Playing Dangerous ↠ ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

chapter 14; hope is a dangerous thing

'A modern day woman,
with a weak constitution 'cause I've got-
Monsters' still under my bed
That I could never fight off.'

-

The light of the morning sun was almost too painfully bright as it shone through your window, the rays permeating through the thick city smog giving the light this rather hazy shine.

From the quiet of your room, the sounds of the trolley bell's ringing and the clopping of horses hooves could be heard clearly – with a mixture of voices calling far too loudly for the time of the day.

Sitting on the edge of the made bed, you rested your hands in your lap and stared at them blankly. There was so much going on in your head at that moment, you couldn't really focus on the things going on around you.

Since agreeing to Bronte's suggestion, you had grown more and more anxious over the situation. In these past few months, you had made more than enough money to support yourself – and you realised you could've... should've taken the chance to run.

But you had always tried to bear in mind what the other's had always warned you about regarding Bronte. He could be so dangerous, you had heard from those whispering red lips of your fellow workers – he was a tyrant who had hold of the city. Those who defied him often didn't come off very well.

So now, you felt rather more trapped than ever. Turning around now and refusing the offer would surely end in hell-flames.

A sigh exalted your practically doubled over frame as you resisted the urge to want to break down and cry. Why was this your situation? You found that daily you were hating yourself for being in this situation -using your body as an object for making money. It was so very wrong, and if it hadn't been for the security of the cash – you would've never set foot in this area... But all through this, especially since Bronte had been getting involved, you did not feel as if you had very much choice. You were his favourite girl according to the other workers... and it appeared that was more lethal than it was any kind of compliment.

Beside your bed on the floor, planted on the deep red rug – were your two small suitcases, packed up and ready to go. You had forced yourself to make them up the night before to stop yourself doing anything silly that would get you into trouble with Mr Bronte.

Around 8 o'clock – there were a few solid knocks on your door. You knew exactly who it was, and so shakily got up, small hands taking a white knuckled grip on your cases as you walked with wobbling legs across the room to the door.

Your hand trembled as it pressed the handle down to open the heavy oak door, revealing the faces of two very austere looking men. They were sharply dressed, fairly tanned skin and dark eyes. It was plain to see Bronte recruited men of his origin – Italian chaps. They looked you over in your modest blue cotton dress, like they were sizing you up. Already you felt nothing but bad energy over this whole ordeal. You so wished you could run up the street and never look back.

Wordlessly, the two men led the way ahead. They walked shoulder to shoulder, with you following a few steps behind. Their black hats looked stupidly large on their heads, whilst their pipe-legged black suit bottoms seemed to give them the image of a small boy who had borrowed his father's best suit.

Like a silenced prisoner, you had followed the men down and out of the large saloon which so cleverly masqueraded it's band of working girls – and into the street. Waiting at the grimy curb was a beautifully ornate royal blue carriage, pulled by two smart grey horses that stood patiently awaiting orders.

"In." the Italian man finally broke his silence. The other grabbed the cases from your hand, and before you could utter a word you were pushed inside ungracefully.