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 violent wobbling of your frame left you dazed, "hmm?" The only thing you could coherently muster upon the rash awakening.
"Look! They're back! They got him!" Blinking away the sleep from your eyes, adrenaline pumped you alert.
You watched as John lifted Jack from Old Boy's saddle, reuniting him with his mother.
"Oh my god—Jack! Everyone look! It's Jack!" You shrieked in delight, running over to cradle the boy and Abigail in your arms.
The gang flooded from hidden corners of Shady Belle, rushing to welcome the youngest member of the Van Der Linde gangs safe return.
"Are you okay?!" Abigail grabbed her sons shoulders, giving him a frazzled once over.
"I'm fine mama—I missed you!" The boy wrapped his small arms around his mothers neck, muffling her relieved sobs over his shoulders.
"Thank you, Dutch—Arthur." Abigail's tears of joy stained her cheeks, pulling her son tightly into her leg.
"John—thank you." The often jilted relationship between John and Abigail faded for a brief moment, her eyes softened over her partner.
"Let's get you cleaned up, Jack." Abigail guided her son over to the house.
"It's fine mama, I had a bath at Mr Brontë's house last night." Confusion furrowed Abigail's brow, glancing back to John placing his hand on her shoulder.
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Silence fell between yourself, Arthur and Dutch as you watched the gang crowd Jack. Few stars peppered the sky, the city lights in the distance dimmed the view of the light show normally displayed in the open country. Clinking of bottles and cheers sounded throughout camp, Jacks return lifted spirits after a rough few days. Arthur opened his arm, letting your (h/c) fall over his shoulder.
"Hey—Miss (y/n)," Dutch collared your attention, lifting your head from Arthur's shoulder.
"We have been invited to a garden party at the Mayors house." A slight glint to the Leaders eyes brought confusion to your complexion. You glanced at Arthur, shaking his head; uneasy at the prospect of mingling with such high society.
"Us! A bunch of simple country folk." Erupting a hearty laugh from his lungs.
"So?" Hosea started, walking towards Dutch.
"You ever met an Italian strong man before?" Dutch replied.
"Not that I can think of." The master conman narrowed his lids.
"Well—let me tell y' all about him." Dutch took his friends shoulder, guiding him towards the camp fire.
Arthur lit a cigarette for you, a cloud of smoke evaporating as he removed it from his lips. You inhaled a draw deeply into your lungs, "I needed that." Puffing the tobacco into the night air.
