perceive you.

You wanted that first impression to mark him. You wanted him to know, with nothing but a first glance, that the woman before him was capable of many things and a lot of them ended badly for him, so he'd do best to keep the criminality outside of your gates. Of course, you hoped the two guards posted just inside of them and the additional two by your front door would do the trick, too. You finished up and headed to your study, waiting on the coffee that was usually brought to you around this time. Every morning since the letter had been sent, you'd been digging through newspapers, complaint letters and even police reports you'd managed to get your hands on for any real information on the gang. Alas it all seemed in vain, both the paper in front of you and the days you'd spent reading.

The only few things that were documented were some stagecoach robberies in Nevada, which was too far away from where you resided and therefore the news coverage was void of any real detail. Then there was mention of them passing through Montana and Ohio where they robbed more rich folk, and a handful of bank robberies spanning over various locations after that. You gathered that that was how it had all started. They'd never formed a gang to be a gang. Dutch had a vision of a world that was free from the pressures and intolerance of civilization, a "savage utopia" you had it written down as in your notes. He saw himself as a revolutionary, a Robin Hood who robbed the rich to help the poor, hoping others would see his work and follow in his footsteps.

As he moved from state to state doing just that, he came across many poor souls trying to outrun the laws of modern society, ultimately recruiting them. The van der Linde gang was different in that way, they hadn't started out with the idea of lying, robbing and killing for their own benefit. Instead they'd wanted a better world, and that's why you'd taken such interest in them. But then of course, there was the whole mess in Blackwater. So bad, it had been dubbed a massacre. You studied the few newspaper clippings you had on the event, your thumb tracing over a picture of Heidi McCourt, the young mother who'd lost her life. You were sure going to try to delve into Dutch's brain for more information on that.

"Your coffee, my lady," your maid interrupted your thoughts as she stepped quietly through the doorway. "Oh, thank you," you smiled, turning from your work to take the warm mug. "I mean not to disturb you further, but two gentlemen just arrived at the gates claiming you'd sent for them. How would you like us to proceed?" You breathed out shakily, nerves had never formed so rapidly inside of you. And though they should've been product of the Dutch van der Linde, swindler and murderer standing outside your gate, they were more so stemmed from anticipation to get some insight into the lives of these criminals. "Allow them inside the gates," you nodded, "I'll be down shortly."

     You took a sip of your coffee and stepped towards the French windows that separated the study from the balcony. You could see the two still outside the gate, waiting patiently as your maid relayed the information to your security. It was certainly Dutch himself, and the other too young to be Hosea, you assumed was his lead enforcer, Arthur. Soon, the security from your front door marched over to the gate, informing the other two guards of the development. You watched as your gates were swung open and the outlaws stepped foot on your grounds; time to introduce yourself, it would be rude to keep your own invited guests waiting any longer.

You set your coffee on your study table and left the room, your nerves making themselves even more known as you headed down the main stairs and rested your hand on the front doorknob. This was it, the moment you'd been planning for weeks. You opened the door with feigned confidence and stepped outside, leaving it open behind you. "Good morning, gentlemen," you smiled from the highest doorstep, waiting for their distracted gaze to turn to you. "Your presence is much appreciated. I understand that it must've been a hard decision to make with so little information to go on." You made your way down the stairs, extending a hand to Dutch who stood the closest.

"(f/n) (l/n)," you smiled, "it's a pleasure to meet you Mr van der Linde, and you too Mr Morgan." Dutch smiled at you as he shook your hand gently, he wasn't surprised to see that the image of you he'd had in his mind was more or less accurate, except for your height. He towered over you, and you'd be lying if you said he didn't intimidate you more than you'd expected he would. "It seems we need not introduce ourselves," Dutch's hand returned to his side. "You've both made quite a name for yourselves over the years," you shook Arthur's hand and turned back to Dutch. "And of course, I wouldn't be inviting you into my own home if I hadn't done a little research prior to the invitation." Dutch repeated an "of course" after you with a nod of his head, as though the answer should've been obvious to him. "Now please, come in," you gestured to your open door, "there are many things I would like to discuss with you." The boys complied, walking ahead of you as you took the middle and were followed by the two front door guards.

"You have quite the firepower here, miss," Dutch turned to look at you as you made your way up the front steps and into the foyer. "Though it may sound foolish, Mr van der Linde," you paused as you stepped ahead of them, “I trust you won't bring me any harm." You hummed as you guided the two towards the living room where another set of security guards were posted, "it just gives me the peace of mind I need to conduct my studies." Arthur let out a quiet smirk, "you need this amount of security to conduct a little research?" You offered them a comfy seat and a cup of fresh coffee before sitting back with your own and crossing your legs daintily. "When you sirs are the subjects, yes." You saw Dutch shoot a glance in Arthur's direction, one that said he ought to have a little more respect. "I'm sure you've made many enemies, particularly after the mess you made in Blackwater," you took your first sip, "but we'll touch on that later."

"You see, I've also put myself in a sort of.. predicament, sending out such a letter." You sure had the boys' attention now. "Though I can't say I've made of myself an enemy to the Saint Denis police department, they certainly don't like that I'm offering to house one of the most notorious, highly pursued gangs." You switched your crossed legs and took another sip. "Of course, they talk, as much as they claim not to, therefore your enemies have now become my enemies, and I'll need 24 hour security for as long as you decide to stay here, for everyone's safety." You paused and leaned forward, placing your mug on the coffee table that separated you from the pair of outlaws. "That is, if you're willing to stay."

Dutch sat back comfortably with his mug in hand, taking a sip without taking his dark eyes off you. "How do we know this isn't all some.. elaborate scheme? How are we to know you're not working with the law? You do seem to like seeing bad people receive the punishments they deserve, what with the officers you've condemned." You were taken aback by his statement, maybe you weren't the only one who'd done some digging. But you were even more taken aback by the feeling inside of you as Dutch scanned your face for any signs of cracking. "I- Mr van der Linde, I may be a respectable woman but I still have my secrets. I'm not.. in bed, with the law, so to speak. I have nothing to gain by turning you in."

Your statement piqued Dutch's interest, he made a mental note to question you if you happened to have some alone time in the near future. He had a feeling your past may be darker than you let be known. "I want information from you, for my own studies, and I wouldn't gain access to any if I put you in an uncomfortable situation." You could tell the boys were finding it hard to read you. Arthur had fallen completely silent as he studied your mannerisms for anything off, and Dutch still had questions for you. "What are you planning on doing with the information?" He furrowed his brows slightly, raising the cup to his lips once again. "Any law abiding citizen with valuable information on us would.. well, probably run straight to the first cop they saw."

Dutch's tone was truly unnerving, you were starting to have second thoughts on allowing him free rein in your own safe space. "Quite the opposite," you smiled softly, trying to ease the growing tension, "perhaps one day, if I have the correct information and evidence, I may be able to save one of your people from a gruesome fate. Maybe even you, Mr van der Linde. Not everyone is out to get you." You sat back and let out a quiet breath. You hoped that showing them you were willing to go as far as trying to save them from any bad situations they may run into, would be enough to persuade them you truly meant well. You heard Dutch hum, your eyes turning back to him as they'd fallen to the floor in a brief moment of despair.

"Very well," he placed his mug on the table opposite yours. "You say you can house the whole gang?" He paused, "all 23 of us?" You nodded with the feigned confidence from before. You knew that they were a pretty large gang, but going from it being just yourself, your housekeeper and the guards to an additional 23 people was sure to make rowdy of your typically quiet manor house. "This big old place gets a little lonely sometimes," you chuckled quietly as you stood from your chair, "it would be nice to have some company. Please, allow me to show you around." You showed the pair to the rooms they'd all be staying in, and even though your manor was one of the biggest outside of Saint Denis, you didn't quite have 23 of them, so some members would have to bunk up together.

After you'd completed the tour, your guests satisfied with where they'd be staying and reassured that you weren't part of a large scale trap, you said your goodbyes and watched them as they headed back down the cobbled streets they'd ridden up a few hours prior. They'd surely take a day, maybe two to gather all their necessities and move them over to your estate, so now all you had to do, was wait for the real fun to begin.

     It had been a few days now since you'd welcomed the entire gang into your home, and there had never been a dull moment. During the day, some of the gang's gunmen would leave your estate and go about their business as usual, bringing home some leads or even a pretty penny, and by night the girls would sing their funny campfire songs, or Uncle would play the banjo, Javier the guitar or sometimes even Charles the harmonica. Silence truly was a thing of the past, and though you usually liked to have a moment's peace, you really did appreciate their company. They all seemed so happy, whether it was because they knew they were safe and had everything they could possibly need with you around, or whether that's how they always were, you weren't sure, but it sure was nice to witness.

So one late evening, after you'd all enjoyed a lovely meal together, you'd pulled some of the ladies away from the group and offered for them to sit with you out on the study balcony. You'd gathered Mary-Beth- a pretty young lady with a passion for reading, Karen- who seemed to be rather fond of the bottle, and Tilly, a quiet one whose interests you had yet to uncover. You spent a good hour going back and forth with them, both for research and just pure gossip. Since losing your first husband, you'd rarely left the house for pleasure. You used to go out to dances and other social gatherings, restaurants, you name it, but doing so alone just wouldn't be the same, so it was nice to have other ladies to talk to in the comfort of your own home.

Though once the gossiping came to a close, you took the opportunity to ask about the level of happiness in your estate compared to wherever they'd been holed up. It was quickly made clear that they used to be happy, but not so much anymore due to the pressures of being chased across the country. You felt a sort of appreciation upon learning so, for the fact you could offer them such a different experience to what they'd become accustomed to.

     More days passed, and the constant hum around your manor had become your new norm. It'd been around a week and a half and you'd already grown close to the people you'd taken in, as much as you wished you hadn't. You'd told yourself that it was just for research and you weren't to make friends of these people, for one day you'd have to let them go and would most likely never hear from them directly again, but it was damn hard not to. Damn hard not to, especially when it came to Dutch. He had been your main focus ever since the first day he'd stepped foot on your property. You'd taken a liking to him more so than the others, and a liking you knew was more than friendship, but it wasn't quite love. The way he carried himself, the way he dressed, the way he spoke, the sound of his voice.. it was pure lust.

You'd already imagined many a scenario before going to sleep. You'd found yourself daydreaming while going through documents, and worst of all you'd caught yourself fantasizing about the man while he was sat directly opposite you at the other end of the long dinner table. You'd cursed yourself for letting your mind even go there, but it was the first time you'd felt the need to indulge in your carnal desires with anyone in a long, long while. "I can't help but notice you seem a little.. distracted," Dutch leaned back in his chair. Today was clearly no exception. You crossed your legs as you sat opposite him, trying to collect your thoughts as you simultaneously collected up the papers in front of you. After all, you'd called him into your study this evening to question him about Blackwater, not fantasize about him bending you over your own desk.

"I apologize, Mr van der Linde," you smiled softly, "my mind was elsewhere." You took ahold of the heavy glass whisky bottle that resided permanently on one corner of your desk, filling the bottom of two matching heavy glasses and passing one across from you. "Please, I'd like to hear your side of the story. What happened in Blackwater?" Dutch's expression changed from amused to downright irritated. He knew he messed up that day, Hosea and all those he'd raised had told him so. Had he only listened to his gut and stuck with the plan, maybe Heidi would still be alive, he wouldn't have such a large sum on his head, and they'd all be swimming in cash far away from where they currently were.

But then again, if Micah's words hadn't slithered into his brain and made him drift off course, he wouldn't be sat in front of such a beautiful woman who perplexed him greatly. He didn't want to talk about Blackwater, he wanted to talk about you, to get into your smart little brain and more importantly, have you confirm his own deduction about your late husband. He could tell by your tone the first time you'd met that it hadn't happened by natural causes, and the fact that a women like yourself, who the people of Saint Denis held in such high regard, could be so dirty and clearly get away with it? Dutch's kind of woman. But for the sake of this interview and out of respect for your hospitality, he obliged in an answer.

"It's all.. a blur," Dutch started, his eyes leaving yours briefly to focus on the pen in your hand, ready to write down anything of interest. "Micah.." he paused, "I knew it was a risk, and Hosea and Arthur already had another job lined up. But Mr Bell, he has a way with words." Dutch sighed, trying to recall the event to the best of his ability. "Micah persuaded me into pursuing the ferry job. We barely had time to prepare, we had next to no information on the level of security or how much money we'd truly be taking. It was a bad decision, and I wholeheartedly admit that I was wrong to have let myself be so easily swayed." Dutch's eyes returned to yours, they seemed darker than ever. "But money.. money, has a mean hold on me. It seems to cloud my senses."

"It has a hold on us all, Mr van der Linde," you wrote down the interesting detail he'd shared. Dutch hummed, his eyes never leaving your pretty features as you scribbled away in your notebook. "It seemed fine at first, we managed to take the money easily," he continued, "and just as we tried to slip away, every Pinkerton and police officer seemingly in the state swarmed Blackwater. They forced us into an.. unwinnable fight." You returned your eyes to Dutch, placing your head in your hand. "Go on," you nodded, the story alone making adrenaline pump through your body. "And.. somewhere down the line I, shot a girl," Dutch's eyes glistened with regret. "Miss McCourt," you mumbled to yourself, almost too quiet for Dutch to hear. "I like to tell myself she was just caught in the crossfire, wrong place at the wrong time," he paused again, for longer this time. "But I know that's not true."

"What is the truth?" You brought your hand back to your notebook, wondering whether you truly wanted to hear his answer. "I killed her, so that my people could escape with their own lives." Dutch turned to look out the balcony windows, taking a sip of the expensive beverage you'd provided, "in that moment, she was no longer a woman, and no longer a young mother. She was just an entity in the right area to create a distraction, so that I could save myself." You swallowed at his cold words, but wrote them down exactly as he'd delivered them. "Was it purely your own decision?" You asked without looking up, a little shaken. "Spur of the moment sort of thing," Dutch mumbled, "and by then I only had Micah with me. He insisted it was what I had to do to give the rest of us a window to escape." You watched as he took another sip, your eyes traveling from his lips to his throat.

"This Mr Bell, is he new to the gang? I don't seem to have any information on him." You glanced over the newspaper clippings. "He seems to be quite the character, and always in the right place at the right time, if I may say." You saw Dutch nod in the corner of your eye, he knew you spoke your truth, but he'd be damned if he'd let you lead him into believing Micah was a whistleblower. "So at that point, you fled West Elizabeth and headed into the Ambarino mountains?" You continued, catching onto his difference of opinion and not wanting to get on his bad side. Dutch hummed with a nod. "And did you.. get away with the money in the end?" You tilted your head slightly, to which you only got an unamused stare. "Understood," you chuckled quietly. "I think that'll do for today Mr van der Linde, thank you."

"I have some questions of my own, miss, if you don't mind." Dutch stopped you as you went to stand up. Your heart skipped a beat, but you settled back down in your chair, leaning back and crossing your legs. "Of course." You smiled assuming they'd be harmless, he probably just wanted more reassurance that you weren't going to run to every newspaper publisher in the vicinity. "About your late husband." Oh, how you were wrong. "What about him?" You picked up your glass and stayed as relaxed as you could, trying not to give off exactly how nervous he, and this conversation, were making you. "You told me, the first time we met, that you had your own little secrets." Dutch's tone was different now, he liked being the interviewer far more than the interviewee.

"Don't we all," you shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip and standing as you'd previously planned. "Of course we all have our little secrets, miss," he hummed as he watched you step towards the balcony windows, "but murder? That's not something I'd call little." You continued looking out the window as you heard his words, only turning to him after you'd fully took them in. "What are you insinuating, Mr van der Linde?" You turned only enough to see the shadowy silhouette of his broad frame still sat in the chair you'd left him in. "More than insinuating, miss, don't take me for a fool." You couldn't act dumb for much longer, somehow he'd seen right through your façade and exposed your not so respectable side. "I'm no stranger to this line of work, as you know."

"A murderer? Mr van der Linde, I am nothing of the kind," you turned to him fully, "now, if you're to stay in my home, I ask that you show me a little more respect." Dutch did nothing but sit back in his chair and let out a deep chuckle. "You are a fine piece of work," his eyes freely roamed your adorned body, "what would become of you, if word got out?" Dutch's tone was deep and sultry, just the way it had been in every dream you'd had, day or night. He was playing with your mind, and you hated that the heat inside you only grew with each new word that rolled off his tongue. "Word won't get out," you took a step towards him, "you wouldn't do that to me, not after all this," you gestured to the estate.

"So, you admit it," Dutch raised an eyebrow, his legs parting slightly as you took another step forwards. You'd fallen right into his trap, you had indeed made a confession, albeit indirectly. You hummed as you took another step close enough to your desk to lean on it, letting your knee brush against Dutch's in the process. "Fine," you sighed, placing your glass down, "fine. You got me." You leaned back and took a folder from one of the locked desk drawers. "Though it wasn't of natural causes, as far as that goes you are correct," you paused, placing the folder down on the desk for Dutch to flit through, "it was by a plant mother nature provided, oleander; the perfect tool to ensure your own hands remain clean."

Dutch flipped the few papers you had on the incident, finding it slightly morbid but also somehow amusing that you'd kept all the reports, and even made your own to fool the law. "Oleander?" You nodded with a slight smile, clearly Dutch wasn't familiar with the botany of Lemoyne. "You can find plants all over the marshland, little pink flowers, tall green stem. Deadly if ingested." Dutch turned away from the folder and back to you, as if to ask why you'd taken his life. "He was an awful man, by night" you shrugged, closing the folder and holding it to your chest, "and if I hadn't done it first.. well," you stood and walked around your desk to place the folder back in its spot, "I'm sure you understand." Dutch hummed, knowing not to pry further on the murder.

However, "may I ask, how you ended up together?" Was one question he just couldn't keep to himself. "Oh," you returned to the front side of the desk, "he was everything I'd ever wanted, when we met. He'd get me beautiful bouquets of flowers and take me out every other night for a lovely meal, but things changed after a while." You brushed your hair from your shoulders, exposing your collarbones. "It changed me," you spoke softly, "he changed me." Dutch's eyebrow quirked at your comment. "You enjoyed the rush," he hummed, his voice deep and sultry. "Yes," you looked away briefly, admitting it feeling strange. "I did. And though I'd never do it again, I suppose it awoke something new inside of me.. a desire," you paused, "a desire, to get into the minds of the men who take lives without second thought."

If it hadn't been obvious to Dutch that you wanted to get into something more than just his mind, you hoped now it would be, and that he'd reciprocate the feeling. He finished his glass and placed it next to yours before standing, reminding you just how precarious your situation was with his height alone. "Desire," he spoke, brushing a strand from your shoulder, "a fickle force." You hummed as Dutch moved closer, dangerously close for both your body and mind. "But to burn with desire and keep quiet about it," you could smell your expensive liquor on his breath now, "is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves." His hand moved up your neck to rest on your jawline, lifting your chin so that your eyes met his, your lids heavy with desire earned a deep chuckle.

Your lips were only centimeters apart, both hearts beating faster in anticipation for the other's touch. That was, until a knock came at the door. You cleared your throat and pulled away, heading behind your desk with a shaky "come in." As your maid informed you that dinner was to be served shortly, you thanked her with a smile and locked all the folders you'd had out back inside your desk drawer. "Shall we?" Dutch smiled softy, his hand motioning to the door only seconds after your maid had closed it. You nodded with a quiet hum, "yes, I suppose we shouldn't keep the others waiting." Dutch nodded back, offering his arm to which you politely declined. You weren't about to make a show of your feelings, especially when you were never supposed to have caught any of any sort in the first place.

It had been a few days since you'd been interrupted in your study, and though you'd had a few more encounters of the sort, you hadn't gone any further than locking lips. On cooler nights, you were in your study getting all your new information in order, but on warmer nights you sat with the gang in your large backyard around a walled pond, covered in lily pads, with a beautiful statue in the middle. Oh how you'd come to crave eachother's touch. But during these times, you'd never really thought of sneaking off, and neither had Dutch. You both seemed to just know what the other was thinking; that if it were to happen, it would happen at the right time. Besides, you had an inkling that some of the girls were starting to suspect of something between you and their boss, despite thinking you were keeping it rather well hidden.

You didn't want it getting out, it would be oh so unprofessional. And though it would never go further than your front gate, you just couldn't take the risk. What would Saint Denis think of you if they knew you not only housed this criminal willingly, but had fallen for him too? You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought and returned your attention to your reflection in the mirror in front of you. If word got out that you'd fallen for him, you'd more than likely lose your status and no longer be invited to parties like the one you had been tonight, by the mayor of Saint Denis, and Angelo Bronte himself. The latter an Italian businessman by day and crime boss by night; you'd do best to keep on the list of those he held in high regard.

You added a few expensive pieces of jewelry to your hands and neck before stepping out of your room and joining Dutch, Arthur, Hosea and Bill in your foyer. You'd been invited to the party because of your name and the work you'd done for Saint Denis, but the boys however, were going for shadier reasons. You'd question Dutch at a later date, but right now, you wanted to share a drink with them before you headed over to Bronte's estate. "You look as beautiful as ever," Dutch smiled as you walked past to lead them into the living room; the same you'd first invited them into. "Why, thank you Mr van der Linde," you smiled turning slightly to him, "you gentleman really clean up nicely, too." You caught the glance that Hosea shot at Dutch, one that was absolutely telltale: please, for the love of god, do not tell me you're emotionally involved with this woman.

You smiled to yourself as you entered the room, grabbing the bottle of champagne and popping the cork. You wondered what Dutch's response was, though you tried to keep your amusement at the thought of his guilty face hidden. Hosea had been Dutch's right hand man for so many years that he could see right through him. He hoped that Dutch had enough common sense not to put you in such a dangerous position, but unfortunately, the heart wants what it wants. "To whatever shady business you'll be up to tonight," you smirked and raised your glass, knowing full well you'd have no success in talking them out of what they had planned. "To you," Hosea smiled, "for letting us join you for such a fancy night out." Dutch hummed in agreement and raised a glass to you too, Arthur and Bill following suit.

Your carriage soon arrived and you were the first to step inside, assisted by none other than Dutch. After some polite conversation on the way that eventually lead to the boys revealing part of their plan, your driver pulled up outside Henri LeMieux's manor. Had you realized they were already in bed with Bronte, you would've made more of an effort to ask them to proceed with caution. You stepped inside the gates and waited with a slight knot in your stomach as the boys handed over their weapons, the garter knife you kept sheathed safetly in a holster below your dress unbeknown to the guards. You never used to carry, but now you were out and about without your own security team? You didn't want to run the risk of being caught in a situation where you couldn't at least try to protect yourself.

You were escorted inside by a young man who welcomed you before leading Dutch, Arthur and yourself upstairs, Bill and Hosea making their way into the garden party below. Usually, you'd make conversation; this was your kind of party with your kind of people. But you felt out of place tonight walking in with the criminals people had silently judged you for offering to house. You could feel their eyes on you and you saw the way they turned to their partners to share hushed words. It would probably be that way until your home was empty once more, so it was something you'd just have to grow accustomed to. You almost wanted to wrap your arm around Dutch's just to see them hyperventilate. With you on his arm you'd both be object of envy to everyone who stood in front of you.

But your plan for the evening was to be as invisible as you could. Tonight was not one to show off your fondness for him. At least, not here. You'd be purely a pretty accessory for the boys, you just hoped they wouldn't show you in a bad light were their actions to be noticed. You were led to the upper floors where Bronte and a few men were overlooking the party, laughing at some of the guests in Italian: a language you had yet to master. You hated not being able to understand them, never knowing if they were making fun of you; they sure had reason to talk tonight. "Ahh, the angry cowboys, you've arrived!" Angelo Bronte greeted Dutch and Arthur, "and the beautiful (y/n)," he smiled, taking your extended hand and planting a kiss, Dutch watching on with disapproval in his eyes.

"Thank you, Signor Bronte for inviting me. I'm sure a lot were.. opposed, to the idea of me coming." You smiled awkwardly, taking back your hand. "Nonsense," he chuckled, "we had to invite some real people of class, not just wretches." His gaze flitted to the men beside you ever so quickly as he spoke the word. You gave him a disgusted look before quickly remembering where you stood, catching yourself with a soft chuckle and a hand on his forearm. Bronte soon offered everyone a cigar and for you a glass of his finest wine, and the next few minutes were spent giving short but rather opinionated descriptions of a few of the most well known guests. You leaned against the balcony railings beside Dutch to overlook the party, though not really listening to what they had to say, you weren't one for gossip.

The pleasantries, if that's what you could call them, lasted only a short while longer until you heard Dutch excuse himself from the conversation, placing a hand on your lower back to gently bring you from your people watching. You thanked Bronte for the drink and followed Arthur and Dutch downstairs where they took a moment to devise a true plan, albeit so quietly you barely caught any of it. "What about you, Dutch?" Hosea stepped between yourself and him, "why, you can't just leave us to do all the work now." Dutch gave Hosea an understanding look, yet one in which you could also read annoyance. He was trying to get you and himself alone, also precisely what Hosea was trying to prevent from happening.

You smiled sweetly, giving Dutch a once-over and leaning against the railings. "Mr Matthews," you took a champagne flute from a waiter who happened to walk by, "I know you're only looking out for my safety, and I appreciate your concern, truly," you took a sip, "but if I'm correct in assuming you think there's something between us, I can assure you that our relationship is, and will remain, strictly professional." Hosea sighed with a gentle shake of his head. "I apologize, Miss (l/n) for overstepping my bounds, I just don't want you ending up in harm's way." You hummed quietly, his genuine regard for your safety touching you. "I understand," you smiled, a reassuring hand on his forearm, "but you needn't worry."

Hosea shrugged and gave Dutch a stern look before he turned away to go about his business. Arthur and Bill too went their separate ways, having not gotten involved in the conversation; had Hosea not mentioned it they wouldn't have even noticed anyway. Finally, you were alone with the man you'd just lied for, you rolled your eyes at his expression and turned away to overlook the party. "You shouldn’t look so surprised," you swirled the liquid in the bottom of the glass, “that I know how to lie. You know what I had to cover up, Mr van der Linde." Dutch took a puff from his cigar, studying your every move before taking a step closer and also turning his gaze to the people below. "Your deceitfulness, miss," he paused, "seems to have awoken in me another feeling besides surprise."

You hummed into your flute, finishing the champagne and placing the empty glass on the railing beside you. "What a shame," you turned your head to him, chuckling when you caught sight of the confusion on his face. "That we're here, instead of my study." The last thing you remembered from that interaction was Dutch grabbing your arm and walking you into the house to the nearest room with a working lock. He had you sat on a chest of drawers, your legs spread with him stood between them, one hand gripping your thigh and his lips roughly against yours. "Strictly professional," he breathed into you, his hand moving higher under the ruffles of your dress. "It is," you gasped as his fingers met your core, "the primal urges of man," his lips meeting yours cut you off briefly, "you're just helping me write my next piece."

Dutch's free hand moved further up your thigh, your holstered garter knife poking into him. "Another of your secrets, I see." You smirked as you fumbled with his belt buckle, your fingers shaking in both anticipation and nervousness. You hadn't spent a night with a man in a year, though not for the lack of suitors, but more for the lack of libido. And it went without saying, but you never expected the Dutch van der Linde to be the one to heal your desires. "Eager," Dutch purred, moving your hands away from his belt, "but I'm not quite done here," his fingers rubbed up and down, the sound of your slick more and more present. "I have a feeling you'll be thankful for a little of this," he pushed a finger inside you, "before we go any further." Your eyes scrunched shut as he added another, opening slowly to find Dutch watching every little change in expression intently. "For I only want to give you pleasure."

His voice rumbled through you, the words going straight to your already sopping core. You were leaned back against the wall now, eyelids heavy with desire and lips parted slightly as you watched him, his gaze flitting between where his hand was busy and the appeased look on your face. "How long has it been?" Dutch's voice was quiet as he moved his fingers in and out of you slowly. You shook your head and swallowed, wincing in surprise as he brought his thumb to your clit before you could reply. "So aroused with only the simplest of touches," his fingers slipped out of you to rub up and down before sliding back in again, "I'm not immune to knowing that I'll be your first in a long while."

You moaned as his fingers moved deeper, at such an angle that the need to roll your eyes was becoming stronger by the second. He pumped a few more times before gently pulling his hand away, wiping the slick from his fingers on your inner thigh with an impressed tut. He'd never been with someone whose body craved him the way yours did, and he knew that from there on out he'd never settle for anything less. "You know," he started, stepping back and offering you his hand, "bending you over your own desk.. the vision just won't leave my mind." Dutch helped you down off the chest of drawers and regain balance before leading you to the center of the room. "I suppose this one here, will have to do for now."

His thumb caressed your cheek, showing you a gentle smile before he asked for you to turn around. Your dress was swiftly brushed up over your back, your behind exposed to the cool study air and inner thighs glistening in the light from the pale orange desk lamp. Dutch's hand graced your skin so delicately, he was truly admiring every inch of you that was currently exposed. His other hand undid his belt with one swift motion, the sound of the metal clinking making your heart race. Your core was pulsing, begging to finally feel him inside you, or at the very least rubbing between your folds. You bent your knees a little in anticipation, earning a chuckle from Dutch who brought his hand between your legs in response.

"I've been thinking about being inside you for weeks," his words and the deep tone of his voice made your knees even weaker, "do you think you're ready for me, princess?" You groaned and pushed your hips back into his hand. "Enough with this," you whimpered, standing straight and turning your upper half to him, your hand on his chest, "fuck me." You didn't have to ask twice, the look in your eyes and the pleading in your tone was more than Dutch needed to snake a hand up your back and push you down again. His now freed and very eager cock was lathering itself up between your thighs almost before you'd even finished talking, and with a few reassuring words from him and a little wincing on your part, he pushed his tip slowly inside you.

"That's it," he breathed out, your walls clenching around him, "you can take it." He had one hand gripping your hip, the other on his shaft to guide himself in. "You're doing so well," he muttered, his hand moving from himself to hold your other hip as he pushed in only a little deeper. "Oh- Dutch," you whimpered, the first time you'd ever addressed him by his first name. Dutch hummed, leaning over you and snaking his hand around your neck to bring you back up towards his chest. "I love the sound of my name on your tongue," he spoke slowly as he pushed the rest of his length inside you, watching you gasp and your eyes close once more. "Again," he pulled his hips back and pushed forward gently, "say it again."

You groaned at his slow pace, the pleasure reigning supreme over the initial pain his size had caused you. "Dutch," your voice was barely above a whisper, your eyes still closed, only now from pure bliss. "I'm ready," you placed a hand over the one on your neck, your voice breathy. Dutch placed a kiss on your jaw, then below your ear, and down your neck as he pulled his hips back once more. "Good," he breathed into your neck, "because I want to have my way with you." Dutch's eyes never left your face as he thrusted back into you and set a steady pace; watching you come undone on his cock was one of the most arousing sights he'd had the luck of witnessing in a long while.

His hand left your neck and returned to the small of your back, helping you back down onto the desk to truly play out your mutual fantasy. His pace picked back up, slightly faster that it had previously been, your thighs hitting the desk with a gentle rhythmic thud, dulled only by the material that drooped between you and the furniture piece. "Does that feel good?" Dutch chuckled deeply as your moans became more frequent. "Oh- oh you have n-no idea," you were short of breath and ready to burst already. "Tell me," his grip on your hips tightened, "tell me what you need." You didn't hesitate in standing up straight with your back against his chest again; your orgasm was closing in fast, and you'd be damned if you were to let it happen without Dutch's fingers on you.

"Touch me," you damn near begged, "right here." You guided his hand down your front, over the small patch of netherhair and down only a little further to the bundle of nerves just below. "Like this?" Dutch questioned, although it was most definitely rhetorical, for you could only hum a yes sound as his middle and ring fingers graced your clit and started to rub such perfect circles. His free hand came up to cup your breast, and the gentle squeeze that followed was enough to send you spiraling out of control. "Dutch," you spoke through hitched breathing, "Dutch I-," your eyes rolled and your knees threatened to give way beneath you as the wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

The visual was all Dutch needed to come undone too. "Where do you want it?" His tone was a little frantic. "We shouldn't leave any traces of coition," you locked eyes with him, a playful smile on your lips. The look on Dutch's face made you laugh to yourself, the sounds soon turning into moans as his hand returned to your neck to simulate control while he lost it entirely. He painted your walls with a moan of your name, his body shuddering behind you just as yours had a few seconds prior, the both of you now reduced to glistening messes. "Don't move," you panted, not wanting to be rid of the warmth inside of you just yet. "You're playing a dangerous game," Dutch warned, but stayed where he was nonetheless.

You sighed and rested the back of your head on his chest. "We should get back," you spoke softly, "the others are probably wondering where we got to." Dutch agreed and reluctantly pulled out, quickly helping you get your outfit together before you dripped anything onto the floor, and you followed him out of the room, trying your best to seem as though walking wasn't slightly uncomfortable for you now. To your surprise, you arrived back at the balcony before the trio who'd left you fifteen minutes or so prior, but it didn't take long for them to return and relay the information they'd gathered to their boss. The three men in front of you were completely oblivious to the fact that you were harboring Dutch's seed at that exact moment, you got such a thrill from it.

"Gentlemen, I think we're done here." Hosea clapped his hands together, stepping aside for Dutch to lead you and the rest to the front gate. You sat opposite Dutch in the carriage on the way home, trying your best to look anywhere but directly at him, and though it would've been wise for him to act similarly, he didn't. Luckily, Bill and the rest were too caught up bad mouthing the party to notice. Once you arrived home, you wished the trio a goodnight as they went to their rooms, though Dutch stayed up for a little while longer, he often did. You sat outside with him on your ornate bench, listening to the crackling of his cigar, the oddly soothing sound of alligators bellowing in the distance, and the crickets and cicadas that were almost louder than the late night bustle on the streets.

"Dutch," you paused, not really wanting to touch on what was troubling you. You knew the answer already, having overheard him speak of armed robbery to the boys after the party, you knew that he wouldn't be staying much longer. He wouldn't commit such a crime while living under your roof, it would be far too disrespectful to your hospitality and put you in even more danger than you already were, were the law or worse Bronte's boys to turn up on your doorstep looking for them. "What's wrong?" He released a cloud of smoke into the air and turned his attention to you. You sighed and looked ahead, the moonlight glistening on the Kamassa river that ran by at the end of your garden.

"You're not going to be around much longer, are you." Your tone held no air of questioning. Dutch stayed quiet at first, only taking a puff from his cigar. "Why, have you had enough of us?" You shook your head and turned to him with a feeble smile. "Quite the opposite, actually," you dropped your gaze to the ground, "I've grown fond of your presence, it's needless to say, really." Dutch hummed and raised his arm, just enough for you to scoot over and slot yourself against him. "The house is going to be rather quiet, without the lot of you." Dutch's hand came to rest on your arm, rubbing comfortingly. "You'll forget me in no time," his voice was soft, and despite his words that said otherwise, you could sense his sorrow.

"You and I both know that's so far from the truth," you placed a hand on his, intertwining your fingers. "Just like I know that you're wrong for me. Yet I want you more for that fact alone." You felt your eyes start to sting, threatening to well up. "But I know just as well that you'll never change, and I can't put my life on the line for someone who's so reckless with his own." Your mind had been tormenting you with these thoughts ever since you'd got home, and saying them out loud only made them all that much worse. A tear rolled silently down your cheek, landing on the back of your hand that you'd rested in your lap. "I just.. wish that things could be different." Dutch took a puff from his almost finished cigar before extinguishing it on the iron armrest. "Truer words, my dear, were never spoken."

     Dutch had given you three nights after the party, and those three nights were spent making the most of eachother's bodies; whether that was you falling asleep on his chest while he played with your hair, or him tangling his fingers in it and giving it to you good. You were happy with either, you just wanted, or more so needed to make the most of him before you parted ways, and it just so happened that today was that unfortunate day. You were lied in bed with him, one hand playing with his dark chest hair, and one leg draped over one of his own. You felt so at peace, relaxing in the sunlight that crept through the cracked blinds of your room, and the breeze from the window left ajar that blew through the thin curtains. 

You'd awoken before Dutch that morning, he'd only just now started to stir as the sunlight graced his face, and having not been intimate the night before, desire had come knocking extra hard upon your awakening. The night before, you'd instead settled down together once everyone had already gone to bed themselves and simply talked, about the past, the present, and what the future held for the both of you. Whether there even was a future for him with you in it was still questionable, but you hoped that if he happened to be in the area after the heat had died down from the job he had in store, he'd at least make time for a quick visit. You hoped he'd continue to make quick visits for as long as he could stay in the state of Lemoyne.

Your watched the sunlight move over his features, his eyes flitting open for only a second before closing again. "Good morning," your voice was as smooth as honey. Dutch hummed, still half asleep, but his hand came to rest on top of yours with a light squeeze in response instead. Though, you stayed there only momentarily, for now he was semi conscious, you could carry out the plan you'd been concocting in your head for as long as it had taken him to join the land of the living. You slipped your hand from his grasp and inched lower down his body, relishing in every scar and every blemish, before finally stopping when your fingertips met his netherhair. Dutch's breathing hitched, the anticipation building inside him as he awaited your next move.

But you didn't move; you kept your hand there oh so still, and only once his breathing had slowed did you further lower it and take him in your grasp. Dutch's quiet groans as you stroked him under the covers were music to your ears; soft and lazy, yet they still had the familiar bass that gave you butterflies. "I could get used to this," he purred, gently kicking away his side of the covers with his free leg to expose your work. You hummed, twisting your wrist as you continued to slowly stroke up and down. "You can still choose to stay," your voice was hushed, almost as though your comment wasn't for him to hear. He sighed quietly, his hand coming to rest on your forearm that was under the covers.

You removed your leg from his and propped yourself up, leaning over him and beginning to pepper kisses down his chest. "I really can't change your mind," you reached his hips, kissing over a bullet scar, "can I." Dutch grumbled and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling you up over his body so that your bare chest met his. "Why don't we focus on more present matters, hm?" You nodded with a feeble smile, though that smile turned into a full blown grin when he rolled you onto your back. He leaned over you, placing kisses down your neck and collarbones, "there is one last thing I wish to know about you," he kissed between your breasts and down your belly.

"What's that, Dutch?" You bent your knees and parted your legs slowly, eyes never leaving his. He chuckled deeply at your display, kissing down to your hips, and then your inner thighs. He brushed his thumb over your clit and down your glistening folds, moving his head lower to align himself with your core. "How you taste." The first lap of his tongue sent your eyes rolling back into your head, your thighs closing gently on his. Dutch hummed into you, using a single hand to part them again, "keep still now." Your fingers found their way to his hair in return, wrapping around his messy morning curls, determined to keep him there even though he truly had nowhere better to be.

"You're so beautiful," he muttered into you, "and your taste, my dear," he hummed, "divine." You moaned and rocked your hips into him, his words going straight to your core and producing more slick for him to comfortably insert a finger. He worked expertly, curling it up towards your stomach and pulling forward. "Oh," you breathed out, a feeling you'd forgotten just how much you'd missed, "oh, Dutch." He smiled into you and added another, the delicious burn from the stretch only making you crave his cock even more. Your grip on his hair tightened as a sudden wave of pleasure coursed through your body, Dutch lapping circles around your clit having pulled the need for release from you far sooner than you were expecting.

"Fuck," you breathed through gritted teeth, every muscle in your body seeming to contract at the feeling. Your brow was glistening, the warmth from the morning sun only adding to that of Dutch's touch. His name rolled off your tongue time and time again, his pace not slowing until your back was arched and your knuckles were white from clenching the sheets beneath you. "Fuck!" You groaned again, only this time in utter disappointment as he stopped short of what would've been a brain frying, leg shaking orgasm. "Dutch!" You sat up and looked at him with furrowed brows and a frown, "why would you-" you were silenced with his lips against yours, the taste of yourself on him making you moan and immediately back down.

Dutch slid his cock over your folds, teasing your entrance with every new stroke. "Please," you bucked your hips under him, your hand moving to the back of his neck, "please let me have it." Dutch hummed, lining himself up and giving you the tip. "How could I refuse such a request?" You wrapped a leg around his back, pushing down on him gently so he'd give you more. "Dutch," you whimpered, your fingers returning to the curls at the nape of his neck. His hips moved further towards yours, burying himself inside you and moaning in time with you. Your mouth hung open at the feeling of him stretching you, you were almost too full, but it wasn't a feeling you were willing to give up anytime soon.

You bucked your hips again, begging for him to move. "So needy," he chuckled, pulling back and sheathing himself to the hilt, "and so good at taking all of me now." Your hand moved between your thighs with fingers either side of his cock to feel him push in and out. His thrusts were slow and impossibly deep, having him bury himself inside you over and over again was nothing short of heavenly. See, in the three days you'd had with him, Dutch had revealed a whole new side of himself, and awoken a new one in you. He had never been rough, and it had never been quick or over with before you'd truly had time to feel. His focus was you and your pleasure, but he also reveled in the control he had over you and the situation as a whole.

He could make of you a writhing mess before he was even close, his thrusts slow, almost agonizing, and by the time he'd press his thumb to your clit or mutter something obscene, you had so much built up sexual frustration that he'd have you spiraling out of control. This morning was clearly no different, his thrusts were nothing short of agonizing, and the tears that started to dampen your cheeks were showing him just that. "I know you feel good," he purred into your ear before placing a few kisses around your earlobe and neck. Your insides had a heartbeat that only accelerated with every new word of his. "Tell me." Your eyes were closed still, back arched slightly and hand between your legs which, surprisingly, he'd let you keep there.

"S-so, so good," you could barely speak above a whisper, truly too drunk off of the way he fucked you to even be able to string more than a few words together. "Dutch," you sighed shakily, his tip pushing against your sweet spot with almost every thrust. "That's it," his voice was more gravelly than ever as he felt your walls start to contract around him, "don't close those eyes. Look at me when I'm making you feel this good." His pace picked up only slightly, but it was enough for you as your orgasm began barreling towards you. Dutch pushed your hand away and put his in its place, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, and with a few louder than anticipated moans of his name, he turned you into a teary, shaking mess beneath him.

Once again, your display and the fact that he had made you react that way was all Dutch needed to fall over the edge himself, quickly pulling out just in time to decorate your lower stomach with his seed. You both sighed in satisfaction, and once he'd cleaned you of his mess, he joined you where you lay, allowing you to wrap yourself around him the way he'd found you when he'd woken up. You laid there for the rest of the morning, drifting in and out of sleep while the sun rays danced across your glistening bodies, making the most of eachother's presence before you'd have to part ways in only a few hours. You didn't care anymore if the gang had heard you, nor did you care if the guards had. You didn't care if word traveled further than your gate, all that mattered to you now, was this.

     Time moved far too quickly, for the designated hour for the gang to leave was already upon you. You hugged all the girls, you were sure going to miss gossiping with them of an evening, and with the boys you kissed cheeks, such was the way of a Saint Denis high society goodbye. And then, it came to Dutch. "So this is it," you smiled softly, placing a hand on his forearm. Dutch hummed, bringing his face closer to yours for an inconspicuous cheek kiss as you had done with the others. "Stay safe," you sighed, "I'd like to see you again soon." You stepped back, clearing your throat, "I'd like to see you all again soon. So look after yourselves, and know that you're always welcome if you're in need of anything," you smiled, "anything at all."

After many thanks, everyone's horses were brought to your gates by some of your guards, and those who didn't ride were brought their wagon. You watched with a sorrowful sigh as the gang filtered out of your estate, Dutch being the last, your fingers touching his until they no longer could. They all mounted up and assumed formation, Dutch naturally taking the lead upon his snow white steed. His Arabian came as no surprise to you- he'd sure struck you as the elite horse owner type. You'd bred horses in the past, or, your husband had. He'd owned half of the Saint Denis stables and bred both for race and show. You used to visit often, but hadn't much at all since his passing. Seeing The Count in all his glory sure made you want to get back into the business.

With a few last words and a final glance in your direction, Dutch gave the signal for the gang to ride out. You stepped outside of your property, watching them ride from the city and into the muggy bayou until they were no longer in sight. Finally, you could let your emotions get the better of you. It was one of the worst things you'd felt, not just them leaving, but the fact that you didn't know if that would be the last time ever seeing them, seeing Dutch. What if the next thing you read in the newspaper was an article on how he was taken down during a heist gone wrong? You shook off your thoughts and headed back inside, the only place you wanted to be was your bedroom, where the air still held the subtle smell of cigar smoke, and his scent still lingered on your bed sheets.

You sat on your bed a while, looking out the window at the tall oak trees that surrounded the estate. Spanish moss and various other unruly plant life hung from almost every branch, but you liked it that way. You sniffled and wiped away the trail of a tear, taking another deep breath. Maybe if you took to your study and wrote all of your thoughts down, all of your fears, just maybe you'd feel a little better. You stood up and went to head for the door, but turned on your heel as you remembered you'd left your pen on your bedside table a night or two ago, after having scribbled down a few sneaky notes about Dutch's.. skill, in the bedroom. Not that you'd ever share those notes, of course. Those were for your eyes only.

Your breathing hitched as you reached your side of the bed, for next to the pen was a ring, and not one of yours. You picked it up carefully, examining it to find the letter D in gold, carved proudly on the front. "Dutch van der Linde, you sneaky bastard," you muttered to yourself, knowing full well he'd use this as an excuse to visit you within the next few days.

And to say you couldn't wait, would be one hell of an understatement.