"Come on, come on!"

It was a breathy whisper, a hasty prayer to a God she doubted was listening. She had long turned her back on all that was holy, cast aside any chance at forsaken redemption with the great man upstairs. No, she had gotten herself into this situation. All on her own. She had come to terms with that years ago.

Granted, that didn't make living through it or dealing with the consequences any more tolerable.

Right now was no different.

It was supposed to be an easy job. Simple. In and out. At least, that's what she had been told. Repeatedly. Despite her questions and fears of the opposite. Nothing was easy. Not out here. But Tucker insisted that his information was good, from reputable sources. And, as always, Kurt agreed. Why wouldn't he? The two were attached at the hip. And, honestly, she hadn't a reason to doubt them, not after everything they had been through together. They needed the cash. They were desperate for it. Greed makes a blind man though. Madam Louis had taught her that.

Silly her for not remembering. That pesky gut instinct had been correct all along.

Bullets whipped past her, effectively snapping her back to the present. A small spruce tree to her right exploded, slivers of wood launched into the crisp spring air and slammed against her stolen mount's flank. Her thighs clamped around the beast, fingers clasped hunks of matted mane in a frantic attempt to maintain balance as the stallion careened away and sped down the opposing cliff face.

A curse was bit out between her clenched teeth. Focus, you moron!

"Cut her off!" came a guttural snarl from one of her attackers.

"I'm already cornered, what more do you want?" she muttered back between exhausted pants, knowing far too well that she wouldn't be receiving an answer. She already knew. They wanted her. Alive. Hogtied. Gagged. Bound to the back of a horse. Theirs to drag back to some high and mighty, honor bound sheriff. Or worse… The could be working for him. Maybe this had been a set up from the get-go. Maybe she was just trying to outrun the fate she knew she deserved.

As far as chances went… hers were slim, the margin narrow. And what was there was dwindling faster than Kurt could down a shot of whisky. She was so utterly screwed, of the royal variety.

She couldn't turn back. They were there. No way to flee to the woods. There too. She couldn't out-run them… and even if she did somehow magically make that happen with the piss-poor condition her thoroughbred was in, she knew they would be at the crosswords waiting for her regardless, barrels of their guns pointed at her chest and lassos waiting to drag her down. Aside from taking a flying fucking leap off the rock littered crag wall or hoping she would sprout wings and fly, there were no options. None.

Their luck had finally run out.

What little they had had to start with anyways.

Her heart was wild, untamed and running rampant behind her rib cage – an uneven chaotic pounding that was all but deafening to her ears, matching the beating of the hooves below her. The wind was biting, blinding. She could taste iron on her tongue, bitter and warm, given to her from a blow she had received before fleeing the station. A nagging wound in her calf whined with each shift of the horse, blood oozed from the gaping hole and drenched her trousers, pooled in her boot, caked against her skin. One of the lackeys had tried to swing at her as she mounted… a swift kick to his skull had fixed that but it seemed that his knife had made a lasting impression all the same.

She was worse for wear. And she knew damn well that she hadn't taken the brunt of it. Had Scarlett even escaped? Did Jacob make it to the train? Or had she been right about that dead body slumped against the tracks with a bullet in his brain?

Her gut twisted, her head swam. Now wasn't the time to worry about it. Right now she had to lose these idiots.

But, as discussed… she doubted that was going to happen.

Her palm rested against the pistol at her hip, mind racing to calculate how many bullets she had. Would it be enough? Was it even worth the try?

They were surrounding her; she kept catching glimpses of the riders between the trees and underbrush. She could hear their whoops and hollers, cruel cackles of bone chilling laughter. They would be on her before she knew it, before she could even prepare. With the plummeting drop to her left, she didn't stand a chance.

"Close in! She's trapped!"

No, no, no!

There's always a way out. There has to be!

Please!

She pulled the handgun free, flicked her index finger around the trigger, and-

A cry ripped from her throat as a bullet grazed her shoulder. Her stallion lurched, reared, bucked, ears pulled back, hysterical, frightened… she tried to right herself, tried to get her bearings. Tried to steel her gloved hands onto the pommel of the saddle…

But it was useless.

Especially as a second shot tore through the meaty muscle of the stallion's neck.

The horse buckled, hunched, dropped.

And tossed her from her seat.

Right over the side of the cliff.

Her hands slammed out, finger tips clung to the edge of the wall; she gagged as her stomach connected with the jagged jarred rocks. Her teeth gritted as her feet scrambled, madly trying to find purchase as gravity threatened to throw her. She slid a few precious inches. Her nails clawed, bloodying themselves from where the leather of her gloves ripped apart.

A high-pitched whistle rebounded through the sky, the echoing of gunfire ceasing.

The sound of heavy boots slamming against the soft earth as a rider dismounted.

The crunch of dried leaves and broken twigs, louder, nearing her.

"Ah, there you are, Miss McClellin."

Her breath caught, her eyes widened a fraction of an inch. Her body stilled even as her grip weakened.

"You honestly didn't think you could run forever, did you?" A rumble of a chuckle, dusky, malicious. Terror inducing. Fear sped down her spine in response.

Her chin slowly tilted up, face paling as she met his gaze.

No.

He reached down, skeletal like fingers grasping her by the throat to hoist her up and away from the wall, left to dangle. "You knew I would always find you, right?" His white ice eyes were cold, his snarl piercing. "How long did you think you could hide?" Without breaking eye contact, he ordered, "Find the others," to his posse before returning his full attention to her. His hold tightened, squeezed.

She gagged. Lips parted to choke. Lungs burned. Vision blurred, faded, darkened.

And then she inhaled sweet oxygen, a cursed gift he allowed her, but just enough to clear the fog.

He intended to play, to make this last. Her punishment. Her toture.

"Oh, how I have longed for this day, dear pet of mine."

A wave of nausea flooded her system.

I can't go back with him. I can't.

She tried to kick, tried to swing. But she was small. Weak. Left useless from the chase. Broken from the injuries she sustained.

And his damn hand clamped down on her windpipe again.

"Don't try to fight, Miss McClellin. You're wasting your time. I know that. You know that. Even Pete knows that, and we all know how dumb he is."

Again, stars danced in front of her eyes… and again, he released.

"Are we going to behave now?" a coo, as if he was speaking to a child.

She glared up at him.

"Don't give me that look. It is so very unattractive."

"Go… to hell," she seethed, jaw clenched.

"How boringly cliché of you. And here I thought you were cleverer than that." He leaned closer, the smell of his cologne made her stomach heave, sickly sweet lemon and a hint of sage. She had done everything in her power to forget that scent. "No one is coming for you, pet. Those men you were with? We will gun them down. Then you will be mine again and I can remind you of your manners."

His face morphed, changed so quickly she wasn't sure if she had imagined it. One second, he was grinning at her with that cocky, shit-eating smirk… the next was one of pure shock followed by agony.

And he dropped her.