Author's note: Bit of a long chapter, I found myself revisiting parts of RDR2 recently to gain some insights/muse for writing the first half of the Blackwater portion of our tale. An interesting note, should you find yourself on that area of the map in the game in RDR2 and happen upon the grave of Greta, you'll notice the top portion of the headstone is cracked. As though it were separated at a certain point and then repaired later on. So, a bit of a trigger warning, since it's *purely* speculation on my part, but falling in the category of sexual abuse. There's also a bit of brief rape. I decided to spice it up a little by peppering in a couple Dutch words (the language not our favorite anti-hero) like 'Oom' and 'Tante' (Uncle and Aunt) because it felt right, as did 'Sjur', the nickname form of 'Sigurd'. Enjoy Part 1 of a two part Blackwater stint.
"You're late." Trelawny was busy lighting a cigarette as he dismounted the white stallion and tossed the reins casually over the post. "You didn't bring the others?"
"Does she have the money or not?" Dutch asked, fidgeting with his saddle as the man in the top hat puffed away.
"I wouldn't know, she's apparently living the high life in New York at the moment. Missed her train to Blackwater." The man snorted, tapping his cigarette and placing it back in his mouth again.
"And you didn't think to write me regarding this change of plans? I've got enough problems as it is–" He began but he could see Trelawny roll his eyes and smirk amusedly again and it made him flush red for a moment. "What."
"How is it, playing the doting father and grandfather?"
"I ain't here to discuss the joys of paternity, Mr. Trelawny. You said you were gonna get Miss O'Shea to Blackwater and I ride all the way out here just for you to tell me that she's livin' it up back East. So, since that's gone tits up, why don't you at least do me the courtesy of helping me offload some bank bonds from the last job." He growled, reaching into the bag to produce a small wrapped package from his animal as Trelawny stepped out of the shade and onto the path.
"Maybe you could visit some family while you're here too." Trelawny took one last drag and exhaled before tossing the smoke out into the street, Dutch held out the package for him and Trelawny took it and reached into his own pocket to produce a roll of bills and exchange it. He snapped the rolled money from the man's gloved hands and stuffed it into a hidden pocket inside his black vest bitterly.
"And what do you mean by that, Josiah?" He raised an eyebrow and chewed his bottom lip furiously.
"There's a gentleman by the name of Willem Van der Linde who runs the livery on the other side of town. Nice fellow too. Perhaps you ought to take," Trelawny went to touch the Count's neck but the animal quickly turned and snapped at his fingers and he recoiled with a chuckle, "your fancy beast over to him to see about putting him up for a while."
"Huh, and I suppose you think that just because I happen to share a surname with this…Willem fellow that makes us kin?" Dutch snorted, readjusting his hat and picking the reins of the stallion back up in his hand.
"No actually," Trelawny shook his head with a laugh and went to walk away but not before he glanced over his shoulder, "I think because he has a picture of you and her on his desk is why. You know…I think that might just be the only picture of you two together. Perhaps you should see about getting it returned to you. A little memento to remember your dear beloved wife by."
"I have this as a token of her love." Dutch tugged on the red jasper hanging from his vest and tipped his head to the man, making sure Trelawny could see the rings on his right hand as he briefly touched the rim of his hat and shifted the reins in his hands and went to lead the animal away. "And that is enough for me."
—-
Why am I even here anyway? He looked around at the stockyard of the livery as the stallion patiently trudged along behind him towards the entrance. He spotted Gwydion in one of the front stalls, browsing in the feed box for little morsels as he paused just outside the entry to the breezeway.
"Be with you in a moment." A familiar voice called out and he noticed that the man was crouched, standing away from him and tending to another horse's shoes. He wore a dirty blacksmith apron and a couple of nails hung out of his mouth as he inspected the new shoe he had just put on. He had short cut white hair and a well kempt beard with streaks of black buried beneath all the white and gray.
"Take your time Oom, I'm not in a rush." He mumbled quietly, slightly embarrassed that it had just slipped out of him without so much as a thought. The man working on the horse slowly let the animal's foot drop, nearly swallowing the nails in his mouth as he stood up straight with his back turned and tugged at his apron for a moment.
"You have some nerve, Sjur. Waltzing into my business after all these years like I'll just forgive you. You're a criminal. My brother, your…daddy, raised you better than that. Your mother and I thought that girl you married might calm you down, but it didn't. You should've sent her here with that animal instead of coming yourself!" His uncle exhaled loudly, pulling the nails out of his mouth and half turning his head to look at him in disgust.
"She's dead. So…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head, placing his hand against his cheek for a moment and turning quickly to walk away. This was a mistake.
"How far along was she when–"
"I take it my English friend told you all about it when he paid you a visit, just to annoy me. I don't want to talk about it, Oom, if it's all the same to you. I'm sorry I disturbed you." But his legs wouldn't cooperate, as much as he wanted to move forward in his mind, his own body was refusing to act accordingly.
"I had to bury your mother a while back, her grave is in town. She wanted to see you before she…she tried to write to your wife, but we didn't know where you were. Especially when her letters suddenly stopped one day entirely. Greta was…worried about you. She thought she saw you once some years ago, sitting at a restaurant with some other people but she didn't want to bother you. The great folk hero, Dutch Van der Linde, my goddamn nephew! I ought to drag you into the sheriff's office myself." He wiped his hands on his apron as Dutch chewed his lip and tried to force himself to move again, the Count nickered quietly and nosed at the brim of his hat.
"I received her letters. I probably still have them somewhere. But momma never understood why I had to leave home when I did. She went…mad, Oom. She was trying to…I couldn't be daddy, but that's who she saw sometimes when she looked at me. Daddy believed in something and he got killed for it, he wanted a better America for other people instead of thinking about his family. And, I ain't a criminal. I'm an outlaw–"
"Just because you choose a different adjective to describe what it is you do, doesn't make it any less deplorable. I know, we know, all about how you do right for poor folk. And that's honorable, Sjur but…the way you go about it…what would he say? Your momma had her problems but…women are complicated. You were married, your wife had her share of issues too I'm sure." His uncle snorted, folding his arms and turning around fully to face him.
"She only fell in love with me because of how I chose to go about setting things right. She didn't mistake me for a dead man, nor would my beloved do something like my momma did to me to our son. That wasn't the kind of woman she was. And just like my daddy, she died for her beliefs. Is it just you in Blackwater now?" He shooed the animal away from chewing on his hat and placed a hand on the stallion's neck, softly petting it but still incapable of walking away.
"Yeah. Tante died and our children had already gone on to live their lives. I brought your mother out here with me, looking for you. Did your woman ever tell you that they met once? You were off on some…job…if you can call it work and she brought that horse here for a new shoe. I don't know if you two were married yet or not–"
"Annabelle came here?" He turned around, it shouldn't have surprised him at all that the woman he loved went behind his back to introduce herself to his family. I want to be fuckin' pissed at you right now, trying to involve yourself in my past life like you could change who or what I really am. Did you know about what she did to me, Belle? Your curiosity always got the better of you, didn't it, beloved? I would've told…no, no I wouldn't have. That's something I never want to remember either.
"Yeah. Certainly knew a lot about horses too. I didn't even realize it was the same woman until she sent your mother that picture of you two, Greta treasured it you know. She was happy for you, even if that woman was a liar and a thief too. Woman didn't talk about you though, she seemed content to just listen to your momma ramble on about you for hours over tea. Stayed for dinner even. Only ever came by the one time though. I'd see her from time to time in Blackwater with that fancy horse, but we never felt right bothering her on account of you."
"I never did understand why she felt the need to write to the woman after I married her, but I 'spose it makes sense now, in hindsight. She uh…had a tendency to pout when she didn't get her way and I gave into her every goddamn time. She was the daughter of a fancy horse trader and baron robber down South, one of the same type of folks who killed my daddy, your brother. I hated her, you know. Initially. That saccharine drawl that spilled out from time to time, her spoiled lifestyle, the fact that her own daddy raised horses for the Confederacy once upon a time, and yet that rich asshole got to come home from the war. But my daddy didn't. Blown to fucking pieces by a bunch of inbred white trash like her. But…" Dutch let go of the Count and looked over his shoulder.
"But what started out of revenge for Haas didn't go the way you planned, did it?" His uncle spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and brushing his beard.
"No. No matter how many times I tried to kill that woman, she would look up at me like I was a fool. And she loved me for the sorry piece of shit I am. I think my daddy would've liked Belle. I certainly did." He fidgeted with the reins again.
"You really ought to go visit your mother, Sjur and pay your respects. It was…nice, I guess, to see you. I'll go fetch that picture of your late bride–" His uncle went to move towards his office again and Dutch shook his head.
"No. Keep it. I'm not gonna forget what she looked like. She's been dead a long time, Oom. I still remember what daddy looked like and I ain't got a photograph of him. All I gotta do is look in the mirror. I uh, I ought to get going. I didn't mean to interfere with your work." He turned and shifted the Count so he could mount the animal and gave him a gentle tap with his spurs, darting down the lane and back towards the main boulevard.
—-
'Greta Van der Linde'
"'Loving mother to her son Dutch', very funny, momma." He laughed, shaking his head as he read the inscription on her tombstone. "You couldn't even put the name that daddy gave me on your fucking headstone, could you? You always had to get the last word."
He straightened up, sneering at the inscription and running his hands through his hair. The wind bent the dried grasses down for a moment, causing the looser parts of his clothing to stick tightly to him and disturbing the red jasper. He grumbled and put his hand over it to keep it from flapping about wildly as the wind howled through the sparse trees and grass.
"Heard that you met Annabelle. You know, she didn't even tell me that she went behind my back to meet you. There were few times we found ourselves in Blackwater together, the last time was when she realized she was pregnant and we was runnin' with Colm O'Driscoll. Somethin' she insisted we ought to do in order to make more money. It never sat right with me though, that man, if you can even call him one…had a reputation, momma. I knew he and his boys were predators, wolves to sickly bison like you were to me. Y'know the first time I went on a job with him, I watched him torture and rape a young woman to death? Four days, momma. Four goddamn days him and his boys tore into her like savages. And I didn't do a goddamn thing, when I know I should've. I don't know why I never considered it wouldn't happen to me, again." His tone was hushed as he looked down at the massive headstone that his uncle had provided for her. It was like looking at a wanted poster, especially while it had that moniker on it like that had been the actual name they had given him. He knelt down again, inspecting the heavy stone and running his hand along it.
"I would apologize to you, but I ain't gonna. I guess in a way…I'm actually kinda glad that she wrote to you and told you all about what kind of man your little boy became. Well, the kind of man I was once. How dare you acknowledge me after all these years. At what point did you realize I wasn't him? And I would never be him for you."
He picked up the pickaxe he had stolen from some miner who left it sitting out idly in town, tossing it in his hand a few times before choking down on it and striking just above his mother's name and leaving a crack in the stone. He swung it again, more forcefully this time and the pick bounced off but caused the small crack to become larger. He pulled back a third time and found the place he had hit twice before, snarling as it made contact and separated part of the headstone which thudded unceremoniously off the top. He tossed the weapon aside and adjusted his waistcoat before standing up.
You still wanted to be proud of me even though I'm nothing but the son of a fuckin' good for nothin' Dutchman. You took the insult those kids used to hurl at me on account of him, the name I made my own, and had to make it about you, didn't you, mother? It was always about you. I ruined your life. And now you see fit to ruin mine by acting like you were some wonderful loving woman who adored her son, regardless of his less than savory choice in lifestyle. You didn't love me. You loved daddy and you hated that I took after him, a constant reminder that he stranded you with a brat that looked just like him. You tried to make me a surrogate man to the one you lost. That's why I left! I could never be my daddy for you, though lord knows I fuckin' tried. It wasn't until you…you forgot that I am your son. Not your husband.
"What kind of mother preys on her boy, momma? Hmmm? Enjoy your well earned rest and give my regards to daddy and Belle if you happen to run into them in hell."
—-
"Ah, Mr. Morgan," Trelawny tipped his hat as Gwydion pranced by the man at his post during his watch, "you look well."
"Josiah Trelawny, finally decided to crawl out of whatever hole you've been hidin' in to pay us a visit, eh?" Arthur exhaled his cigarette, lowering the rifle away from himself as the man in the top hat trotted by him.
"Is your fearless leader around?" Josiah pulled his mount to a halt and stepped down, throwing the reins over the animals head and calling back out to Arthur.
"I am!" Dutch replied, pulling Jack off his knee and patting his head for a minute, "we'll pick this up a bit later, son."
"Oh good, I was hoping you would be. Been a while, Mr. Van der Linde." Trelawny removed his hat and bowed his head as Dutch stood up and adjusted his clothing, stepping over the crate he had been using as a seat. He began to roll up his sleeves which gave Trelawny pause for a moment.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Trelawny?" He let go of his sleeves as he adjusted them up to just past his elbows and folded his arms. Josiah nodded and replaced his hat on top of his head.
"Well…not just you, I'm afraid. Is Mr. Matthews around as well?"
"I am." Hosea called out from the main table, folding his paper down and looking out over the top of it.
"There's been some unique opportunities in Blackwater. Might you be persuaded to change venue for a while?"
"The girl?" Dutch whispered quietly to where only Trelawny could hear him and he raised an eyebrow. The Englishman winked but didn't respond.
"What sort of opportunities, Mr. Trelawny?" Hosea set the paper down and leaned back on his stool, coughing a moment and reaching for his tin cup. Trelawny adjusted his coat and stepped towards the table, pushing his coattails out so he wasn't sitting on them.
"Nice place for a real estate scheme, among other things. Pinkerton's have tried and failed to clean it up, constantly being overrun by whatever gang decides to make the place their home. Plus…it might be nice for Pearson to do a bit of community charity, don't you think? Been a while since you popped by the reason my darling cousin saw fit to make you her man." He began to remove his gloves, side eyeing Dutch when he mentioned Annabelle without saying her name.
"Is the soup kitchen even still there, Trelawny?" He raised an eyebrow and took his own seat next to Hosea, placing his exposed forearms on the table and fiddling with his pocket to retrieve a cigar.
"You know, I don't know to tell you the truth…but it's been a long time since you acted like the man you purport to be." Josiah dug through his jacket to look for his silver cigarette case and found it, snapping it open and retrieving one before snapping it shut again.
"Don't you start." Dutch snorted, finally getting a hold of his cigar as Trelawny slid a pack of matches towards him on the opposite end of the table. "I let her do that, but the next time you see fit to question my integrity, Mr. Trelawny, I'm going to beat you in front of my boys."
"We're all friends, Dutch." Hosea shook his head as Trelawny offered him the closed cigarette case and he accepted it. As he did, he began to cough and wheeze somewhat violently which drew both Trelawny and Dutch's attention even as he tried to stifle the worst of it.
"Hosea…" He raised an eyebrow and nudged his old friend with his elbow as the man turned his head to spit and regained his breath.
"I'm fine." He held up a hand and nudged the man's hand away from him, grumbling and shaking his head as he opened the case and pulled out a cigarette.
—-
This is a very bad situation, he chuckled a bit and held his hands off to his sides away from his double holster, trying to back away towards the saloon door.
"Gentlemen, I do apologize. I don't want any trouble, I'll just be on my way if you don't mind." He took another step back, his eyes darting to the various corners of the saloon.
Fucking O'Driscolls. He should've sent someone else to scout the place out before he decided to come himself, he hadn't anticipated that there would be a whole pack of the mongrels stopped here to drink and gamble. One, two…three…six…no, fuck, twelve. Maybe thirteen. His quick look around the bar ended on a man with long dirty blonde hair wearing a white hat, he was gritty looking, scummy almost and he too was probably one of Colm's men.
"You stole that gold from us, Dutch Van der Linde." The man that had confronted him the moment he arrived at the edge of the bar tossed his knife into his opposite hand, licking his lips a moment and eying him ready to spring at any moment. The man seemed familiar to him but he couldn't quite place him, then again all these bastards look the same to me.
"I am leaving. I do not have an issue with you…" Dutch took another step back, one of his eyes twitching a bit as he contemplated whether or not he could outdraw twelve, no thirteen, men. "Your boss on the other hand, is going to pay for what he did to me, someday. But that day…that day does not have to be today, O'Driscoll. I ain't giving you what I took fair and square, son. It's Colm you oughtta be 'fit to be tied' with."
As the bear of a man took a step forward, switching the knife in his hands again, a single gunshot echoed in the bar and Dutch immediately raised both of his irons and pointed them in the direction it had come from. It was the scummy looking one, slowly twirling his revolver expertly around his finger and casually looking up at the rest of the men who had been ready to dispatch Dutch a moment ago.
"There's more where that came from. You potato eating morons are all the same, whiny and pathetic, I came here for a drink in peace and quiet. But I'm startin' to get real agitated." He caught the spinning firearm and quicker still pointed it at the next O'Driscoll with a sneer.
'Vengeance is hereby mine' was inscribed on the barrel of the custom double action, etched in blocky writing as though the man had done it himself at some point. He's fast, might even be faster than I used to be and deadly too.
"I appreciate the assistance, but it seems I am not welcome here." He took another step back and readjusted his sights on the O'Driscoll boys who had all frozen, unsure of whether they should attack Dutch or attack the stranger who shot one of them.
"I'll walk you out in one piece in exchange for one of them little bars. Seems like a fair trade if you ask me, right?" The man stood up, keeping his gun raised as he too, began to retreat out of the saloon.
"Fine." He hissed as he pushed the swinging doors with his back and stepped around the corner, ducking down immediately into cover and positioning himself to where he could shoot back if he needed to.
"Heh, you scared?" The man snickered, making his own exit and nodding at where the Count had been tied before looking back at the inside of the bar.
"I'm intelligent." He slunk down under the railing and put one of the guns away, tugging at the knot that secured the stallion to the hitching post and slipping between horses to mount.
"Is there a difference?" The man snorted, confidently stepping down and retrieving his own horse on the post and swinging up into his saddle.
"Here." Dutch took one of the small and thin gold bars out of his pocket and tossed it to the man who caught it with his free hand and immediately bit it, as though he were worried it wasn't real.
"Name's Micah. Micah Bell." The man slipped it into his breast pocket but Dutch had already ordered his stallion to bolt away, kicking up dirt and small stones as they sped off. "Well that ain't very friendly to a man that just saved your ass. Hiyah!"
He's following me now, probably wants to kill me and take the rest of the gold I have. Well, fine, let's see how well you can ride, Mr. Bell.
"Come on!" He urged the Count on and the animal tugged at his bit, launching himself forward and squealing a bit in protest. "I'll make it worth your while, you rotten bastard, giddyup!"
"Oh come now! I know I ain't the cleanest lookin' fella but if I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead!" Micah called out as he followed along behind them, laughing as he cantered his animal behind. "I don't bite Dutch Van der Linde!"
"Woah." He tugged a little too hard on the reins, causing the stallion to roar angrily and flatten his ears, skidding to a halt and bucking once just in case his rider had forgotten manners over the years. "QUIT IT!"
The stallion snorted, shaking his head back and forth, chewing at the metal bit and keeping his ears pinned to his head even as Dutch tried to pat him on the neck to reassure him. The animal shrieked, stomping a foreleg in protest and throwing his head back to clock his rider's face as he leaned down.
"FUCK!" He quickly grabbed his nose and forehead, dropping the reins. "YOU GODDAMN DEMON! YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD!"
"You've spoiled that animal, that's why he thinks he's the one in charge. You gotta break his spirit or he'll break your nose next time if you give him the opportunity." Micah chuckled, pulling his horse close and causing the Count to snap at the black animal with a white face, lashing out at it with a foreleg and causing the other animal to back up. Micah responded by taking the ends of his split reins and putting his animal into a sideways position, whipping the white stallion in the face with the end of the leather as hard as he could before Dutch could say a word.
"Don't you ever," Dutch had unholstered his right revolver and shoved it at Micah as the Count recoiled from the hit and squealed, "touch or look at my fucking horse again. You understand?"
"I was just trying to–" Micah dropped his reins and lifted both hands in surrender.
"I don't give a shit. He's precious to me, he was a gift from someone I loved very much. Even if he is only fit for glue from time to time." Dutch snarled in a hushed tone and the man nodded, actually seeming like he might be sincerely apologetic about having struck the beast in the face, if only for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Van der Linde. I won't strike at that animal again. I…I wanted to talk to you, actually. See I know who you are and what you're about and–"
"And, nothing. You're the kind of man that Mr. O'Driscoll likes to keep around, but not me. I do appreciate the help, but I ain't lookin' for friends or hired guns, Mr. Bell. Good day, sir." He slowly lowered the revolver and put it back in the holster, glancing down at the Count's face for a moment to see if the man had wounded the animal more than just a smack before clicking his tongue in his teeth and turning them away from Micah.
"Look I know I ain't a nice man, Mr. Van der Linde, but I admire you a lot." He urged his horse to follow them, causing the Count to stop even though his rider hadn't asked him to and launch a rear kick that caused Micah's horse to rear back. He quickly spun Baylock around with a laugh, making the animal make a sort of circle pattern before stopping him again.
"If that's the case, then you'll leave me the hell alone, Mr. Bell." Dutch sneered, rubbing his mustache as he looked over his shoulder.
"I just have a question, and then I promise I'll leave you be if that's what you really want." Micah held up his hands again before placing them back on the pommel of his saddle.
"I don't have room in my outfit for a man–" He began but Micah raised a hand and chuckled again.
"Oh I got that part. That wasn't my question though," he glanced up again and licked his teeth for a moment nervously, looking almost uncomfortable as Dutch stared him down coldly, "is it true what those boys were sayin' bout your woman?"
"I beg your pardon?" He turned the Count now so he could face Micah directly, inhaling sharply and narrowing his eyes.
"They was braggin', I thought maybe they were just tellin' tall tales–" The revolver came out of the holster again and Micah lifted both his hands again, his nervous laughter fading as he heard Dutch pull the hammer back and growl under his breath.
"Which ones, Mr. Bell? Specifically."
"Well…the one I shot actually. I don't dare repeat what he said, on account of…" Micah made a gesture with his fingers at Dutch who decocked the hammer and shoved the revolver back into the holster. That's why that fucking asshole looked familiar, he was the last one to have his way with her. I ought to kill this bastard for taking my revenge from me, but…despite being a kiss ass, which I'm sure you would've hated, beloved, and striking your precious animal…I will let him live. 'One good turn deserves another' after all.
"That's a very wise decision on your part, Mr. Bell. Good. Day." He hissed, turning his horse back around but the Count still kept his head pointed in the other man's direction, pinning his ears again and exhaling loudly, snapping his tail against the back of his legs.
"You need a man like me if you want to get vengeance for your woman, Mr. Van der Linde. You saw how I fight. When you were a younger man, perhaps you could've bested me, but now? Let me ride with you. Let me…help you, to repay you for all the folks you've helped over the years." Micah pleaded, leaning forward in the saddle and causing the pair to turn back around once more to face him.
"I am going to be the one to get vengeance for my woman. But, like she always said, 'there is strength in numbers'. Just remember, Mr. Bell–"
"Micah. My daddy was 'Mr. Bell' and I ain't my daddy."
"Fine. Micah. You can tag along, but I have rules in my camp and I will put you down like a fuckin' dog if you act like one. We ain't criminals, we are outlaws and we live by a code. Am I understood, Micah Bell?" He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his own saddle now and the man nodded quietly before looking up and chuckling again.
"Absolutely."
—-
She was fair skinned, a little older than he would've liked to be honest but her bright red hair and distinctive clothing made her easy to spot as both he and Trelawny watched her from a distance descend the train into Blackwater. She was arguing with an attendant, angrily waving her white lace fan and snarling as the young man tried to help her fetch her things.
"Fuck I hate nobility." Trelawny murmured, puffing on a cigarette and earning him a rather amused look from his companion who snickered mischievously and took a puff off his cigar.
"God save the Queen." He grinned, earning an eye roll from Trelawny in response.
"I suppose I should go make contact with her–" He went to toss his cigarette but Dutch gently tapped his shoulder and shook his head.
"No, let me handle this. She ain't much to look at, but I know a thing or two about robbing hearts, Mr. Trelawny." He giggled and Trelawny looked disgusted for a moment, his own eyes narrowing as he looked at Dutch.
"You'd fuck the sister of the man who is responsible for–" He began in a hushed hiss but Dutch snorted and rolled his eyes.
"I have needs, Josiah. She understood that about me. I didn't bitch and moan about the way you dispatched her brother, did I? And Ming. Drugging my boys so you could split the belly open on that fucking coward. He was John's chance at avenging her. You took that from him."
"The boy got his revenge when he gelded that man." Trelawny snorted, taking one last drag before tossing his cigarette away bitterly.
"It wasn't your call to make. It was mine. Now," he adjusted his vest and hat, "I have a woman to rob."
"You're a fucking mongrel." Trelawny turned away from him and quickly strode away, he was pissed but he needed to maintain his composure, for her sake. Why him, cousin? What did you ever see in that peasant boy from back East. Paranoid, prone to violent outbursts, erratic, and degenerate as they come. You should've put that mad dog down when he fed you oleander, instead you stabled him in your home, indulging his pathetic base desires and letting him destroy everything you ever worked for. But...I will be considerate to your old beau, if only for your sake, dearest.
—-
"Well ain't you a fancy piece of ass." a big man in dirty clothes with a bloodied bandana hanging around his neck went to touch the redhaired woman who snapped and struck him with her fan in the face. He recoiled with a laugh, rubbing the red spot on his cheek and growling a little.
"Don't ya touch me, you disgusting bastard! I am a lady!" Molly replied, spitting a little as her thick Irish accent drowned out the rest of the conversations in the bar and now had the attention of everyone just trying to enjoy their day.
"You little whore, do you know who I am?" The man snarled, grabbing her wrist as she went to strike him again with the fan. She panicked, trying to snatch her hand away but decided that clocking him with her other hand was the better option in this situation. But he grabbed that one too, despite his size he threw both her hands down and gripped her tightly by the shoulders, lifting her from the floor. She squealed, trying to kick at him now.
"Put me down ya oaf! I am a–" She began to scream but realized that not a single soul in the bar was going to lift a finger to help her as he went to toss her over his shoulder. She squealed, kicking and trying to strike him. She went to bite him next but as he spun around with her over his broad shoulder, the telltale sound of a revolver being cocked gave her a reason to pause.
"Put the nice young lady down, if you don't mind." Dutch exhaled loudly, jamming the white handled revolver directly into the gut of the man who was at least half a foot taller.
"I saw her first. You can have the whore after." The man huffed, unphased by the fact that there was a gun stuffed against his abdomen.
"Now…that ain't a polite thing to say about a lady, Henry "the Bloody Boar" Adams. You sure got big, didn't you boy?" He raised his eyebrow and the large man froze, blinking down at him in confusion for a moment. You were what, fifteen or sixteen when I saw you last? You did the same damn thing to Annabelle and I nearly put you down then too. Now look at you, a grown man still bullying a woman just because you can.
"Mr. Van der Linde." Henry's blue eyes went wide with reverence and he gently placed Molly O'Shea back on the floor, slightly bowing his head and chuckling nervously. "I was just–"
"Son, I think you ought to apologize to the nice young lady." Dutch smiled and withdrew his revolver, placing it back into the holster and crossing his arms. He gestured with his chin towards the frazzled woman as the massive dark haired man turned around and flushed bright red.
"I do sincerely apologize, ma'am."
"Ma'am? Do I look like a damn old crone to ya! Idiot!" She seethed, crossing her arms in front of her and shooting poor Henry a disgusted look.
"Oh, don't be so hard on the poor fellow," Dutch took a step forward, making sure to try to appear tall, confident, and positively taken by the woman, "us, Americans are a rather rough bunch. But you, Miss…"
"O'Shea." she snapped open her fan to hide her grin but he could see by the way her eyes wandered over him that he had her hook, line, and sinker. Good, he thought as he took another confident step forward and leaned against the bar counter.
"Miss O'Shea," He purred back, gesturing for the barkeep to make his way down towards them before looking back at her, "could this poor, pitiful, American brute buy you a drink?"
"Well…" She hesitated, averting her eyes from his and glancing down at the floor before snapping her attention back up to him and shutting the fan slowly as her girlish smile faded. "I 'spose you could. Mr…"
"Van der Linde." He turned away to lean on the bar with both of his forearms, trying to make himself seem far leaner and agile than he actually was, though he wasn't sure how long he could flex his gut or the muscles of his arms without the girl noticing. "Are you, staying in Blackwater a while, Miss O'Shea?"
"I'm 'sposed to meet my good for nothing brother, Duncan. He stood me up in New York, if ya can believe it. Me! His own sister! Won't even answer my letters. Had some associate of his write me back telling me I needed to meet him here in this," Molly groaned as she slid in next to him and muttered under her breath, "disgusting wilderness."
"Is that so? How downright deplorable of the rotten bastard. Leaving his gorgeous sister undefended from scum like poor Mr. Adams. You know…I could…keep you company if you'd like. I realize a lovely young maiden such as yourself might not want an old fool like me to act as an escort but," He readjusted his weight to stand up completely straight as the bartender finally crawled down towards them, "I'm quite renowned in this 'disgusting wilderness'. Men…respect me."
"Oh, aye. I can see that." Molly giggled, clutching her closed fan in her hands and fidgeting with it nervously.
"So. Will you humor an old bastard like me?" He raised an eyebrow and rubbed at the small patch of facial hair under his bottom lip.
"Aye." She surprised him by slipping her arm around his on the bar and he very gently picked up her gloved hand, leaning down a bit to kiss the top of her knuckles causing her to try to stifle her delighted squeal.
"Do you like to read, Miss O'Shea?"
—-
God she carries on so fucking audibly, I can't tell if it's for my benefit or not, but it's starting to give me a goddamn headache.
"OH!" Molly practically shouted in his ear, causing him to bite his own lower lip and squint as he pressed into her. He had her pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers pressing into the back of his neck. As much as he wanted to really force himself into her again and again, he knew he needed to at least act like this passionate lovemaking was real. Though, he hated that it was this fucking woman and not her.
The only woman I ever wanted to lose myself in the throes of passion with was you, beloved. And I am so sorry that I'm having to play Romeo to the sister of the man who had a hand in taking you away from me. You understand, don't you Belle?
"Sweetheart," He pulled away from her for a moment, firmly planting them both into the wall with a pant, "what if your despicable and rotten brother hears you moaning like that, huh? I don't want to get shot on account of defiling a man's sister."
"I apologize, Mr. Van der Linde…" Molly panted and readjusted herself as he went back to slowly fucking her against the wall.
"Call me, 'Dutch', Miss O'Shea. There's no need to be so polite with a scumbag like me." He took a hand off the wall and wrapped her bottom with his forearm and leaned down to kiss her while she quietly sighed and whimpered.
God I fucking hate myself. Maybe I can get her to finish me off so at least it's over with.
"Alright, Dutch," she put her hand under his chin, murmuring as she moved away from his mouth to speak, "yer insatiable, aren't ya?"
No, I'd just need to be rougher with you than I think you would like me to be. I can't actually finish, truth be told, because as nice as it is to bury myself in warm, wet pussy…I might as well be fucking a lipstick wearing pig.
"Maybe." He lied, pulling her away from the wall now and carrying her back towards her bed and gently setting her down and kissing her again.
You're disgusting, pretending like your some fucking knight in shining armor when all you really want to do is consume this princess like the dragon you really are, bones and all. Trelawny was right, you are a fucking mongrel.
"What do ya like?" She pushed him away again, adjusting her long red hair away from her large breasts and he pulled out of her, raising an eyebrow as he stood up.
"I don't think–" He began, running his hands through his hair as she stared up at him hungrily.
"Tell me. I want ta thank ya properly fer rescuing me."
Fuck.
"Is that…so…" He chuckled, leaning down towards the bed again and almost crawling on all fours as she retreated from him. She seemed fearful now, worried by the dark gleam in his eyes as his warmth and tenderness seemed to fade completely, replaced by a crazed older man who eyed her the way a wolf eyes a solitary fawn.
"But ya willl be a gentleman, though." She gulped and he exhaled through his nose and grunted as he slowly pinned his hands to hers and nodded.
"Of course," He whispered softly and as sweetly as he could manage in the moment, "I just need to work out some of that…American savagery. Would that be alright, Miss O'Shea? That's…what I like…a lot actually. It would certainly mean a lot to me if you would allow me to be a brute with you."
"And if I ask ya ta stop…" She squirmed a bit, looking nervously at her pinned down hands as Dutch carefully interlaced his fingers with hers and placed a knee between her now closed thighs to get her to spread her legs for him again.
"Then I'll stop."
Liar. No you won't. You'll lie to her, comfort her, confuse her, and make it seem like she's the one at fault for your bullshit. That's what you always do…that's what you did to your beloved once upon a time too, isn't it?
"Aye." She whispered back, going to wrap her legs around his waist again when he let go of her hands and flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips towards him and placing a hand against the back of her neck and pinning her to the bed. She struggled for a moment, gasping in surprise. He was stronger than he looked, she realized, and it turned her on more than it frightened her.
"I do apologize, my dear, but I'm going to tear you to fucking pieces, O'Shea."
He pulled her into him, keeping her firmly planted face down on the bed and let himself go. It wasn't about him, or her, or even the poor girl's brother anymore. It isn't even about Annabelle, she never asked me why I needed to practically rape her sometimes. It's all that anger, all that hate and poison from all those years ago.
"Dutch!" Molly cried out and he snarled, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck even tighter, trying to keep her pushed down so she would cry out on the mattress and not so he could hear her.
"Be quiet." He hardly recognized his own voice, that violent and erratic animal's voice, "Don't say a fucking word to me right now you goddamn whore. Just...let me finish."
"Stop." She whimpered, trying to turn her head so he could hear her but trying to keep her voice down as he continued forcing himself into her as hard as he could.
No.
"Please! STOP!" The woman tried to fight back now but the more she wriggled beneath him, the angrier he became and the more he enjoyed it.
'Darling, enough...'
Fuck off Annabelle! Not right now!
'DUTCH! STOP!'
It was like the air was knocked out of his lungs in an instant and he let the woman go, she scrambled away from him, trying to clutch something to her to cover herself from him now. But he didn't notice, or maybe he didn't care to.
Annabelle...I...
He remembered, it hit him like a bag of bricks out of nowhere and he had only been reminded of it when the girl began to fight back. It's not the first time you hurt a woman and didn't care, is it? He had hurt Belle real bad once, losing control completely in the heat of the moment to the point she bled from him tearing into her without warning one day and he didn't stop even when she begged him to. I raped you and tried to pretend like I didn't. He remembered finishing and looking down at her, horrified at the emotion she had conveyed to him with just her eyes. 'What the fuck is wrong with you? I said 'stop'.' That's what she had said to him with an expression of betrayal. He tried to shrug it off with her too, acting like he hadn't heard her when he did and simply ignored her to satisfy himself. And she knew he had heard her.
That was the only time she ever looked at him with pure hatred, instead of love, was when he tried to pretend he hadn't assaulted his beloved like some kind of deplorable bastard. But you forgave me anyway, even though you shouldn't have.
'You disgusting little bastard, how dare you do this to me, to your own mother!'
He felt nauseated, weak, and disgusted. It was his mother's voice rattling around in his head now and not just the memory of Belle.
You made me do it! I didn't want to but you fucking made me! He had tried to forget a thousand times before and now he wanted nothing more than to turn off his brain. To forget that old life. He wasn't punishing women sexually for pleasurable reasons, no...that would be one thing. But this, this was his way of getting revenge for a young boy going through puberty after his father died and his own mother decided to 'make him a man'. Now here he was, years later taking it out on any woman who would let him, claiming it was so he could 'soothe the savage beast' when really it was to avenge his own innocence.
I wonder if Belle knew, she did talk to the fuckin' woman years ago and it would not surprise me one fucking bit if she made it sound like I had been the one responsible for what she did to me. But, he knew that his woman would've known better, after all Annabelle was the most intelligent woman he had ever met. If anyone could've seen through his mother's bullshit, it would've been Belle. Perhaps that's why she forgave him the day he tore into her without warning, she must've known all along and pieced it together somehow. Why he felt the need to hurt a woman sometimes in order to get off.
Jesus, I'm worse than Colm O'Driscoll.
"I'm sorry," he panted, sliding back off the bed and turning to the wash basin in the room in order to clear the sweat from his face, "are you...are you okay, Miss O'Shea?"
"I...why didn't ya stop? I t-thought y-y-ya s-s-said-" She stammered, clutching the blankets tightly as tears began to stream down her face.
"I..." He began but hesitated, letting the cool water drip off his face as he bent down to scrub it again and inhaled deeply. Get a fucking grip.
"I am sorry, my mind was...elsewhere. It will not happen again, I promise." He quickly grabbed the towel nearby and placed it over his face, both to clear the water from it as well as hide his tears at the memories that he tired so hard to forget. He couldn't let this woman see him cry, it would absolutely ruin the plan to rob her of whatever money she had left that she had brought for her brother.