She's A Lady

Chapter 1

Catherine brought the cigar to her ruby lips and drew in a drag, savoring the smoke in her lungs for a moment before tilting her chin up to exhale the toxic chemicals from her lungs with a soft breath. She swirled the whiskey in her glass around for a moment, before throwing it back in a single, swift motion. 

She was silent, her mind allowed to wander a bit before a conversation behind her peaked her interest. She cocked her head, letting her ears focus on the words of two men at a bar table not too far from her own stool.

"Samuel, that's  her." The first voice spoke, laced with awe and fear.

a snort came from another, cockier sounding man. "Her? Her who? She's a lady, a fine figure of a woman, but just another lady amongst dozens, Matthew. Don't get too riled up, now."

Samuel frantically shook his head, not that Catherine could see, as she faced forward as not to disturb the increasingly interesting conversation.

"She's a lady alright, a lady who shot her husband! That's Catherine Campell, rumors say she shot her husband point blank after finding about his affairs! She's mad!" The first voice hissed, sounding terrorized.

The second voice, identified as Samuel, roared in laughter. "No woman could be capable of such a thing! Don't be absurd!" Samuel's voice rang out, laced with amusement and intoxication.

Catherine's curiosity drained from her and was replaced by a deep annoyance. She turned around in her bar stool, slowing facing the voices.

She found herself facing a smaller, mild mannered looking pale golden haired man, presumably the first voice. The other man, one of whom she assumed correctly was Samuel, a more stout and rounded man with a large frame and salt and pepper hair.

"Boys" Catherine said in a honey sweet voice, loud enough to get their attention yet not loud enough to disturb the whole bar, "It would seem as though your conversation concerns me. Is there going to be a problem between us?" She said with a slightly tilted head, her appearance and sweet words made her seem gentle and amiable, but her tone, her tone had a razor sharp edge to it, as if a blade had been hidden under the soft cotton that was her demeanor, ready to slice open it's next victim.

The first, mild mannered man, paled. He tried to stutter out a response, an apology, something, but his companion cut him off. "Now now, Catherine is it? Now Catherine, we wouldn't want to disturb a perfect little lady like yourself. Just silence your pretty little mouth and don't worry your small female mind, this is a man's conversation." Samuel sneered with a cruel smirk.

Catherine arched a single eyebrow and slowly rose,  taking a final drag from her cigar and dropping it on the ground, already forgotten. 

"Oh? You wouldn't want to disturb me?" Catherine whispered so softly both men strained to hear the toxic words passing her lips. "Well I do truly find that to be a shame considering you already have. I don't take to men too much who have shown to be an annoyance to me." Catherine's voice had the first man shaking, Samuel however, held his ground.

"Tsk tsk. You should watch your mouth, miss. Lady's like you don't have it in them to pose any real threat." Samuel's sneer rang out loud enough to catch the attention of everyone else in the bar. Drunks and bartenders alike froze to watch the increasingly interesting scene unfold.

Catherine's eyes flickered for a moment with red hot anger, but the fire faded quickly and was replaced by a glimmer of amusement. "Tell that to my dead husband, really, mention it to him when you meet in hell." Catherine said, her serene expression replaced with a tiger growl flash of a smile.

The next sound that rang out was followed by the thud of a dead body crashing to the ground, the screams of faint hearted women, the shouts of enraged friends, and the faint yet piercing footsteps of Catherine Campell leaving the final resting place of her latest victim, smoking gun still in her guilty hand.

But how did this all start? How did the sweet southern belle by the name of Catherine Campell become one of the few, if only, female mass murderers the West had ever seen? To understand her future, one must first look to her past.

Catherine smiled. It was truly a beautiful, every man in the inn envied her new husband, as he had captured one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the West.  Her husband laughed and spoke with his friends, his arm around his love of life-no. Around his new trophy wife.

Everyone crowded around the newly weds, to congratulate them, buy them a drink, and share stories.  Everyone was in a good mood, smiles contagious.

"Catherine, love, I have to run to the bathroom, I'll be right back." Assured the husband, taking ff with a kiss on the cheek to his wife.

Catherine smiled and waved him goodbye, her heart giddy. She spoke of future children, settling down, her love for her husband to anyone who would bare to listen.

"Your husband seems to have been gone quite awhile, is he alright?" A friend asked. No one important, yet asked what would become one of the most important questions any soul had ever asked Catherine.

Catherine laughed. "He's probably throwing up, that man could never hold his liquor." More laughter. "I'll go check up on him."

Catherine disappeared  down the hallway of the inn, in search of her beloved husband. The man she had dared say 'I do' to on an alter.

When Catherine came to their room, the very room the had made love in the night they were wed, she heard noises. Voices. No, not voices. Moans. Deep, guttural moans of passion.

Catherine's heart sped up. She threw open the door. 

There lie her husband, her beloved husband, in bed with another. A blonde little slut. Clothes had been strewn across the floors, unwanted.

Everyone in the tragic scene dared to stay still for a long moment, wide eyed. Catherine was the first to move. It was almost as if the sound of her heart shattering was heart through her scream of anguish. The gun, the gun in the drawer, loaded, but not for long. Every bullet lodged itself into his chest, his bare chest. Catherine held the gun, pointed  at the wretched bastard. The blonde screamed, scrambling away from a dead body that moments ago had been making love to her. Catherine's shell of a broken heart froze over with the ice of fresh blood on her hands.

The trial proceeded shortly afterwards. Catherine Campell was found innocent. Maybe it was because the judge lusted after her fair beauty, maybe it was out of the jury's pure white fear of a murdering woman, an unheard of thing, or maybe it was something else entirely. In the end Catherine didn't care, the trial granted her freedom.

Catherine Campell then began what would be the deadliest trial ever left by any woman in the West, leaving her victim's skin as just as cold as her frozen heart. 

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A/N: Hi! This is my first story on my new account and I'm super excited about it. Just a few heads ups, AN's will go down here, and will usually be kept brief and straight to point, don't want to bore people. Italics indicate a flashback of some sort, bold means AN, and bold and italics mean emphasis on that word or phrase. The cover of this book is the one and only Catherine Campell, the chapter picture is her gun. (every chapter media will relate to the story) Please vote and comment if you like this story, it's my first after an extremely rouge time for me, so support means the world to. Also, shoutouts go out to my amazing friend LionChan for helping me come up with a title and being an inspiration for my writing, awesome person, really.