Looks like ffn is starting to work again. Finally!
I don't own the characters in this story, just the plot. This angsty, gunslinger, boi plot is all mine :3
Western AU, set in 1875. I tried my best to research everything, but it is very likely what I have isn't correct, so please take it with a grain of salt :)
Be prepared because I wrote this with the intention of it being like a classic Western with fleeting touches and longing glances. Of course, I've also thrown in my usual angst and smut, and a dashing of violence.
There is mention of previous SA, but nothing graphic, and nothing happens during the story.
I hope you enjoy it!
Nevada. 1875
The eerie silence of the night still unnerved me.
I was used to the sound of conversation and carriages being pulled through the streets. The city always had a hum, even if it was just the sound of the wind moving between the towering buildings that lined the streets. I was used to the sound of leaves rustling and pipes creaking as water moved through the floors.
Footsteps made the wood creak as people moved up and down the stairs in the main hall; someone was always moving about in that house. I often woke to the sound of the new racehorse my father recently purchased; he enjoyed showing it off to anyone who came to visit. He had even allowed one of the stable hands to take a turnabout with it around the estate. He would purchase the finest carriages to go along with his many horses filling the stable.
I hated carriages. I much preferred riding horseback; it gave me a sense of control that I lacked in many aspects of my life. I could easily escape people if I didn't want their company when I rode. Maybe if I had ridden that night, rather than been in that stupid vehicle, I wouldn't be where I was.
The silence of the desert was only broken by the sound of coyotes and wolves at night. During the day, it was the sound of the heat burning the ground and the constant buzz of the insects. I had been there for weeks and still wasn't used to how dry it was. Every day, I craved water and could never quench my thirst.
The difference in temperatures between night and day seemed unrealistic. How could I go from burning to freezing in a matter of hours?
It was all made worse by the tin hell that I was in. It was no better than a chicken coop—I was livestock to these men. They had treated me as such as they carted me across the country, bound and gagged, wondering if each day would be my last.
I was sold to work as labour for a man who spent more time looking at my breasts than he ever did at my face. The others who worked on the land weren't any better; they all knew I was sold. I had no one, and no one knew where I was.
Two months ago, I had been living safe and in the luxury of my father's estate in San Francisco, and now I was in the middle of nowhere, locked in a small tin shed and left to starve for days. My stomach didn't even grumble anymore.
I didn't want to give up on escaping, but it felt like my future was dismal.
The sun had long set, and I began to shiver. My chemises and skirts did little to provide warmth when I needed them to. Shame burned my cheeks that I was forced to remain in my underthings, seen by the men who worked the land.
They had laughed when he tore my blouse; the memory of it brought more shame and rage. I curled my hands into fists when I thought of how one of the men had climbed on top of me. They saw me as something they could take and use, but I refused.
I was glad his expression had been frozen in horror when he died.
A loud bang echoed through the night and shocked me from my thoughts, the sound rang in my ears. I recognised the sound of a gunshot and felt panic rise.
I didn't know much about life in the desert, but I knew it was dangerous if you were caught up in another's fight. The owner must have wronged a man; that or the other workers were fighting. I had seen them execute their own before; a single bullet between the eyes. No remorse or mercy.
More shots rang out, low screams of pain only to be cut off by another shot.
"Where is she?" a deep voice asked with an accent that I had only heard from gentlemen my father met with.
I scoffed. Abe never met with gentlemen—he met with people like him, men willing to get their hands dirty to climb higher in life. It was because of Abe's ambition that I was in America, and it was because of him that I was kidnapped and sold.
No one could get close enough to harm the snake, but they could go after his only daughter instead.
Another coughed, followed by the sound of spitting at the ground. "I don't know who–" his words were cut off by a strangled keen. I recognised his voice; he was the one who ran the ranch—Carlton—the man who had bought me and lacked a single ounce of humanity.
"I won't ask a third time. Where is she?"
That deep voice was cold; I was sure he could give Abe a run for his money. I forced myself to stand and peek through the hole at the top of the shed. My knees were weak, but I forced myself to stay strong.
Carlton laid on the ground, hand clutching his stomach which was stained with a dark crimson. Two men stood above him; their faces were obscured, but one of them was very tall.
Carlton chuckled, blood trickling out of his mouth, "She's already dead."
Another shot came from behind the men. Carlton's head whipped back, and he laid lifeless.
"What are you doing!" the taller man demanded, the deep tone commanding; his body angled to face another I couldn't see.
"He wasn't going to tell us anything," shouted another.
The tall man shook his head, "How do you suppose we locate her when he was the last lead?"
"We can try his ledgers," the one beside him offered.
The three men continued to argue, and I struggled to hold my weight. They had to be looking for me. No other women had been sold while I was there, but I doubted that I would fare any better with them.
They could be another enemy of Abe's wanting to use me as leverage.
If Carlton was dead, then it was safe to assume the others were as well. There would be no one to stop me from leaving that horrid place. I ran the risk of never breaking free and starving to death, but I'd rather be in charge of my fate than put my trust in the hands of three trigger-happy men.
I had to be quiet and wait for them to leave.
"Eddie! Over there!"
I wondered who they were calling to when my view was obstructed by a pair of eyes staring back at me. It startled me. I stumbled back and landed against the tin wall with a thud; my nails scrapped down the metal.
The voices outside stopped.
I covered my mouth and prayed they would just leave.
"Who's there?" the tall man demanded.
Footsteps move close and guns cocked.
It was over for me.
"Eddie, break the lock."
My only choice was to run—I had to run as far and as fast as I could.
Metal crashed against metal, and then the heavy chain holding the door tight dropped to the ground. I pressed my hands against the rusted tin, steadying myself. I only had one chance.
"Open it."
As soon as there was enough space for me to squeeze through, I sprinted. I was grateful that I still had my shoes even if the leather had rubbed my feet raw, it was better than shredding my skin on the hard ground.
They called for me to stop, but I didn't heed them, only focused on escaping into the darkness.
It was futile in the end. A large hand caught my upper arm and jerked me to a stop.
"Stop. You don't have to run!"
I laughed in disbelief, though it came out as a desperate pant. I barely looked at the man's face as I reached for his belt and took the revolver he wore on his hip. The man released me and held his hands up in surrender when I aimed the gun at him. My hand shook, and my knees threatened to buckle.
His expression was controlled—calm. "It's okay. We won't hurt you."
"I can't say the same," I warned as I cocked the gun.
I heard a scuff of boots on the ground behind me, and I spun ready to fire, but was met with a fist to my face. I crumbled pitifully to the ground, and the gun was taken from my hand.
"What are you doing!" The accent was stronger, his deep tone rumbled dangerously. He appeared above me; brown hair framed his face. "Are you okay?"
My vision blurred, and black spots danced on the edges. The last thing I saw was his deep piercing eyes.
Everything faded to black.
It was the motion that woke me, my weight shifting constantly. But it was the feeling of someone's body heat and arms around me that made me panic.
I opened my eyes and reacted quickly. I was on a horse, and a man held me against their chest—one of the men who had attacked the ranch. Fear took over me—a fight-or-flight instinct. All I could think of was that I refused to be kidnapped again.
I threw my elbow back and caught the man in the throat. The surprise of the hit caused him to cry out, a hand releasing the reins to clutch at the injured spot. Thankfully, I was seated sideways in the saddle and could slip off. I heard my skirt tear, but I didn't stop to check; once my feet hit the ground, I ran.
There wasn't much around us, just the desert stretched out on either side. Shrubs and skinny trees were scattered, none big enough to climb or hide behind. No buildings or structures stood in the distance, but I hoped if I ran far enough, they would just give up.
"Stop!" One of them yelled, and the pounding of hooves chased me.
Large rocks and dips in the ground threatened to trip me, my boots slipping on the loose dirt. The landscape was my downfall each time I tried to escape the ranch; it seemed nothing had changed.
What I thought was just a shadow turned out to be a ravine. I yelped as I slid down the side, my hands frantically searching for anything to grab to slow my descent. My fingers wrapped around a root that protruded through the rocks and managed to stop my fall.
It was a short-lived relief; the root broke, and I felt myself become weightless again.
I was going to die.
A hand caught mine.
My eyes snapped to the person who had saved my life and was surprised it was the same one that looked down at me as I passed out. His eyebrows were drawn, and teeth clenched as he pulled me back up. I grasped his wrist with my other hand and tried to find some footholds to help myself reach safety again. Another man dropped to his knees and gripped under my arms to lift me up. After what felt like an eternity, I was back on solid ground.
I shifted out of their hold but didn't go further. I couldn't. I was exhausted, and my heart was pounding painfully in my chest.
I almost died.
"Will you please stop running," the tall man rasped, his accent making the words nearly impossible to understand. "We won't hurt you, Rose."
I laughed; a hint of hysteria in the high pitch. "Forgive me if I don't believe you," I snapped, "I've been through too much to believe the words of a man I don't know."
His lips pressed together, and he reached into his coat. I flinched back, and he froze. Our eyes met, and he didn't look away as he slowly withdrew a small item. When he turned it, my eyes widened, and I felt the first ounce of hope since my ordeal began.
It was a silver badge, barely half the size of his palm. I recognised the intricate detail, the simple lines that represented each of the four elements—it was the seal of my father.
I inhaled sharply, "Where did you get that?"
"Zmey gave it to me when he hired me to find you and bring you back to San Francisco," he explained. When I reached for the badge, he handed it over.
I ran my fingers over it, feeling each notch and dip in the smooth metal. I used to be fascinated by the seal and would always ask to hold my father's badge, mesmerised by the design.
My father had sent people to get me. I was in disbelief. Our relationship had been strained in recent years and I wondered if he had been grateful, he wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. I had told my kidnappers as much; stealing me wouldn't hurt Abe as much as taking his fortune, but maybe I was wrong.
"He really sent you?" I asked, desperate to confirm it.
"Yes. Now, will you behave?"
I glared at the man, narrowing my eyes at the tone he used. "Just because you have his seal doesn't mean I trust you. Why did my father send you and not someone else?" I peered behind him but couldn't see the two other men. I had to be careful; it was because of someone I trusted that I was sold. Even if these men were sent by Abe, they could still have sinister intentions.
I suddenly became aware that I was in my underthings. My skirt had hitched up, and my calves were exposed; I quickly pushed it down and wrapped my arms around myself. The corset and chemise weren't even my own, but ones given to me by Carlton's mother. She had been a horrible person and spat on my clothes after she had taken them from me.
The laces of my corset were crudely tied, and the chemise was stained from the blood and dirt on my skin. I was far from the refined Lady I used to be.
The man stood and slipped his coat off. Without any hesitation, he wrapped the brown duster around my shoulders and gave me a soft look. "Your father sent me because he knew I would find you."
I pulled the duster tighter. "And who are you?"
"I'm Dimitri Belikov."
