A Red Dead Redemption story.
A seasoned bounty hunter, you've buried your past beneath the weight of your work. But a brush with the notorious Van der Linde gang unravels everything. Amid bullets and bloodshed, you discover love and a sense of belon...
The ambiance of a red light lit up the dingy yet exquisite rental room. Black lace lined patterned velvet bed linen. Scarlet drapes hung from every corner, the smell of liquor and cigarettes filled the air.
Foot steps approached and the dark shadow of their body hung at the door. "Come in." You called out, emotionless.
"Hey darlin'." Your regular replied. He wrapped his coarse hands around your waist and you shivered in disgust.
"Ah, don't be like that, darlin', you do this for a livin'." His sloppy, whiskey-filled kisses made his was down your neck, to your shoulders. You stiffened up a little, to your regulars displeasure.
"Y're nothin' but a god-damned whore! Y' understand?! This is what I pay y' for." He growled, grabbing your arms, roughly dragging you towards the bed.
•
You started awake. Sweat pooled the bottom of your back, slightly dampening the sheets. Orange light lit up the dark room of the Strawberry hotel you were safely accommodated in.
The familiar surroundings settled your thumping heart slowly back to regular rhythm. Crackling of dying embers from the fire place soothed your shaken conscience.
"You're safe." You self-soothed, breathing in deeper.
Nightmares of once suffered trauma plagued your dreams, often making for uncomfortable awakenings. This wasn't a new sensation to be feeling. Tears burnt your eyes at the stark reminder.
You reached for your silver pocket watch from the nightstand, feeling the cool metal on your palms, opening the intricately designed cover. "5:45... Ugh.." you sighed.
You grabbed your black saddle pants that you had slumped over the bed frame the night prior and pulled them on sluggishly, followed by your cream cotton blouse, leaving the buttons towards the neck undone. Boots stowed by the door, you placed each foot into them, steadying your self on the dresser nearby.
You carefully sectioned one half of your (h/c) hair and fastened it with a clip at the base of your crown, leaving strands framing your face.
Lastly, donning your tan leather gun belt and matching bandolier, you headed down the wooden stairs, fixing your cream hat confidently on your head.
"Thanks for the room as always, Cecil!" You chirped as you headed down the stairs to greet Onyx.
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"No problem, Miss (y/n), pleasure as always, here anytime y' need!" Yourself and Cecil arranged an agreement, you got a room every once in a while; in exchange for non-disclosure to the sheriff about the illegal moonshine business, Chip Cooper, was running underneath his general store.
Cecil and Cooper were good friends, as well as the great business it brought to the hotel. However, Cecil did not need to know you were one of the shops regular patrons.
•
This morning, you decided to take a ride into Valentine to see if their Sheriff needed any help with capturing criminals - figuring you'd have to wait to hear on the whereabouts of George Hawkes which could take days.
You stooped through Bards Crossing where the North Dakota river meets Flat Iron Lake. It was warm enough to get away without a jacket, the wind flapping through your blouse.
Making your way up in to the mud ridden live stock town of Valentine - horse manure filled your nasal reminding you of why you didn't tend to stop here often.
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Hitching your horse outside the general store, you noticed a small, plump older gentleman, dozing with a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon about to slip out of his fingers. His grey beard bobbed as he snored.
A man appeared in the doorway of the general store, tall and broad, with strong shoulders and a leather, worn gambler hat.
His blue shirt patched up in a few places, as if it had been on his back for years. "Don't mind that old goat, he'd sleep anywhere if it meant he got outta doin' some work."
He nudged the older gentleman and he abruptly started awake. "Hey, it's the lumbago, it causes me to drift off" he retorted.
You chuckled at the pair of them and smiled as you made your way up mud-cladded main strip of the town, towards the Gunsmiths. You looked back over your shoulder and were surprised to find the man's eyes met yours. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you shook off the awkwardness of it all and headed inside the Gunsmiths.
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"Wow, is that who I think it is? You ain't been through in a while" started Dalton. "Yeah? Can you' blame me?" You replied.
Dalton laughed, "So, what can I do y' for miss (y/n)?
You bought a few extra rounds of ammunition, cleaned your Pump-action Shot gun which was now shaded grey rather than matte black. Your Springfield Rifle got a much needed clean too. Luckily, your Cattlemen's were in good nick, much to Dalton's delight.
"If it wasn't for all these bounties runnin' all over New Hanover, pretty ladies like y'self wouldn't be needin' all this fire power" Dalton chuckled.
"Difference is Dalton, I'm the one that catches 'em." You winked back at him. "Stay safe, miss!" He cheered as you exited the store.
