Under The Eyes of The Wolf (an rdr2 Arthur Morgan x oc story)

35-Judgement Day

WARNING- I don't wanna ruin anything by going into detail with this warning but I think you can guess what's coming if you've been reading up to this point so just know there's what some may consider "rough stuff" coming.

Bronte walks in front of the group, holding his hands full of broken fingers close to his body with Tacoma right on his heels, every so often taking a quick snap at the man's calves or ankles. Bronte cries out like a little girl every time. K, Arthur, John and Charles follow behind the wolf, chuckling at the sight.

They reach the main floor and head into the kitchen where he leads them to a door in the back.

"You'd better not be trying anything funny Bronte. If you even think about trying something stupid I won't even need to give him the command, he'll just rip your throat out." K warns him.

"No, nothing funny, just keep him away." Bronte begs. Any arrogance or untouchable attitude that this man had held about himself before this point was now gone. He was now just a pathetic coward, preparing to answer for his sins.

He leads them through the door down into a large wine cellar that held thousands of bottles of fancy, top shelf wine. They follow him through a maze of wine racks before coming to a dead end. He steps forward and reaches slowly for a bottle that he turns three times then pulls, causing the sound of something unlatching to be heard. He then slides the wine rack that covered the wall to one side, revealing a hidden door. He pulls a key from his shoe, wincing at the pain from his broken fingers, then fumbles with it trying to unlock the door.

K huffs and steps forward, grabbing the key from his hands then proceeds to unlock the old, thick wooden door and pulls it open. A stairway headed down further under ground lies before them. "Go on." She instructs him. He does as he's told and starts walking down the steps as they follow behind. The stairwell is very dimly lit and the further down they go the colder and quieter it gets.

Eventually they reach the bottom and the hall splits into three directions. Bronte leads them down the hall to the right until they finally reach another door. This one looks like a large vault door with a combination lock on the front. He fumbles around, whimpering slightly from the pain before they hear it click as he turns the wheel, unlocking the vault door. He pulls it open and steps in, the others behind him.

"I can't see shit Bronte, where's the damn light?" K demands. From the darkness they suddenly hear a small, weak cry before hearing another quiet "shh!" from another small voice, probably attempting to quiet and console the first one.

Tacoma's head perks up and tilts sideways as he lets out a whine. The room smells like earth and sweat and other things that K refuses to admit to herself of what she knows those smells to be. A switch is flipped and the room lights up. It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust but once they do, they remain briefly frozen where they stand.

Before them was a large, dimly lit, concrete brick room with no windows. Shackles are cemented into the walls, hanging from different points around the room. Some hung empty. Three sets however were latched around small, thin, pale, dirty arms. Cowering behind those little arms, doing everything they could to hide themselves, attempting to prevent what they knew should be coming next, were dirty messy little mops of blond, black and brown heads of hair. Their legs and arms were covered in bruises and burns and varying degrees of injuries.

The four outlaws gasped in horror at the scene. "Where's the keys to the shackles you piece a shit?!" Arthur growls as he lifts Bronte off the ground, pinning him to the wall by his neck.

Bronte kicks and grasps at Arthur's hands then points to a cabinet along one wall. He drops him and storms over to the cabinet as Bronte crumbles on the ground, choking and gasping for air. Arthur pulls a set of keys out and quickly he and K go to the first child while Charles and John stand back and keep watch over Bronte.