Author's note: It's gonna get pretty emotionally heavy, ya'll. And a little (a lot) gore filled. We've got a dead lover to avenge after all…also, yes it is significantly longer than I expected.
It was still another week's ride to Blackwater and as he leaned against the tree, shivering and sweating as he experienced the horrific withdrawals. Every muscle in his body ached, as though his sinews and tendons might snap if he moved too quickly. He was anxious, irritable, and he felt both exhausted and wired simultaneously. He grunted, trying to readjust himself into a more comfortable position as his stomach cramped violently. He hadn't had any for three days now as his guts clenched, his intestines gurgling loudly.
I need it. Between the aches, the shits, the nausea, and everything the fuck else. I need it, just a little bit. He told himself, snarling a little under his breath, goddamn it I'm going to die before we ever reach Blackwater if I don't get my grubby little paws on that shit. He groaned, everything hurt. His body, his mind, his organs, and quite possibly even his soul. If I even have one anymore.
"Here," Trelawny had appeared, as if summoned out of thin air, gently touching Dutch with a tiny glass vial, "it should at least make you comfortable."
"What is it?" He hissed through gritted teeth as his own stomach turned on him and he felt nauseated again, his mouth boiling with saliva as his lower intestines burned. I don't know if I need to puke or shit or BOTH. He glanced at it, it was barely bigger than a shotgun shell with some kind of reddish brown liquid inside of it. He almost vomited as the hue of it conjured the afterimage of Annabelle's blood trail across their cabin floor that night, as she struggled to reach him.
"Laudanum." Trelawny whispered, still touching Dutch's shoulder with the small bottle. Fuck, why didn't I think of that instead of smoking it like an idiot.
"I thought you wanted me sober? That was your condition if I was to accompany you." Dutch snarled angrily as he snatched the small vial and tore it open, practically swallowing it along with the mixture that burned his throat.
"I still do, but she wouldn't have wanted you to suffer, though I would very much prefer it if you did. It should've been you, you know that, don't you?" Trelawny adjusted his waist coat as Dutch lifted the small empty vial back up at him, his stomach was less agitated and the feeling of retching and cramping began to fade a bit as he felt the alcohol and opium mixture settle in his gut.
"Every. Single. Day. Mr. Trelawny. I have that thought every single morning whether I've slept or not and every night whether I am alone or have a night woman. Hosea was right, we are deplorable men. Absolute scum of the goddamn earth. But," he paused as his heart rate sped up for a moment and he gently rubbed his chest to coax it to return to a slower pace, "our women loved us anyway, in spite of ourselves and our foolishness and arrogance. I'm nothing but a shitty actor, trying to fashion myself in the mannerisms that she wholly embodied, just to exact vengeance for her. I want to believe the gang could be the family we were supposed to have together, but it won't ever be, will it? No matter how goddamn hard I try to tell myself it could be."
"You know," Trelawny dug in his pockets for his cigarette case for a moment, "she didn't truly believe it could be either. The difference between you is that she may have used and abused others, like pawns in a chess game, but unlike you, she desperately wanted to change that about herself. She wanted to trust people and love people, that's why she became so soft and gentle as she got older. Because you needed her to be that way. I don't know what she ever saw in you, you know. When things don't go your way, you panic, and throw caution to the wind. Willing to forgo being a man and become a wretched beast. When she told me about you grabbing her by the throat and slamming her into the table in front of a young and impressionable Mr. Marston, I seriously considered having you bushwhacked. But…"
Trelawny opened the case, pulling out one cigarette and placing it in his mouth as he seemed to simply snap his fingers to get it light. Though Dutch saw the slight of hand trick he had used as the match fell from his gloved hands and onto the ground beside him.
"She begged you not to react." Dutch finished as Trelawny's voice trailed off and the magician simply nodded quietly, holding out the silver case to Dutch who took it from him and retrieved a cigarette of his own.
"What will you do when it's over, Mr. Van der Linde?" Trelawny asked, watching Dutch look for matches a moment after putting the smoke in his mouth and leaned down. He struck another match and held it out as Dutch ignited it and pulled away, Josiah let it burn for a while, watching the small flame pensively as it consumed the matchstick and threatened to burn his gloves. He waved it out and let it slip from his fingertips as Dutch exhaled loudly.
"Die, probably. Pay for my inability to protect my wife from danger. She blamed herself, in the end, for writing to her old pals." He snarled as he took another long drag.
"She broke her own rule of never thinking about 'what if', because you were so goddamn frantic over every little shadow. We both know it's entirely your fault. You might as well have killed her yourself, Mr. Van der Linde. It was your snap judgement that got her killed. And I'm glad that it is eating you alive. But," Trelawny inhaled and exhaled quickly, lowering his cigarette and flicking the ashes off, "what about them?"
He gestured to the faint glow of the meager fire where they had decided to camp for the night. Susan picked at the wood and coals with a long stick, stirring the inferno, her eyes lost in thought. Arthur leaned against his saddle on top of his bedroll, his hat pulled over his eyes and his hands resting on his chest as he pretended to sleep. And John, Dutch smirked, John was reading. Who do you really take after, son? Me or her?
'He has your sharpness, beloved. Your resolve and determination, hell, even your temper too I think.' He heard Annabelle mutter quietly, though he couldn't feel her against him but he half longed to.
You've been quiet since Trelawny showed up and gave me a lecture, Belle. Will you visit me tonight? I just get irritated when you caress me, whispering at me from wherever you are, unable to hold you in return. I don't want you to leave me, but I can't stand to have you around either.
'Darling, I will never leave you.' She replied with a giggle.
"I'd like to buy a tract of land, like I–we, had planned to do all those years ago. We almost have enough, but first I'd very much like to annoy O'Driscoll to death if I can. They'll be just fine without me around. We just need to settle, rest, and remain free like I wanted. Like she wanted. The others…I really don't care if they live or die. I care about them," he gestured with his cigarette, exhaling silvery smoke through his nose and mouth before he flicked the butt to ash it, "because she loved them, even if they were just pawns in a game. The original members, who became her friends, her sister, her child, and her family. That's what she wanted to do. And I would do anything she asked of me."
"Good," Trelawny eyed the red jasper dangling from Dutch's vest as Dutch put a hand over it to cover it from him, "before it slips my mind, I have a…gift for you. She had intended to give it to you after…"
His voice trailed off again as he reached into his pocket and felt the cold metal object against his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, though he said it to himself in his mind. After she gave birth to your son. An August child, born under the sign of the lion.
"I don't want it, Josiah." Dutch placed his free hand on his forehead and covered his eyes, letting his cigarette burn in his other hand. I don't deserve it.
'Aren't you even a little curious, darling? You always liked it when I spoiled you with the finer things in life, the things that were once far beyond your reach.' She purred at him and he could feel her wrapping herself around him, straddling him and pressing her forehead to his hand gently causing him to remove it from his eyes.
"That's too bad, Mr. Van der Linde." Josiah retrieved the golden ring from his pocket and inspected it in the faint twilight, the campfire catching the two small rubies that made up it's eyes. Though the band of it was small and it was far less striking compared to the ring she had given her lover along with her heart. "She hoped you would pass it to your son someday."
"That was stolen–" Dutch growled through gritted teeth as Josiah put the cigarette back in his mouth and squeezed his shoulder tightly, almost clawing at him as he pressed his fingers into the soft flesh beneath his clothes.
"The other one, then. The child you gave her to raise as her own. Take the goddamn ring. Sell it for drugs, lose it, toss it into a river–I don't care. But I will not carry it anymore. I have enough of her things to carry with me. I am overburdened too. I despise you, Dutch Van der Linde, and I always will," Trelawny dropped the ring onto Dutch's lap and removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling angrily, "however, I will still be of assistance to you, should the need arise. For her sake. And only because of her. Understand?"
A lion? Dutch looked down at the gold lion's head ring that Trelawny had been carrying and felt his eyes water a moment. Because we thought you were due during the season of Leo? Or…
'Because the lion is king of the jungle.' He couldn't feel her but he could still smell her perfume and hear her voice whispering to him from somewhere beyond himself.
Of course, you would remember something as stupid as that. You were sentimental, Belle.
'But you loved that about me, didn't you, Dutch?' She replied and he knew she was smirking at him.
He went to slide it on his ring finger and snorted, realizing she had done exactly as she had before with the other ring. My pinky, really? When the hell did you find time to measure the circumference of my digits, Belle? On the rare occasions when I would sleep, perhaps?
'I'm allowed to have my secrets…but probably.' She laughed, taunting him from the darkness of the forest as he slid it on his right hand. No, you chose this finger for a reason. The way you did with the first one. You remembered.
'It was sweet, seeing you look so relaxed but terrified when Issac reached for you and you let him grasp a hold of your little finger. You wouldn't shut the fuck up about it for days. A savage brute like you, becoming as gentle and docile as a lamb after you allowed yourself to wear my heart on your sleeves. Finally. You've always been gentle, Mr. Van der Linde, even if you don't believe it. But, you'll believe me, won't you?' Annabelle slunk out of the shadows and he caught sight of her dress swaying along the ground as she leaned against the tree behind him on the other side of where Trelawny was.
You lied to me, Belle. You promised you'd never leave and yet you did, and for what? Petty revenge. Because I tore apart Hamish O'Driscoll with Mr. Pearson's knife when he tried to force himself on you, while I stupidly left you unguarded. I should've woken John, sent him to collect peppermint for you instead of going myself. But, I was afraid he would mix up a simple goddamn herb for something that would've hurt you…or our son. He still can't tell the difference between Yarrow and Hemlock.
'You're a fool. He doesn't make mistakes because he's stupid, he makes mistakes so he can be close to his father. Don't lie to yourself, I know you know, but you can pretend all you like darling if that's what you really want.' Annabelle snickered, disappearing behind the tree again and leaving him back with Trelawny as his cigarette had burned itself out and he threw it away from himself.
"Perfectly. And thank you," Dutch began to fidget with the new ring again, rubbing his thumb over the surface of it, "for the medicine."
"Don't get used to it. We still have quite the journey ahead of us to reach Blackwater and I need you–No, your wife needs you to be capable of doing what needs to be done. So she can rest in peace. You didn't even mark her resting place, you asshole." Trelawny tossed his cigarette away bitterly and turned to walk away.
"Then mark it for us, when this is over. I'll even dig her grave up just so I can hold her in my arms again forever in death. She's buried at the base of the cliff in Cochinay. Right under the ridge where I made her my wife. Along with," he looked at the ring again and exhaled as he slid his hands away from himself, "our son."
—-
Yue Ming seemed nervous as he boarded the train with O'Shea, his dark eyes darting to every passenger seated in the car already. Of course, hopefully by the time that anyone found out he had been ousted by some slick talking Italian pedophile, Angelo Brontë, he would be long gone. He had certainly made a lot of enemies over the years as King of Saint Denis, though it had more to do with the fact he was Chinese than it did anything else. Men had tried and failed to kill him before, but it was easy to find men who looked like him, it's not like the white folk could tell him from some poor soul acting as his double.
"When we get to San Francisco–" O'Shea began but Ming shot him a dirty look and the Irishman knew his companion insisted he shut up immediately as they found their seats.
"If. Between Angelo Brontë hunting us, Catherine Braithwaite, The Lemoyne Raiders, O'Driscoll, and maybe even Trelawny at this point…I just hope we get there in one piece. Did you know they were related?" Ming mumbled, folding his arms and looking at the people mulling around the train station.
"I had no fucking clue, and I worked for her for years. I still can't believe that scheming little idiot is the reason we lost Saint Denis. You don't think he's got the balls to…" O'Shea's voice trailed off a bit as he rubbed his face with his hands. No, Trelawny wouldn't be man enough, the fucking creep. Josiah Trelawny was a menace, but he wasn't capable of executing them outright, though he probably wished he was the kind of man with the conviction to.
"Colm O'Driscoll said he wouldn't hurt her, he just wanted her…ugh, wretched bastard of a husband. I can't believe she married him. She threw away her seat at the table, her portion of Saint Denis, and her own life just to protect that piece of shit. It's not like we were the one's who stabbed Hamish O'Driscoll, fuck…how many times was it again?" Ming relaxed in his seat, closing his eyes as he tried to recall the story that Colm had told him all those years ago.
"Forty four times to be exact." A low whisper of a growl replied as Ming snapped his eyes open and he felt the cold steel of a knife on his throat and he gasped in shock. He raised his hands to either side of himself and exhaled, trying to calm himself down.
"Mr. Van der Linde, we were just talking about your wife." Ming gulped, seeing part of his chin in the reflection of the sharp blade held to his throat.
"I used this knife, actually," Dutch purred delightedly as Susan had boarded the train as well and quickly put a revolver down onto O'Shea's lap, pushing against his testicles and making the Irishman squirm a bit, "get up, both of you. Slowly, if you don't mind. I don't want to damage my good reputation, so if I were you two, I would come along quietly."
"Where are we going, Mr. Van der Linde?" Ming replied coldly as Dutch slid the knife back and stood up from his seat, leaning over the top of it and resting his forearms above Ming's head.
"I thought you fellas might want to indulge me in a little 'friendly' poker game," he smiled widely, but his eyes told a very different story from his facial expression, "for old times sake. To remember the good times we had together. I think Annabelle would like that very much, don't you?"
"Ming was the one, I swear. He's the one who sold you out to Colm O'Driscoll!" O'Shea winced as Susan really pushed the gunbarrel against his balls and he shuddered a bit as he felt Dutch put his hand on the top of the man's hat and shook his head a little.
"I don't give a fuck. Trelawny tells me you two offered him a seat at the high stakes table, laughing about what he did to her, like she was just a fucking naive whore because she chose to love me more than she loved power. Get. Up. Mr. O'Shea." Dutch let go of the man's hat and both Ming and O'Shea rose from their seats when they noticed Trelawny and Arthur standing up from some seats near the front to block their escape if they tried to run forward.
"Gentlemen." Trelawny tipped his hat to them with a smirk and a bow of his head, gesturing to the steps that lead off the train and back onto the platform.
—-
There were four chairs at the modest poker table that Dutch had set up in their hotel room, he shuffled the blue backed cards in his hands, smirking as he caught sight of the rings on his right fingers glinting in the soft fading sunlight that filtered in through the curtains. A cigar smoldered in the ashtray nearby, untouched for some time as Trelawny tapped his cigarette into the brass tray before moving it back to his mouth and puffing on it.
"Susan, darling, would you be a sweetheart and bring us that bottle of champagne, please?" Dutch chuckled, he didn't even have to look over at her as he heard her boots tapping along the floor as she crossed the room to the silver bucket and retrieved the bottle from the ice.
"How many glasses would you like, Dutch?" Susan asked, removing the metal cage that surrounded the cork and turning the bottle away from her face as she popped the cork off with her thumbs. It shot across the room, past where John was sitting with a rifle across his lap, his long black hair obscuring his eyes but his gaze was firmly fixed on Ming and O'Shea. He had never met them, but he fucking hated them, they were the reason she had been taken from them all. He couldn't wait to see what Dutch and Trelawny had planned.
"Five," He giggled delightedly as he stacked the deck back up and began to dispense cards, "and pull up a chair for Annabelle, in case she wants to crawl up from Hades and join us for the occasion."
"I'm sure we'll be reunited soon." Ming hissed as Dutch slid a second round of cards at him before setting the deck down and retrieving his cigar.
"Oh no, I'm going to take my fucking time with you two. The way Colm took his with Annabelle. I want you to beg me, the way I begged him to leave her be. Did he tell you, boys that she refused to beg for mercy," he laughed, taking a drag off his cigar as Susan come round with their glasses, "she told him he had a small dick when he was raping her. And, believe me, she wasn't wrong for saying so, after all, he made me watch."
"Mr. Van der Linde, I swear to you, I never intended to–" O'Shea began and Dutch snarled.
"Do you think I care what the hell you intended to happen? Her blood and our son's blood are on your goddamn HANDS!" He pushed away from the chair angrily, snarling and snapping while licking his teeth. I need to be patient, I promised Trelawny we would take our time.
"I KNOW! I'M SORRY!" O'Shea screamed back, shivering fearfully and cowering under the cold and callous gaze of Dutch Van der Linde, but that wasn't what he was afraid of. No, underneath that calculating expression, the Irishman could see his own death reflected back at him. It was like staring into Hell itself, those dark brown almost black eyes narrowing a bit before Dutch grinned widely like a mad man and sat back down. Pulling the chair with part of his spur back underneath him.
"You certainly like acting apologetic, Mr. O'Shea. But...if I recall correctly, I believe you were one who suggested to Mr. O'Driscoll that he should've cut the child out and brought it back as proof of what he did." Trelawny exhaled again, slowly snubbing out the cigarette as Dutch chewed on his cigar and raised an eyebrow.
"Did he really, now?" Dutch murmured delightedly, shifting the cigar in his mouth as O'Shea began to sweat and shakily lifted his cards to look at them.
"You son of a bitch." John cocked the rifle and pointed it at O'Shea who gulped in response and closed his eyes shut.
"Now son, let Daddy handle this." Dutch glanced over at John who snarled before lowering the rifle again.
"Son?" Ming looked over at John, leaving his cards flat on the table before looking back at Dutch, "He has his father's eyes."
"Little John over there," Dutch delicately rolled the ashes of the cigar along the lip of the ashtray and gestured with his thumb, "is more like his mother than he is like me. Now, he's not really ours, of course, by blood, anyway. But, I don't think that matters, do you? She was a kind, tender, loving, and loyal woman. She loved that boy just as much if not more than she ever loved me. Annabelle would've been an excellent mother. As fiercely protective of her cubs as a lioness."
He tapped his right pinky on the table, catching Ming's attention as the man leaned forward and folded his arms.
"Just get it over with, Mr. Van der Linde. O'Shea may be afraid of death, but I am not."
"Pick up your cards, Yue." Trelawny flipped over his own and let them sit face up on the table, angrily eying the man and snorting.
"No." Ming pushed them back at the two men across the table from him, defiant. "I know what I did was wrong. And yes, I delighted in hearing all about how Mr. O'Driscoll made you suffer. I was foolish to take a man like that at his word. Your wife was my friend, I betrayed her, and I am now reaping what I sowed all those years ago. You, Josiah, made sure I would be vulnerable, touchable and mortal. You helped Angelo Brontë gain power, influence, and handed him my fucking crown on a silver platter. Because you knew you didn't have the resolve to dispatch me yourself. And, you…"
He looked at Dutch as he leaned back in his hair and folded his arms behind his head to stretch for a moment. Smug and arrogant as always, aren't you, you little bastard...Dutch thought with a smirk.
"You ruined the Queen of Saint Denis. That woman had grace, elegance, charm, and intelligence. And she traded it for you. A fucking maggot. The only reason I didn't chase your sorry ass to New Austin was because she begged me not to. 'Yue, revenge is a luxury we can't afford'. I courted her, many times, but she wouldn't even look at me. That stallion you ride now? Was a gift I gave to a woman who would never love me no matter what luxuries I gave her. I offered her the world, but you," Ming snorted, "gave her nothing but filth, poverty, and desperation. Because you supposedly believed in 'true freedom'. I loved her, long after she decided to become your whore. You've developed a taste for refinement, haven't you? The rings, the champagne, the pocket watch she wore, and I've heard, opium as well."
"Bullshit. I may have used it, for medicinal reasons, for a while. But," Dutch rolled up his sleeves to show that he didn't have track marks on his arms, "I no longer need it."
"You can lie to them all you'd like about your little problem. My people run the opium trade for the most part, or did you think I wouldn't hear about it? I heard you held up a den a few years ago, after a dealer threw you out into the street, dead. Is Annabelle still as beautiful as she was back then? Before she undoubtedly dragged you back from Hells gates to exact your revenge on us?" Ming raised an eyebrow, but Dutch didn't move or flinch as they stared each other down.
"She is." He rested his forearm on the back of the empty chair beside him, though she hadn't appeared out of the corner of his vision the way she normally did. "If you loved her as much as you claim you did, then why, Mr. Ming, did you sell her out? Surely, Colm O'Driscoll had a reputation long before she wrote to you to ask you for your opinion on the man."
"Because I hate you more than I loved her. I was hoping he would get under your skin just enough to make you do something stupid. I'm only sorry she had to suffer the consequences of your arrogance. I'm glad, I get a chance to catch up to her, maybe she'll choose me this time, in the Underworld when we meet again." Ming grinned as Dutch retrieved the knife he had held to the man's throat earlier from its case. He had made it out of leather from her gloves and her teal blue dress, the one she liked to wear the most, and the lace from her old fan. Ming smirked as he watched Dutch slowly draw it out of the holster and slam its blade into the middle of the table before looking back up at Ming.
"I don't think so, Mr. Ming," He glanced over at Arthur and then John for a moment before returning his gaze to Yue, "hold him, would you boys?"
"What happened to patience, Mr. Van der Linde?" Trelawny mumbled, reaching for his cigarette case again as Dutch tore the knife out of the table and tested the sharpness of the knife against the palm of his right hand.
"Don't worry, Mr. Trelawny, I have a plan," Dutch set the knife back down into the hole he had stabbed into the table for a moment, "you know, Mr. Ming, Annabelle was a remarkable equestrian. I'm sure her father would've preferred a son, but he taught her a lot about horses and their upkeep. I bought a mustang once for myself, a wild little young stallion, as the faithful steed you so kindly gave her and I didn't exactly see eye to eye just yet. Byron, she named him. After the poet. She always liked literature too, naming her horses after characters or authors from the things she liked reading…or liked me reading to her."
His voice trailed off as Arthur and John stepped on either side of Ming and snatched his hands behind his back. Forcing him to stand up as they awaited Dutch's orders.
"Where are you going with this, Mr. Van der Linde? I have a woman to court in Hell." Ming chuckled, unbothered by the sheer strength the two men on either side of him were using to restrain him.
"Yes, I would like to know as well." Trelawny put a cigarette to his mouth and snapped the silver case shut. He eyed Dutch who began to giggle delightfully as he looked over at Trelawny again with a mischievous look in his eyes.
"As I was saying," he took a drag from his cigar and exhaled, "the one thing she didn't like to do was geld an animal. Luckily for her, my parents were farmers so…I had no reservations about it. Neither do my boys."
"Ah. I understand." Trelawny smirked, exhaling loudly and nodding with a chuckle. But Ming did not seem to understand, as he began to laugh, causing Arthur to sucker punch him in the back of the head.
"John, my son, as her only child," Dutch retrieved the knife from the table and wiggled it as he leaned back in his chair, "would you like to do the honors?"
The young man and Dutch stared at each other for a long while, and John realized the subtext. He's letting me get revenge for her, he almost teared up a bit as he let go of Ming and stepped around the table to take the knife from the boss. He quivered a bit, both nervous and excited, which he hated in that moment as he approached Dutch.
"Are you sure?" John whispered eagerly as he reached out to the handle of the knife, he looked up from it at Dutch who nodded approvingly as the young man took it from him.
"I am. Do you know where to make the cut, son? Or would you like a little fatherly guidance?" Dutch took one last drag off his cigar before crushing it into the ashtray and exhaling smoke through his nose and mouth as he spoke.
"Can you hold him for me, Arthur?" John turned back to look at the older man who looked down at Ming and then back up at John.
"We really ought to do it right," Arthur looked over at Dutch, "we had to tie Byron up after Annabelle got him to lay down of his own accord, remember? And she ain't here to convince our friend here to lay down and accept what's coming to him."
"True," Dutch mumbled as he rose from his seat and began to unbutton his vest, removing it before rolling his sleeves up over his elbows, "but, I am still here, Arthur. And I would very much like to hold him down with you while your brother, little John, takes his balls from him."
"Ah, need to make sure I won't be able to fuck your wife when I see her again in Hell? How romantic." Ming laughed as Dutch slid past John and grabbed him by the braid, as he and Arthur lifted him onto the poker table. O'Shea attempted to flee, but Trelawny caught his foot and sent the man crashing to the floor. The thin Englishman moved with grace, almost elegantly as his cattleman revolver seemed to appear in his hands and he wrapped himself around O'Shea. Pinning him to the ground and sticking the barrel of his gun against the squirming and frightened man as he had him in a rear choke hold now.
"Where do you think you're going, Mr. O'Shea? This reunion is just getting started!" Trelawny's eyes had a wild look that Dutch had never seen before as he and Arthur flipped Ming over onto his back and pinned down an arm and leg each.
Susan stepped forward, the champagne bottle in her hand as she took a long swig off of it and set it down on the table. She placed her arm around Dutch's waist, carefully caressing him as she moved past him and leaned down to glare at Ming who was howling with laughter now.
"Let me, sweetheart. I know a thing or two about getting a man undressed, after all." Susan murmured, her eyes never leaving Ming who continued to howl with laughter. Dutch nodded and she went to remove Ming's flowy baggy pants, slowly, almost seductively even.
"John, that knife is very sharp." Dutch glanced at the young man who swallowed loudly as Susan pulled the pants down to Ming's ankles, stepping away and over towards Trelawny. She was soft in her movement, like a dancer, as she whisked past the two men on the floor and reached back for Ming's dick. She tugged it, violently towards her, making him squint in pain for a moment as her nails dug into it. But Ming knew it was so the young man didn't miss the mark when it came to gelding him and not for pleasurable reasons.
"What was it like to fuck her, Dutch?" Ming chuckled as John stepped in between his father and his half brother, placing the blade of the knife against the man's testicles. Ready to do exactly what Dutch wanted him to, and John, well he understood the subtext of the comment about the fierce edge of the blade. And he was going to make sure Ming suffered like the animal he was, even if in that moment, he felt no different. His father had given him his blessing, and he wasn't going to fail Dutch again. Never, again.
"Warm. Wet. And eager." he glanced down at Ming a moment, "For me, and only...me."
John pressed the blade against the loose skin, the sharpness of it felt like if he wanted to, he could take this man's testicles like a hot knife through butter. He pulled back a moment as a thin line of blood began to run from the place he had pressed it a moment ago.
"It's a very sharp knife, sir." John took his free hand to tug Ming's testicles down as he placed the knife against them again. In other words, 'I understand what you want me to do'.
"Take all the time you need, John." Dutch snorted as John began to slowly work the knife back and forth, pausing every so often to glare down at Ming. Yes, son. Show me what you're capable of.
Ming screamed, but only O'Shea seemed to able to hear it, the entire room seemed quiet to Dutch now. To the others as well. John paused, pulling the bloody blade away and inspecting it quietly. He's been playing the fool but that boy is just as clever as I am, maybe even more so.
'Darling,' Annabelle whispered in his ear as she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. 'Of course he's clever, he's our son. It's rather generous of you to let him be the one to do it. I told you that you were a good father, but you never believed me, did you?'
John repeated the slow but deliberate cuts until the man's testicles dropped to the ground at his feet. Dutch glanced over, seeing Annabelle's profile as he did so to look at the young man who had begun panting.
"You did good, son. I'm proud of you, John." He looked over at Arthur and nodded as they let Ming go and the man writhed out of Susan's grasp to hold the profuse bleeding spot between his legs. "Susan, we ought to cauterize it. Wouldn't want Ming to bleed to death, now would we?"
"I had a feeling you might need a hot iron." She turned towards the fireplace in their hotel room, wiping her hands on her dress for a moment as she retrieved the dustpan for ashes from where it had been resting inside the fireplace. It practically sizzled as it glowed bright orange and red, and Dutch and Arthur wrapped Ming up tight again as he continued screaming and sobbing.
"I HAVE NO REGRETS ABOUT BETRAYING YOU DUTCH VAN DER LINDE!" Ming roared, glaring up at him as he pinned him back down to the poker table. Spitting in his face and causing Dutch to snarl as he felt it land between his eyes but he didn't brush it away.
"You betrayed her, you fucking idiot. I could give a rat's ass about you or what you think you did to me. You are the reason she died, asshole. Did you really think I wasn't going to plan this thoroughly? I have a lot more in store for you, Ming. Just be patient. Colm O'Driscoll is a bastard through and through, but me? I'm a goddamn savage." Dutch grinned, pressing his elbow into the man's armpit causing him to snarl and try to fight him and Arthur now as they tried to not slip in the blood at their feet. "Best do it now, my dear."
"It would be my pleasure." Susan hissed, placing the flat side of the dustpan down between Ming's legs as she loomed over him from the other side of the table. Whether she was actually hitting the space where his balls had been or his cock, or both, it didn't matter to her. She was my sister, Susan thought angrily as the man roared, she could smell his flesh burning and sticking to the hot surface as she pulled it back and turned it over to put it on him again.
Ming screamed again, passing out this time as Susan removed the iron and swung it over her shoulder and tossed it down at Trelawny and O'Shea. It was covered in enough of Ming's flesh that she didn't care if they burned a hole in the floor with it or not. She gagged a moment as she smelled the burning skin and tissue and stepped away to open a window, turning to the record player beside her and cranking it for a moment before moving the needle onto the black disc. We'll need a way to drown out the screams now that the window is wide open, she thought as the record crackled and a man singing in Italian belted out a melancholy tune. Opera, of course, you always did like the theater didn't you Dutch? Because it reminded you of home.
"Oh fuck, please, I beg you Mr. Van der Linde! I'm sorry! I'll give you anything you want! My family…MY FAMILY IS WEALTHY! I can write to my sister Molly and—"
"Mr. O'Shea, unless your sister has a cunt warmer, wetter, and hungrier than Annabelle's…you will shut the fuck up. I begged too. I fucking pleaded with Colm for Annabelle. How dare you try to do the same with your miserable, shit stained, cowardly and vile existence. Like I give a damn. Where was your goddamn compassion when you suggested to Mr. O'Driscoll that he should've cut my wife open and used my unborn son's corpse as a trophy as proof of his victory over me?" Dutch snarled as he let go of the unconscious Ming, nearly slipping in the man's blood pooled on the floor as he kicked the poker table over and out of the way. He wiped the spit from his face with a growl, exhaling loudly through his nose as he chewed his lip furiously.
"Mr. Van der Linde, I just had a terrible idea. Would you like to hear it?" Josiah smiled, still pinning O'Shea to the floor as he rolled over into a better position on the man's back.
"I'm listening." Dutch huffed, pushing his black button up shirt down into his waistband. Ah, you want to help me fund the retirement account, is that it, Josiah? Safeguarding the family that your darling cousin in law created for me from mere pawns on the board?
"You said your family was wealthy, Mr. O'Shea? How wealthy are we talking about? Are you little potato eating maggots really just like me, perhaps? English through and through?" Trelawny cackled as O'Shea whimpered beneath him. I thought so, Dutch snickered for a moment, picking at his chin with his right hand.
"We've got cousins who are Barons. On our mother's side! You have to write to her, to my sister and ask for a ransom! Just…don't kill me, Mr. Van der Linde!" O'Shea cried, trying to lift his head to look at Dutch but Trelawny slammed the butt of his revolver against the back of the man's skull. He cried out, unable to clutch his head as Trelawny smacked him again, panting.
Dutch could feel the effects of the opium and alcohol mixture he had this morning begin to fade as his stomach wrenched tightly and he tried to hide his snarl of discomfort behind his hand. Not now, he thought to himself bitterly as he realized the tips of his fingers were trembling though it was barely noticeable except to Susan and Trelawny perhaps.
'Rest, beloved. Take a break.' Annabelle muttered back.
"I'd start writing if I were you, Mr. O'Shea. Boys," Dutch turned to look at John and Arthur, "keep our friends comfortable. Josiah and I are going to pop down to the lobby and have a drink." Liar, you're starting to become agitated again, and Josiah has been providing you with minor doses so you don't die from withdrawals. You can't even handle a simple task like this without fiending for that bullshit. You weak, pathetic, miserable, piece of shit…she would be horrified if she could see you now. Writhing like a little maggot in the fucking dirt and shit.
"Is it that time already?" Josiah asked as he pushed O'Shea away from him and went to stand up, putting his revolver into his jacket and brushing himself off.
"Dutch—" Susan began but he silenced her with a look. Don't you fucking start, I know goddamn it, I know. But I will absolutely lose it if I don't get laudanum, right now. Don't you breathe a word to my boys about this. Don't you fucking betray me, Sue. She already did when she lied to me, just to die in my fucking arms after bullshitting me that we were going to make it. She left me here, alone, and I hate it.
"It's alright, Miss Grimshaw, it's just one drink. To soothe the savage beast." Trelawny gestured for the door and Dutch smoothed back his hair with his bloody hands. Just a little. That's all I need. And then I'll be okay.
'Will you really though, my love?' Annabelle whispered to him from outside the door. Out of reach like she always was these days.
Let's hope so, beloved. For the sake of our boy. Your only son.