The entire plantation knew they were here now. Gunfire rang out in all directions. Rosalie evaded another bullet whizzing by as she pulled John behind a storage crate for cover. The men firing at them on the lefthand side of the house where they took cover were only a fraction of the ones on duty. Rosalie didn't want to stick around to find out when the rest of them would show.

"I'm sorry!" Appolozgized John as he fumbled with his revolver, reloading it. "I ain't mean to cause all this trouble!"

Rosalie shook her head, "It doesn't matter! We just need to get out of here now! Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea… dammit, I don't know if we should check the house, or just leave and meet them later!"

She grit her teeth and peered over the crate, eyes scanning for any sight of the trio. There were no familiar faces, only unfriendly men pointing guns in their direction and firing.

Rifle in hand, she aimed over the top of the crate and shot at any guard she saw. The gun kicked back against her shoulder with each pull of the trigger, an unfortunate feeling against her aching body after she had been thrown around like a sack of potatoes by that male guard in the study. She didn't even want to think about her sore, busted lip, or the way her cheek stung with what she assumed was a cut from the glass window.

John was peaking over the crate beside her, firing his revolver. "What are we doin'?!"

Rosalie shook her head and let out a cry of outrage. They may have gotten a lot of cash from this heist, but damn, was this a mess! Now she was being forced to make important decisions on their escape.

"We can't leave yet! They left their horses at the front of the plantation, so if they wanted to get away, they had to push forward and go through the house! If we see them and they look like they're doing fine, then we make a break for it!" Rosalie shouted over the gunfire.

John looked over at her wildly, but there was determination in his eyes as he met her gaze through his hair. "Alright! I'm followin' you!" He called.

Rosalie nodded toward the open window into the study. "Back through there! The house will give us cover!"

Hoping John was going to be as avid about following her as he seemed, Rosalie sprinted out from behind the crate and took off toward the window. Bullets whizzed past her as she ran, but she didn't bother pointing her rifle in their direction, eyes locked on the entryway into the house the broken window offered.

With a grunt, Rosalie leaped through the window into the study, struggling a bit to cover the height of the jump from the ground to the house. Her boots smacked the hardwood as she landed, clicking against the ground as she sprinted to the doorway and pressed herself to the wall. John mirrored her and pressed against the wall on the other side of the doorframe.

Rifle in hand, she took a deep breath and met John's gaze across the door. He gave her a firm nod.

With newfound courage, Rosalie slammed into the hallway, the door flying open as she began firing at the guards who had slid in through the front door. John faced the windows and fired, ducking under the bullets that whirred into the home and shattered the glass. He held an arm over his face as stray glass shards flew in his direction. Rosalie grit her teeth as she angled her face away from the glass the best she could as they made their way down the hall.

At the front door now, she and John were pressed shoulder to shoulder against the wall underneath the windows. Glass flew every time a shot was fired into the house. They held their arms over their heads to protect themselves from the shards, gasping and crying out.

"Where the hell are they?!" Cried John, looking up at her.

There were thundering footsteps. Dutch came barreling around the corner, his bag stuffed to the brim with random trinkets and sweat at his brow. He shouted and shielded his face from the flying glass, hiding himself around the corner in a crouch. His gaze met Rosalie's across the way once he recognized her.

"What the hell happened?!" Dutch cried.

"I was getting the shit beat out of me and John shot the guard!" Shouted Rosalie over the shattering glass and gunfire. She stood up and pointed her rifle out the window, firing at the closest man she saw, his body crumpling as her bullet landed in his chest.

Dutch let out a shout of aggravation, "We were supposed to remain undetected dammit!"

"I'm sorry, Dutch!" John wailed, pure agony on his features at the thought of him putting them all in jeopardy. "The feller was beatin' her up so bad I thought she was gonna die!"

Dutch shook his head, trying to remain calm, but was clearly irritated. "No, no, it's fine. For now, we just gotta–!" He gasped as someone body-slammed him from behind, sending him tumbling to the wood floor. The carpet runner crumpled beneath them as they fought, Dutch swinging punches and the man hitting back.

John cried out, eyes wide as the guard wrapped his hands around Dutch's throat. Not seeing her knife anywhere, Rosalie was quick as she slid the one out from the holster in John's upper thigh and charged forward, thrusting the knife into the guard's neck. The man gurgled, his body going slack as he clawed at his throat, blood pooling around his jugular. He fell to the side, blood staining the carpet red.

Dutch gasped for air, bruising around his neck in the shape of fingers beginning to bloom purple and blue. Rosalie grit her teeth and grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him across the floor so he was safely under the window beside her and John. She passed the knife back to John and he took it. Glass shards showered above them from continuous gunshots.

This entire situation was chaos. She needed to find Arthur and Hosea before they all got killed inside this shitty plantation. All the cash they found would be worthless if they were dead.

"Do you know where the basement is?!" Rosalie shouted at Dutch.

He heaved but answered her through short breaths, nodding in its direction. "Down—ah—down at the end there!"

"Get John out and go! I'll make sure Arthur and Hosea are okay!"

Before Dutch or John could protest, she took off, running down the hall in a crouch as she shielded her face from the flying shards. They were flying everywhere, bullets whizzing past and barely missing her. Once she reached the door at the end of the hallway, she flung it open, the stairs leading down to a dark abyss. It was eerie, with no sound or light coming from below.

"Arthur?! Hosea?!" Rosalie screamed their names down the stairs, but there was no response.

There was a sharp shove to her back and Rosalie fell forward with a scream, rolling down the stairs. The wooden steps struck her in all the worst places, sending sharp pains through her side, face, and legs. Fortunately, the last steps absorbed enough of the impact to lessen the pain as she rolled onto the concrete floor face down.

The world was spinning. She didn't think she hit her head too hard, but the quick tumble was making it hard to focus on anything for more than a few seconds.

Rosalie gasped as the disorientation began to wear off and she tried to sit up, pushing herself onto her elbows. Every part of her body burned as she turned her head to look up the steps, and she wondered if she was delirious at the sight of a young woman with plaited brown hair. The woman wore an expensive nightgown and held a revolver at her side as she looked down at Rosalie. It was too dark, so she couldn't see the expression she wore, but she imagined it was not a pleasant one.

Well, this must have been the lady of the house Rosalie had mentally warned Dutch about when she found those pretty hairclips downstairs. If only she had heeded the warning herself.

"You son of a bitches robbin' my home in the middle of the night!" Shouted the woman, unphased by the shooting going on outside. "You're gonna die, you bastard!" She raised her gun to fire at Rosalie.

Rosalie fumbled for her revolver, trying not to cry as she moved to grab the weapon from her waist. Pain erupted all over her body. She knew she would be too slow to draw on time in her condition, but there was no chance she would let herself be defeated by a measly set of stairs without a fight.

Before the woman could pull the trigger, she was grabbed from behind with a screech and tugged out of Rosalie's frame of sight. Rosalie heaved, hand on her stomach as she scrambled to push herself up from the concrete, revolver in her hand as she eyed the top of the stairs warily.

"Rosalie?!" Called Arthur's voice, his frame at the top of the stairs, outlined by his coat and gambler's hat.

Relief filled Rosalie at the sight of him. Arthur was like her knight in shining armor as he called down into the abyss of the basement. For all his snarkiness and bad attitude, Rosalie thought she was finished when she saw Harrington's wife pointing a gun at her from the top of the stairs, and if Arthur hadn't dragged her away, Rosalie was certain she would have been finished. Especially in her condition.

But there wasn't much time for sappy thankfulness, as the gunfire was still overwhelming from outside. They needed to get out of there, so Rosalie let out a sharp breath to prepare herself to move, and she willed herself to climb the stairs as fast as possible, stumbling and whimpering in pain as she went. Everything hurt, and all she could think about was how much of a bitch Reginald Harringtons wife was for shoving her down into the basement.

Arthur grabbed her by the shoulders as she reached the top to steady her. He looked at Rosalie in concern, eyeing her bloodied face and features that were contorted in pain.

"Are you alright?! What the hell happened?!" Arthur asked, grabbing the bottom of her chin and turning her face, but faced a difficult time seeing the extent of her injuries in the darkness of the house.

Rosalie didn't get the chance to respond or think about his warm, large hand against her face, the situation at hand much more imperative than that, Hosea breaking Arthur's concerned focus.

"Arthur, we need to move!" Hosea shouted from behind him, his rifle in hand.

"Can you run?!" Arthur asked Rosalie, not tearing his gaze away from the blonde.

Rosalie gave him a firm nod. She wasn't confident in how fast she could move, but she knew she could at least hobble her way over to her horse and saddle herself so they could get away.

With her response, they were off. They sprinted through the house, gunfire ringing out as glass continued to shatter. Shards covered the floor and crunched under their boots as they ran down the hallway and out the backdoor through the kitchen.

Rosalie was doing her best to keep up, but every part of her body burned and screamed in protest as she ran. She had just been shoved down a flight of stairs after being tackled out of a window by a man twice her size. This heist was horrible and proved to be the worst job they had done so far. Not to mention, why she was the one getting beaten up like a punching bag?

They exited the kitchen. Two men stood in the backyard, one pointing his rifle in their direction, finger on the trigger ready to fire. Arthur placed a shot in his chest and the man crumpled to the ground with a scream. Another ran for Hosea, knife in hand with a battle cry. Hosea shot the man and kicked him away without any struggle.

The group pushed forward through the grassy field she and John had slithered through earlier to infiltrate the plantation house. Hosea whistled for their horses, glancing over his shoulder toward the front of the property where they had left them. Gunfire continued to fill the air, so Rosalie wasn't sure how well the horses would even be able to hear them over the chaos.

Rosalie huffed as she followed behind them, a limp in her leg now. Her heart pounded in her chest as anxiety filled her veins. The sore feeling of a bruise against her hip began to bloom and was making it difficult to walk.

Arthur noticed her limp as she began to slow and grabbed her arm, throwing it over his shoulder. She couldn't help but let out a breath of relief, the pain subsiding a bit as he took the pressure off her leg as they pushed forward, the tall grass rustling against them as they waded through it.

"Where are John and Dutch?!" Shouted Hosea as he looked back at the house, realizing they hadn't seen either of the men.

Hooves pounded the dirt as Hosea's horse, Lady, and Arthur's, Boadicia, sprinted through the field in their direction. Blitz was just a few yards up ahead where Rosalie left him, so she whistled for him as well and the stallion raced over without hesitation.

"I was with John earlier! We ran into Dutch and I told him to take John and get out of here!" Rosalie winced as Arthur eased her off his shoulder, the pressure on her leg returning along with the pain.

Hosea nodded and hoisted himself into the saddle. "Good. Then we need to make haste and get the hell out of here too!" He grabbed the reins and angled Lady away from the house, nodding in the direction of the trees. "Let's go!" Hosea took off in the direction of the trees without hesitation.

Rosalie turned her back to Arthur and began pulling herself into the saddle. She winced, heaving as she forced herself to place her foot in the stirrup, hand on the side of the firm leather as she hoisted herself into the seat. She looked over to see Arthur had done the same, expression concerned as he met her gaze, reins in hand.

"Can you keep up?!" Arthur shouted over the wild gunfire, the guards searching for them in the house and oblivious to their plan to flee.

Rosalie nodded firmly, despite the pain in her leg and the soreness in the rest of her body.

With that, they took off through the grass and into the treeline. Rosalie kept a firm grip on the reins as they rode, but it was difficult to ignore the pain erupting in her legs that ran through the rest of her body from the friction of her horse against the ground.

They broke into the forest, the sun beginning to come over the hills as the sky began to turn a shade of dusty orange. The trees stood tall, thick vegetation giving them cover as they retreated from the plantation, gunfire fading in the distance and being replaced by the heavy breathing and pounding of Blitz's hooves against the dirt.

After what felt like hours of riding due to Rosalie's pain, they arrived just outside of the town of Kankakee. It was a smaller, quant town known for its agriculture not too far from Chicago—a place that was perfect for them to remain low for a couple of nights as they recouped from their plantation robbery.

Rosalie had been following behind Hosea and Arthur, her eyes fixed on their riding forms. She needed to stay with them, as exhaustion and the pain from her beatings left her too incoherent to make it to Kankakee on her own. All she wanted was to clean herself up and take a long nap.

The group rode out of the forest and came into a clearing. A few trees still stood tall, but the forest had thinned, leaving enough room for them to set up a temporary camp. Dutch's white horse was already hitched to a tree. John was building a fire nearby, while Dutch knelt beside him, sorting through the contents of his satchel, which were scattered on the ground in front of him.

The sun was visible now, the sky painted shades of orange and pink, birds chirping overhead as it was the hours of the early morning. They had spent the entire night at the plantation and Rosalie was thoroughly exhausted.

The trio pulled their horses to a stop in the clearing. Rosalie tugged on Blitz's reins and slid off her saddle, pain erupting through her side as she hit the ground. She grimaced and rubbed her hand against her hip, the spot tender. She wasn't looking forward to seeing what was underneath when she finally peeled off her trousers.

Hosea and Arthur also got off their horses. Hosea jogged over to Dutch, exasperation in his voice as he threw his hands up. "So what the hell happened?" He asked, standing over Dutch from where he kneeled on the ground.

Dutch pushed around some of the knickknacks he made off with, turning over an expensive pen in his hand. "John shot a feller because he was attacking Rosalie. Ain't a problem since we made it out in one piece, but another one choked me out. Gonna be supporting some unfavorable bruises for a few days." He grimaced and tilted his neck to show Hosea the colorful finger marks on his skin.

Hosea grimaced and leaned over to get a closer look. "Jesus, Dutch."

John frowned from where he was building a fire, matches in hand as he sat on the ground. "I'm sorry, Dutch. I am!" There was regret littered all over his face, distraught at the thought of screwing up the robbery.

Dutch waved him off. "Already said it's fine, son. This stuff is bound to happen. Can't be helped. Rather we have a messy escape than one of us dead." He tossed the pen back into the pile and held up a wad of cash. "At least one fifty here. Not bad." He said, looking at Hosea.

Hosea scoffed and stood up straight, crossing his arms. "Better than what Arthur and I found. There was barely anything in the basement besides some useless family heirlooms." He rubbed a hand against his chin as he eyed the pile in front of Dutch. "There was a vault but we couldn't get in. Maybe if we had some dynamite, but… would have drawn some unwanted attention, since I sorta thought we were tryna' avoid doin' that."

John shrunk down by the firepit, ducking his head in embarrassment at Hosea's comment.

Arthur shook his head as he walked over to them. "Well, seems like goin' unnoticed didn't matter after all. Bein' discreet was unrealistic with us doin' a job nowadays." He placed his hands on his hips and looked down at the goods Dutch had managed to get ahold of.

Rosalie walked over with a limp and tossed her satchel to the ground, the bag hitting the dirt with a thump, the random trinkets she gathered such as plates and jewled hairclips sliding out onto the grass and mixing with the objects Dutch had stolen.

"There's the shit I grabbed," Rosalie grumbled, glaring at the objects under the brim of her hat. "Now, if there's nothing else you need from me, I'm gonna change and get some rest."

Hosea waved her off, not really looking at her as Dutch dumped out the contents of her bag and shifted through the things she managed to take. "You're fine. Get some rest and clean up that face of yours before we leave in a of couple days. We ain't in a rush 'cause Dutch is gonna sell these items in Chicago tomorrow." He squatted down beside Dutch and began looking through the items as well.

Not needing to be told twice, Rosalie walked over to Blitz and grabbed her belongings from his back. Tucking her bedroll under one arm and holding her tent in the other hand, she returned to her spot and dropped her things on the ground. Her body groaned in protest as she unrolled her bedroll and began setting up her tent. All she could think about was peeling her sticky clothes off her body and sliding into the layers of the bedroll.

John finished lighting the fire and ran over to her, eager to talk to Rosalie now that things had calmed down. "Are you okay? What happened after Dutch n' I left?"

Rosalie shook her head with a breathy laugh as she pitched her tent, still in a bit of disbelief at the events that had transpired. "Ah, not much. Just got shoved down the basement stairs by the lady of the house. A few bruises and scrapes, but nothing I can't recover from," she said casually, trying to play down the injuries that littered her face and body.

"You got shoved down the stairs?!" Cried John, mortified at the thought. "Harrington's wife did that? What a crazy bitch!"

Rosalie waved him off, trying to still make it seem like it was no big deal.

It honestly was a little embarrassing that she out of everyone got beaten up the most. Hosea looked a little dirty, as did John, and Dutch was supporting bruises from being choked out by one of the guards, but out of everyone, Rosalie had faced the most beatings. The beatings weren't small either, and they showed right on her face.

Rosalie gave John a smile, trying to seem as lighthearted as possible despite the injuries. "Thank you for saving me though, John. I know it seems like it caused everything to go to shit, but you saved my skin. I appreciate it." She came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

John's cheeks flushed a bright red. "Ain't no problem, Rosie. I thought that feller was gonna kill ya'."

Rosalie shrugged. "Who knows? He might've."

"What did you do to piss 'em off so bad anyway?" asked Arthur as he walked over, his bedroll and tent in hand. He dropped them on the ground beside hers before coming over and placing a hand under her chin, tilting her face like he had at the Harrington Plantation. "Jesus, you got a busted lip and a bruise bloomin' on your cheek."

Rosalie's cheeks, not from the bruising, began to turn bright pink as he was so casual about holding her face. It was to check her injuries, and she knew that, but it was still jarring that he was so comfortable with placing his hands on her. She was comfortable with the group, more than she had been upon meeting them, and had come to feel a weird sense of familiarity and a familial bond with them. But the way Arthur looked at her under the brim of his hat, hand against her cheek... it was different.

Still holding her face, Rosalie's eyes drifted anywhere they could so she didn't have to meet Arthur's piercing blue ones. She laughed. "Aha… yeah… the guy found me in the study. I was in the middle of getting open Harrington's lockbox full of cash when he pointed a gun at the back of my head. Heard the click of his revolver and he ordered me to stand up… but you know…"

"And ya' didn't stand up?" Offered Arthur with an amused grin.

"Yeah, and I didn't stand up…" Rosalie trailed off sheepishly. "I was holding the lockbox and didn't have the chance to grab my knife or gun, so I hit em' with it. He really didn't like that, which might have been why he started a fistfight with me. I came at him with my knife… then he tackled me out the window." She finished, feeling a bit sheepish as she told him what happened.

John made a noise. "I was wonderin' what all that ruckus was about! I was goin' through their interestin' dining room when I heard a crash, so I ran in there to check on ya and you were out the window!" He fidgeted, looking down at the revolver holstered at his side. "I dunno what came over me, but I thought that feller was gonna kill you, so I shot em'!"

Arthur glanced over at John, his hand falling from Rosalie's face. "Well, you did right kid. That feller probably would have killed her, not that Rosalie ain't a tough lady, but we don't wanna take any risks here." He nodded his head in the direction of his horse, Boadicea chewing on a patch of grass off to the side. "Now why don't you go grab your bedroll and set up our tent."

John seemed to beam under Arthur's praise before he ran off to grab his things from Boadicia as Arthur asked.

Rosalie didn't want to dwell on how cold her face felt now that Arthur's hand was gone, so she plastered a teasing smile on her face as Arthur walked over to his bag and began to shuffle through it. "You think I'm a tough lady, Mister Morgan?" she drawled.

Arthur waved her over as he walked to the log John had dragged by the firepit earlier. He held what looked like a bottle of whiskey and a rag. Sitting down, he patted the spot beside him, signaling for Rosalie to join him. She followed his instructions, sitting down beside him as he poured some of the alcohol onto the rag.

"C'mon," he motioned with his hand for her to take her hat off.

Rosalie blinked in surprise but complied, removing her hat and setting it down on the log beside her.

"Wow, why are you suddenly so nice?" chuckled Rosalie as he brought the rag to her face, ready to tend to the bloody, busted lip she was nursing. She laughed it off, though inwardly surprised by his unexpected kindness and forwardness.

"Ah, I dunno," Arthur shrugged. "Guess I feel bad for you, lookin' around like a beaten dog with that lip of yours."

Rosalie was about to open her mouth to snap back at him, but he pressed the alcohol-covered rag to her lip, cutting her off as stinging pain ran through her mouth. She hissed and pulled back, flinching at the feeling. "Dammit! Ow!" She cried out, raising a hand to her face.

Arthur snorted and waved for her to scoot closer to him again. Don't be a baby now. Jus' a tad of alcohol to clean it up. Don't wanna risk that lip gettin' infected, right?" He asked, raising a brow.

Rosalie felt a twinge of irritation at being spoken to as if she were a child, but she begrudgingly shuffled closer, allowing him to tend to her lip. She winced as he dabbed the alcohol against her mouth, the sting making her eyes water.

They fell into a silence as he worked, and despite herself, she found herself admiring the furrow of his brows and the twitch of his mouth in concentration as he cleaned her busted lip. She couldn't tell what was occurring here, but the attentiveness he had to her lately was confusing. From their morning rides together, racing on horseback as the sun crested the horizon, to his habit of lighting her cigarettes and always having a match at the ready, she couldn't ignore the subtle gestures of care. Even when she sat by the fire engrossed in the book he'd found for her, Arthur would often sit close, their legs or shoulders touching, blurring the lines between familiarity and something more.

Rosalie hesitated to jump to conclusions about Arthur's feelings, leaning instead towards the idea that his actions stemmed from genuine friendship, especially in the aftermath of the robbery. Yet, as she reflected on their interactions, she couldn't ignore the subtle nuances that hinted at something more. The way he'd linger a moment longer when their eyes met, or the gentle touch of his hand as he tended to her busted lip—it all left her wondering.

While Arthur might perceive her as nothing more than a friend, Rosalie found herself caught in a whirlwind of uncertainty about her own emotions. She couldn't shake the growing awareness that her feelings toward him were shifting, evolving into a territory beyond mere friendship.

And Rosalie had no idea how to deal with that.