Snake Skin | John Marston (editing)

Revenge Is A Dish ✔-

"Are we heading to the camp?" Y/N asked as they rode into the thick forest that shrouded Roanoke Ridge.

"No," Arthur replied, shaking his head. "Dutch ain't gonna take kindly to you showin' up. He's completely lost it, Y/N."

"I reckon you should steer clear for now, keep yourself outta harm's way," Sadie chimed in.

"I've set up a small camp for you, not too far from ours, so we can stay in touch. If there's any trouble, you hightail it back to us, and we'll have your back," Arthur said, his voice roughened by a sudden cough. The women noticed but chose to keep quiet.

If Arthur wanted to share, he would've.

Y/N nodded and trailed after the two riders, their path winding through the trees and brush, passing a few discarded wooden crates along the way.

They came to a halt in front of a small tent nestled among the foliage. Y/N dismounted, squinting up at Arthur. "This is it?" she asked, eyeing the makeshift shelter.

Arthur tipped his hat slightly. "Yeah, for now."

Sadie glanced back over her shoulder. "I'll go fetch your things from camp, Miss Colter. I won't be long." With that, she turned her horse and trotted back toward the camp.

Y/N turned to Arthur, her brow furrowed. "What about John?"

"We'll get him out of there. I promise," Arthur replied, his voice steady as he began to ride off.

After a beat of silence, the sound of hooves returned. Sadie Adler reappeared, leading Y/N's belongings behind her. John had been the one to hold onto her things before he got captured, and they had hoped to reunite with the woman someday.

Y/N quickly changed into fresh clothes and inspected her weapons, ensuring they were all accounted for. Everything was there, save for her map, which no longer held any use for her.

Once she settled into her tent, the stillness of the night was shattered by the rustling of bushes. Y/N sprang from her resting place, instinctively unholstering her revolver with a practiced hand. The outlaw within her was stirring, a familiar thrill coursing through her veins, but something felt amiss in the air.

Stepping fully from her hiding spot, Y/N's gaze caught on a figure concealed among the foliage—Abigail Roberts.

Abigail quickly raised her hands in a gesture of peace and approached cautiously. When Y/N sensed there was no immediate danger, she holstered her weapon and gestured for her to come closer.

Abigail stepped forward, her voice low and respectful. "Miss Colter."

"Roberts," Y/N replied, a hint of familiarity in her tone.

"What brings you to these parts?" Abigail asked, eyes scanning the surrounding shadows.

"I came back," Y/N said simply.

"Back for what? John? Or revenge?" Abigail pressed, curiosity mingling with concern.

"My friends. As for revenge, that's not my aim—at least not yet. But now that you mention it, you might want to keep an eye out; you might just witness Micah's downfall soon enough."

"I always liked you, Y/N. You and John make a great pair. You're the brains, and he's the muscle," Abigail said, a hint of a smile gracing her lips. "I've come to accept that John Marston and I will never be what I hoped for. But I'm happy because I have Jack, my son."

"Abigail..." Y/N called softly, her hands gripping the woman's shoulders. "You need to leave. Take Jack and get out of here. Word is Dutch and Micah are getting reckless. It won't be long before they do something downright foolish. And for what? A pile of cash? A fresh start? There ain't no fresh start to be had here. Not for them, anyway. But if you leave—catch a train, cross the border—there's still a chance for a new beginning. Jack deserves to grow up different, Abigail. Please."

Tears glistened in Abigail's eyes as she absorbed Y/N's words.

"Leave at midnight. Take your boy and just go. Don't leave a note, don't say a word to anyone. If anyone comes looking, I'll cover for you," Y/N urged.

Abigail nodded, wiping her tears away with a trembling hand. "And what about you? Why don't you just run, too?"

Y/N released her grip and stepped back, shaking her head. "I can't run. Not anymore. When the time is right, I'll confront Dutch and Micah. I'll face the Van Der Linde gang. If they won't listen to reason, they'll have to reckon with my guns. Alright? Now go, Abigail. Please, just do as I say."

"You're playing with fire," Abigail said, her voice thick with emotion as she dabbed at her eyes.

"I get that a lot," Y/N replied with a chuckle, though the weight of the moment hung heavy. With that, Abigail Roberts departed from Y/N's camp. A sense of respect and affection lingered in Y/N's heart for Abigail and little Jack, and the thought that this might be their last goodbye gnawed at her. She wished their paths had crossed under brighter skies and that they could part with a more hopeful farewell.

Revenge wasn't the Golden Cobras' preferred fare—cold and bloody as it was. But when the chips were down, the woman had no choice but to draw her weapon and crack a few skulls wide open.

Micah. She loathed him for what he'd done. He'd betrayed her without a second thought, all to curry favor with Dutch, and he'd succeeded. What was she, after all? Just some "whore" with a steady aim? But he felt threatened by her, aware of her usefulness. She lived a life no man could hope to inhabit—a true outlaw of the West, and that made him feel trapped. "There are winners and there are losers," he'd say. She made him feel like a loser.

But in the end, revenge is a dish with just two ingredients—a loaded gun and a target's head. And Y/N was dead set on serving it soon.