It was deep in the night, the cicadas singing in the background as Rosalie stood at the edge of camp. She wore her black trousers and button-up, her blonde curls tied back into a thick plait under her father's hat. With shaky fingers, she brought a smoking cigarette to her lips for a slow drag. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared into the distance. The clearing was silent as she stood alone. Everyone else had gone to bed already.
Tonight they would intercept Colm and Cormac O'Driscoll at Lake Catherine. Forswood had been dealt with. The letter they wrote up had already been delivered to the snake, and he was sure to be waiting for them to make a move on the O'Driscoll brothers in fear of losing his own life.
Giving him that letter may have given away the element of surprise if he warned them, but Rosalie didn't care. Even if the brothers knew they were coming, they wouldn't hide away in fear. Not Cormac O'Drisocll. That man who shot her uncle out of anger over a poker game was not one to cower away into his hole.
Rosalie was ready to put an end to this. She wanted to end it all, and deliver justice where it was rightfully deserved.
While everyone else was resting before they left, she couldn't sleep. How could she, when the moment she had been waiting for was just hours away? Finally, she would be able to deliver an end to Cormac for taking her father's and uncle's life. He had taken the last and only people she had ever called family. Ripped them from her grasp and left her sacred and alone like a cowardly animal.
Cormac would pay the price for that with his life.
Rosalie wanted him to see her eyes when he died. Cormac would look upon her with fear as she raised her gun and pulled the trigger, sealing his fate with her bullet. He would realize he was taking his last breath and know that every extra gulp of air he had before this moment was because of Rosalie. He needed to understand that the only reason he was alive and breathing was because she had allowed it, and the reason he would take his last breath was because she took it from him.
She wanted him to feel the fear her uncle did before he was shot, and the pain her father did as he bled to his death from his wounds. She would not make his death a painless one. It would be slow, and she would make sure of it.
The sleepless nights plagued by nightmares had gone on too long, images of her father's pain-ridden eyes as she laid him in the dirt outside of the saloon, the fires roaring high above as she begged him to stay with her. Her uncle's bloodied skull and limp body laying in the poker chair, Cormac's grinning face lingering behind him as he held his smoking gun. She wanted it to go away, and it would. It had to. When Cormac was dealt with, she would have some semblance of peace again.
Rosalie knew she would never have her father and uncle again. She would never hear her father play his guitar, and she would never hear her uncle mutter to himself by the fire as he thought of their next whirlwind scheme. She would never rest her head on her father's lap as he read. She would never hear her uncle's deep snores in the late morning. There would never be a moment shared between them again. Rosalie knew that.
Rosalie also knew that Cormac would pay the price for that loss with his life.
She wanted him to feel the fear and helplessness she had felt when she lost her family. She wanted him to understand that his death was not just an act of revenge, but a necessary act of justice. Rosalie would be the last thing he saw, and her face would haunt him in his final moments, just as his actions had haunted her for months.
"Can't sleep?" Dutch asked, coming to stand by her.
He was also dressed and not in his night clothes. He wore a faraway expression as he stood beside her and looked out into the distance, his arms folded across his chest.
"No," Rosalie said. "But what's new about that?"
Dutch frowned. "I don't sleep much either." He turned his head to look at her. "But I reckon that'll change after tonight."
"It will," Rosalie said firmly, the corner of her mouth twisting as the image of her firing her gun at Cormac flashed in her mind. She raised the cigarette to her lips with shaky fingers and took another drag. "It will."
There was silence.
"I lost Anabelle about a year ago," Dutch began, his gaze far away again. "I've been with many women, but nothin' had ever compared to her. I was… sweet on that woman like no other. She had me wrapped around her finger n' she knew it."
Rosalie turned to look at him in surprise, her arms folded and the smoking cigarette hanging between her fingers.
She hadn't heard him speak about her before, or name her, but she knew the reason Dutch was after Colm was because he murdered a woman he loved. She didn't know under what circumstances, or how she was killed, but she knew Dutch loved Anabelle.
It was odd that Dutch was still trying to avenge this woman that he loved but had… taken on Susan as a romantic partner lately, but who was Rosalie to judge on that? Maybe he just needed someone to keep him company while his heart was in pain.
Rosalie knew well enough what it was like to have a broken heart.
Dutch's face turned hard. "When Colm killed her, I thought I was goin' mad. I was filled with rage. I still am. I see her bloody, battered body from what he had done to her in my dreams; it's as though I'm pulled back into the moment all over again. I relive it over n' over… I don't think I'll ever heal from the loss, but… I know for certain that justice needs to be delivered to those who deserve it."
He paused.
"And we, my dear, will serve it rightfully so."
Dutch looked at her, meeting Rosalie's gaze. The shadows swirled around him in the night as he looked at her, a certain unrestrained hunger in him as he spoke.
"No one else will do what needs to be done, so we have to do it ourselves. I think you and I are much alike in that sense. We know when injustices occur, and we both feel as though we must act on them. No one else sees things for what they are, but I do. I know it. I know you know it. And… I know both those treacherous O'Driscoll brothers need to be rightfully punished for the pain they have inflicted upon us." He said.
With his jaw clenched, he nodded slowly. "And they will. They will be rightfully punished. You and I will make sure of it. Both of them will have to pay their dues. Tonight."
Rosalie's mouth twisted again, the cigarette between her fingers smoking idly.
Dutch was right.
They both would deliver justice. No one else was capable of getting rid of them. Or maybe they just didn't care.
The others were not as motivated to end the O'Driscoll brothers as she and Dutch were, and maybe that was because they were not as closely affected by the deaths they caused—but the truth of the matter was that both Rosalie and Dutch would ensure Colm and Cormac paid with their lives for what they had taken.
Some hours later, Rosalie still plagued by her lack of sleep, the group rode to the docks off of Lake Catherine. It was quiet. Similar to how they came across the O'Driscolls before at the other port, they left their horses in the trees and crept onto the docks, their boots thumping quietly against the boards as they moved in silence.
Adrenaline coursed through Roslaie's veins. Her shaky hand lingered on the handle of her revolver as they moved cautiously, eyes scanning the various piers for any sign of someone bringing goods in off boats.
The waves sloshed against the wooden foundation of the docks. Seagulls cawed in the distance. It was eerily quiet. The fog was thick, and so was the darkness, the moon and kerosene lamps from the nearby warehouse giving little light to the docks.
Rosalie's heart was in her throat as she tried to calm her nerves, but she needed to be done with this. She wouldn't lose Cormac again. Not when she had spent the last few months on this wild goose chase to catch him. She needed him now.
Lake Catherine was the perfect place for the O'Driscolls to bring in smuggled goods from the Caribbean. Coming in from the waters of the Gulf Coast, Lake Catherine was a small body of water with a refined pier that would make the law overlook such a place.
Good thing the man at the garden party had been such a loudmouth.
Rosalie, John, Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch all crowded behind a tower of crates. They peered around the sides to see if they could spot anything. It was nearly impossible though, with the thick fogs and lack of flight. Hitting a target accurately in this weather would be difficult.
"There," Dutch whispered, nodding toward a large riverboat coming in from the waters in the distance, the fog covering the boat like a large blanket.
From around the warehouse walked two men, a group dressed in black following them with rifles in a neat fashion. Rosalie tensed, her gaze narrowing on the two at the front leading the pack.
"Let me get a look at em'," Arthur muttered from beside her. He fished out his binoculars to peer in their direction.
Rosalie did the same, tugging her new rolling block off her shoulder and lifting it to peer down the scope. As soon as she peered through the scope, her mouth twitched in recognition at the sight of Cormac O'Driscoll.
He was as ugly as the first day she saw him, a sneer on his face as he spoke to who Rosalie could only assume was his brother, Colm. A shiny black rodeo hat sat on his head and kept his brown mullet tamed as he trailed across the docks side by side with Colm.
"That's them," Rosalie muttered with disgust.
"Mhm," Arthur said in agreement.
Hosea looked to Dutch. "You got any ideas?"
John grimaced and rocked on his haunches, nervously playing with his gun holster. Arthur patted him on the shoulder in reassurance as Rosalie kept her gaze narrowed down the scope of her rifle. Her gaze remained locked on Cormac.
Rosalie wouldn't lose sight of him. Not even for a second. Not when he was so close within her grasp.
Colm and Cormac trailed over to the boat floating toward the pier. The group of O'Driscolls behind them gestured for the boat to stop, then helped it slide into place and situated the gangway to start unloading the smuggled rum and tobacco. Colm and Cormac stood by themselves outside the boat, with only a few of their O'Driscoll posse staying behind as the rest moved up the long ramp to unload.
Dutch shook his head. "I ain't got no plan… other than we have ourselves a good old-fashioned shootout, boys." He glanced at Rosalie. "And lady."
Rosalie didn't need to be told twice. Her scope still narrowed in on Cormac, she pulled the trigger and fired at him.
As if he had a sixth sense, Cormac ducked, the bullet just barely whizzing past him and flinging the black rodeo hat off his head. He drew his revolver and looked around wildly. Colm did the same, barking orders at the O'Driscolls who had begun to unload the boat. The brothers and their men dove and took cover behind crates and stray buildings on the other side of the port.
There was a split second of silence before bullets began flying in their direction. The shots pinged off the metal railing and shattered kerosene lamps. Shouts and calls of provocation came from the O'Driscolls across the way followed by hasty laughter or cries of pain.
Rosalie winced and ducked behind the crate. She covered her face as a stray bullet bounced off the nearby railing, nearly missing her.
Too damn close.
"I didn't say to fire now!" Dutch yelled, looking over at Rosalie with wild eyes.
Rosalie let out a shout of rage, angry that Dutch was frustrated with her, but most of all because somehow Cormac had known she shot at him. She missed her chance!
"You said we were gonna have a shootout, so I shot at him!" Rosalie barked, trying to ignore the hot anger coursing through her.
"It's too late now!" Arthur called. He pulled the rifle off his shoulder and pointed it over the crates. He fired at the men in the distance, the gun kicking back against his shoulder as he pulled the trigger with a grunt.
Dutch looked at Rosalie, absolutely enraged, but before he could say anything, Hosea shook his head and scoffed, giving his friend a look not to push anymore. Hosea fired his rifle at a peaking O'Driscoll behind their cover and sent the man to his knees.
John cried out and covered his face as another bullet came too close. He unholstered his revolver and fired in the O'Driscoll's direction with grit teeth. Fearful sweat lined his brow in the dim light.
There was a fury of sounds as bullets flew between them and the O'Driscolls. Chaos surrounded them. There wasn't a moment of peace as the bullets seemed to rain in every direction. It wasn't looking great. Cormac had thrown a wrench in their plan.
"It's fine! It's fine!" Dutch shouted, shaking his head wildly as he shot his revolver over the crates.
While he was angry about Rosalie being a loose cannon, he had enough common sense to know now was not the time to fight with one another.
His eyes skimmed the port and took notice of the distance between them and their targets. "We gotta push in on em'! We ain't gonna do much damage from back here!" He called, his eyes skirting over their surroundings before returning to the group.
"Rosalie, Arthur, go! John, Hosea, you're with me!" Dutch shouted.
He glanced over the top of the crates and flinched back as another bullet was fired, just narrowly missing him. Not wasting another second, he shared a look with John and Hosea, before he darted out from around their cover and pushed forward. He fired his gun as he ran, before taking shelter behind a stack of wooden boats up ahead.
"Let's go!" Rosalie called to Arthur as she also darted out from behind the crates.
Arthur was hot on her trail as she ran, firing his rifle at the O'Driscolls letting off bullets. Rosalie slid behind a stack of barrels and fired her rifle at two men peeking around a metal building in the distance. She placed a shot in the chest of one and between the eyes of another. They both crumpled to the ground, dead.
Rosalie continued to fire into the distance at any peeking O'Driscoll in her line of sight, ducking underneath stray bullets and watching for glimmers of the light from shiny revolvers. It was chaos.
Dutch was right. They needed to pick off the O'Driscolls and push in on them. But even with knowing this, her impatient gaze darted to every crevice and every face, searching for Cormac.
Rosalie really didn't give a damn about these other O'Driscolls. She wanted him.
Arthur grit his teeth and fired his rifle, following her lead in picking off as many O'Driscolls as he could see from beside her.
"There's more of em'! I ain't know where they came from, but they keep floodin' in!" He shouted over the wild sound of bullets and cries of people dying.
Dutch, Hosea, and John continued to push up on them. They sprinted from behind their previous hiding spot and took cover behind large lamp posts, boats, and crates.
"Where's Cormac?" Rosalie shouted, disregarding that Arthur had said anything about the mass number of O'Driscolls firing at them around the docks.
Arthur gave her a bewildered look. "I know you want Cormac, but we got a bigger problem right now!"
The wild gunfire and the sound of pinging bullets multiplied. Rosalie gasped as she ducked behind the barrels as a bullet bounced off a nearby iron lamp.
Hosea shouted from up ahead behind a stack of crates. "They're shooting from atop the boat! Three of em'!"
Rosalie squinted in the distance at the tiny, black figures on the boat's upper deck firing down on them. She lifted her rolling block and peered down the scope, her mouth twisting in anticipation as she fired at the first one she saw.
Her bullet landed true, even with the dimness of the dock only lit by the moonlight and scattered lamps. With her shot, the O'Driscoll cried out and crumpled over the railing. He hit the boat deck with a thump.
She turned her sights to the next one and fired. The bullet hit him in the chest and he crumpled to his knees. Adrenaline surged through her veins, her heart thumping against her chest as she turned her attention to the final man and pulled the trigger, the gun kicking back against her shoulder as she watched the man tumble over the railing and fall into the water.
Arthur fired his rifle at another man, killing him, and shot her a sideways look. "When did you get to be such a good shot?" He asked.
Rosalie couldn't help her smirk. "Don't act so surprised now."
There was a shout. Rosalie's gaze darted to the far side of the dock near the warehouse. Cormac O'Driscoll had shown himself, his appearance disheveled as he held John in his arms, revolver pointed at the boy's head.
"Shoot at me, I fuckin' dare you!" Cormac threatened, his eyes wide and wild as he slowly backed up with John in his arms, dragging the boy with him across the barren dock where the shots had died down.
"Shit, he's got John!" Arthur grit out, his fingers tightening around his revolver.
Rosalie's heart pounded at the sight of John's fearful face. His fingers dug into Cormac's bare arm, the man's black shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket discarded and torn up near the boat.
There was no sign of Colm anywhere. It was safe to say he was either in hiding or had run off without his brother. It was a snake act, to leave his brother out in the open like that to save his own skin, but it wasn't as though Rosalie was surprised.
Rosalie raised her rifle and looked down at the sight, her gaze narrowing in on Cormac's wild face. The lines in his leathery skin, scars, and rugged stubble were reminiscent of the day he killed her father and uncle. Nothing about him had changed, including the murderous, animalistic look in his eyes. Her hands became slick with sweat. Heat pooled in her chest as she was overcome with burning anger and nausea. She was hot all over.
She could take her shot now. She could pull the trigger and blow the son of a bitches face off; but it didn't… it didn't feel like enough. She needed him to see the look in her eyes as he died. This wasn't enough. She needed more.
Rosalie lowered her rifle and narrowed her gaze on the man slinking toward the warehouse as he looked around widely.
"Why didn't you shoot him?!" Arthur cried. He looked at her as though she was crazy.
Rosalie ignored him and got to her feet, raising her rifle against her shoulder again as she exposed herself to him, the gun trained on Cormac.
"Hey!" She called.
Cormac looked at her, his eyes wild and confused at the sight of her. He clenched his jaw and readjusted his grip on John, pulling him tighter against his chest and pressing the barrel of the gun against his head. John grit his teeth and heaved, looking at Rosalie in fear.
"The hell you doin'?!" Cormac shouted. "You wanna get your friend shot, bitch?!"
Hosea and Dutch, hiding a few yards ahead behind crates, looked at her in horror.
"Get down!" Dutch shouted at Rosalie. "What in God's name are you doin'?!"
Rosalie ignored him and grit her teeth, red hot anger flooding her at the sudden image of her father and uncle's dead body flashing in her mind. Her fingers still slick with sweat readjusted the rifle against her shoulder.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Rosalie shouted, her gun still trained on him.
Cormac was flabbergasted at her declaration. He sputtered for a moment, before laughing slowly. It was a slow chuckle, before he descended into a mad sort of laughter, tossing his head back with the barrel of the gun still pressed against John's skull.
Cormac thought it was a joke. He assumed this job had just become a little interesting and deemed Rosalie a small threat to be swatted away like an annoying nat. He wasn't taking any of this seriously.
It made her so, so angry.
He laughed just like that before he killed her father. Cackling when he put a bullet through her uncle's skull over a bad game of poker. He laughed, throwing his head back and howling, just like that, before he tore away everything she had ever loved… taking away everything she could call hers.
John looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, silently begging her to help him.
Cormac shook his head with a breathy laugh, before looking at her with a half-lidded gaze. "You're an interestin' little thing. I like that. A fun little game for me to play.." He gave her a crooked grin, the sight sending a nauseating feeling through her stomach.
He suddenly fired at the kerosene lamp beside her and Arthur, then at the one on the opposite side of the dock near Hosea and Dutch.
The bullets shattered the glass and the lamp exploded in a burst of flame. Rosalie gasped, crying out as Arthur grabbed her and hurriedly darted out of the range of the hungry, orange fire. They rushed forward, Arthur guiding her as the flames rapidly spread, consuming the dock and random cargo boxes.
"Shit, where did Dutch n' Hosea go?" Arthur shouted, holding Rosalie against his chest as he looked around wildly for the two men.
Rosalie wasn't paying attention to what Arthur asked or where the others had gone. Her gaze was locked on Cormac dragging John into the warehouse in the distance, the fire nearing the building with creeping, orange flames.
"Hey!" Arthur shouted, shaking her and flipping her to face him. "Are you listenin' to me?!"
The fire roared behind him, devouring anything wood in its path, objects splintering and groaning under the intense heat. It was hot, the fire making the sweat gather at her brow. The light illuminated Arthur's face in the darkness as he looked at Rosalie, holding her by the shoulders.
"I have to go," Rosalie said plainly, her eyes scanning his face. She wanted to remember every detail, just in case something were to happen.
"What?!" He said, shouting over the sounds of panicking O'Driscolls and the fire eating at the objects around him. "We gotta find the others–!"
Rosalie tugged herself out of Arthur's grip and took off toward the warehouse. Arthur shouted after her, his neck snapping in her direction as his brain fought to keep up. It didn't take more than a moment to react; then he was hot on her heels.
"Shit! What the hell are you doin'?!" Arthur yelled, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames.
Rosalie ignored him, focusing solely on the burning warehouse ahead. She sprinted through the chaos, dodging falling debris and leaping over flaming obstacles. Arthur followed her into the building, the fire already starting to consume the far side. The orange flames crawled up the walls, threatening to engulf the entire structure.
They wouldn't have much time before the place was reduced to ashes. They needed to find John fast if they had any hope of getting out alive.
Inside, the warehouse was a hellish inferno. Clusters of tall wooden crates littered the room, leaving little space throughout the area, and providing plenty of fuel for the fire. Flames licked at the wooden beams at the far corner, and thick smoke filled the air, making it difficult to see and breathe.
Rosalie heaved, her eyes wide as she took in the bright fire and the heat of the building. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she began to feel a strange sensation of fear she had never encountered before. The smells, the sounds…
She suddenly wasn't in the warehouse at the docks, but at a saloon in Iowa.
Rosalie could hear his voice. Her father talking to her, begging her not to let him die. He was pleading with her for his life, his desperate whimpers and cries of pain as she pulled him out of the saloon echoing through her mind.
It was as though he was here, somewhere beneath the rubble begging her to take him to safety. Crying, begging, and pleading for her to do something. Anything.
Rosalie stumbled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her chest tightened, and she felt like she was suffocating. The weight of the memory was crushing her, making it hard to focus on anything around her. It felt like the room was spinning.
"John! Where are ya'?!" Arthur shouted, his voice strained as he coughed from the smoke and stormed into the building behind her.
Rosalie shook her head and did her best to breathe deeply through the smoke. She could feel how disoriented she was becoming from the smothering lack of oxygen.
She needed to focus. Where was John, and more importantly, where was Cormac?
Her eyes darted around the building filled with smoke. Pieces of the structure came apart, the ceiling caving in on the far corner where the fire had just begun to spread from outside.
"You fuckin' asshole!" Came a gruff voice from outside the building, followed by a thump from above.
Rosalie furrowed her brows in confusion, her lips parting as she turned her gaze toward the source of the sound. Her eyes followed a trail of stairs on the opposite side of the warehouse that led to an upper level outside the building.
They had to be up there.
Arthur coughed and held his elbow to his mouth, watery eyes scanning the room as he tried to spot Rosalie in the crowded warehouse filled with thick smoke. "Rosalie?! John?!" He shouted, running around the crates for any sign of them.
Rosalie took off toward the stairs, coughing and waving her hand in front of her face as she ran up the flight, her other hand guiding her up the metal railing. Once she reached the top, she threw open the door, gasping at the fresh air filling her lungs, though it was still muddy with ash and fumes of the burning debris.
She stood on a catwalk, the air hot as the dock burned around her, the fire roaring as it destroyed the far side of the building. Sweat lined her brow and greased her face, her hair sticking to her forehead as she turned to the end of the catwalk, her gaze narrowing at the sight of Cormac pinning a struggling John to his chest. He held the barrel of his revolver to John's skull, deep, bloody claw marks lining Cormac's arms from John's struggle.
Rosalie raised her rolling block and pointed it at Cormac, her jaw set as her heart pounded in her chest. "Let him go, you son of a bitch!" She screamed over the raging fire.
Cormac looked over at her with wild eyes, only now noticing her presence. He grinned menacingly. "You're mighty crazy miss, followin' me up here! You tryna' play the hero to save the boy?!"
Rosalie huffed, her gaze flicking to John's fearful expression. His eyes were blown wide, a bruise blooming on his cheek as he continued his weak attempt at fighting back against Cormac. Not that Cormac wasn't facing any pain, the deep bloody gashes in his arm looking as though he got into a fight with a feral cat. Though she knew it was from John.
Rosalie's face hardened as she turned her attention back to Cormac. "I'm gonna kill you!"
Cormac snorted, unbothered. "Why you so stuck on killin' me?! I know you ain't the first, but shit, you got balls chasin' me up here jus' to put a bullet in my head! You jus' want the reputation of takin' me out, is that it?!"
The catwalk groaned, the fire melting the metal keeping it attached to the building. It was hot. Sweltering even as she tried to regain her composure, the rifle slippery with sweat in her hands as she kept her gaze trained on Cormac.
They didn't have a lot of time. She needed to get them out of there before the catwalk collapsed.
"I needed you to look me in the eyes when I killed you!" Rosalie called, her heart pounding against her ribcage. "I needed you to know that I was the one who did it! That I was the one who fuckin' killed you!"
Cormac's gaze narrowed, the gears turning in his head as he skimmed her face. Then, he laughed, that same, eery, manic laugh that he let out the day he shot her father and uncle. He tightened his grip on John and pressed the barrel against his head with more force.
"I know you now! You're here to avenge those poker-playing assholes, ain't you?!" Cormac laughed, shaking his head as though this was all some funny story coming full circle. "I don't believe my eyes! You came here for revenge, that it?!" He howled with laughter.
John grunted in Cormac's grip, his expression twisting as Cormac laughed with glee.
"Shut the fuck up!" Rosalie screamed. She breathed heavily as she adjusted the rifle against her shoulder, the metal strap clinking against the barrel.
Red hot anger, reminiscent of the fire roaring around them, burned inside her as she watched this man laugh about taking everything from her. That her pain and punishment was funny.
The catwalk groaned again, when it suddenly dropped a few feet, the metal ringing as it held on by its last leg before plugging into the fire roaring beneath them.
Rosalie cried out as she was thrown to the side, the metal railing slamming into her ribcage and hips, sure to leave bruising later. Cormac grunted as he stumbled, but was careful to maintain his grip on John, the gun pointed at his head still.
Rosalie grabbed onto the railing to regain her balance. She kept her hand wound around the rifle as if it were her lifeline, refusing to let it tumble into the sweltering orange flames below.
Rosalie was quick to gather her footing and place the rifle against her shoulder again. She fired a shot into Cormac's shoulder, the bullet flying past John's ear and slamming into the man holding him hostage. Cormac let out a shrill cry at the wound and lost his footing.
"You killed my Daddy, my Uncle, the only family I ever fuckin' knew!" Rosalie screamed with rage.
John suddenly clamped his teeth down on the bloody, taught skin of Cormac's arm. Cormac howled in pain and let him go. John fell to his knees at the sudden action.
Rosalie took her chance and fired again, and again, and again, no thoughts running through her mind as she placed bullet after bullet in his chest. She had every intention of making this man look like Swiss cheese. She wanted him to feel the pain of every single shot, of every single bullet, of every single puncture as she took his last breath.
Cormac coughed, blood dribbling down his chin as he looked down at his front. Blood was everywhere, all over his clothes, and dribbling down to the catwalk beneath him.
He slowly looked up, blinking at the sight of Rosalie's narrowed gaze beneath her hat, her rifle pressed to her shoulder. There was a coldness in her eyes as she stared at him. One that was not filled with the red, hot rage of before, but of cold calculation and satisfaction.
That was the last thing he saw before he crumpled.
John scrambled to his feet and darted over to Rosalie. He grabbed onto her arm, fear in his eyes. He didn't say anything, merely trembling as he held onto her and looked over at Cormac, the fire burning around them.
Arthur stormed up the stairs and threw open the door. He coughed, holding his arm over his face. "What are ya' doin'?! We gotta go! Lawmen are on their way!" He called, looking at Rosalie and John, before glancing to the end of the catwalk to Cormac's bloody body.
"Is that…?" He asked slowly, glancing at Rosalie.
Rosalie ignored him and walked across the catwalk. She stared down at his bloody, pathetic body, a coldness in her chest as she looked at his vacant eyes. Her gaze caught the glimmer of something in his pocket. She reached down and fished out a silver pocket watch.
This was her uncle's pocket watch. The son of a bitch kept it as a souvenir.
Rosalie's jaw tightened as she looked down at Cormac. Her fingers curled around the silver watch.
Without a sound, Rosalie pushed Cormac O'Driscoll off the catwalk with her boot, sending the man tumbling into the fire below.