When the Devil Cries (Arthur Morgan X Male OC)

10. A Rose's Thorns

From Arthur's POV

A WHILE LATER

SAINT DENIS

Walking out of the general store, I stepped back into the crowded, smoke-ridden streets of Saint Denis as the shopkeeper called out a quick goodbye, his bored voice cutting off once the door shut closed behind me.

Even though it had been quite some time since I left the theater, I still couldn't stop thinkin' about that kiss Eddie gave me, and I had to admit: it felt nice to experience that sorta fondness again.

I knew as well as the next man how this would most-likely end up, and the very thought of it killed me inside...but it'd been so long since I was last in a relationship like this. And the thrill drew me like a moth to a flame.

Good God, I really was an idiot.

Had I learned nothin' from my time with Mary? Or Eliza? Was I truly that big of a moron to believe I could have a normal love life, and be an outlaw at the same time?

Good things never happened in a life like mine. I knew that. Though...I was lucky enough to meet Eddie, so perhaps it were possible. But the realist in me knew better.

Strollin' up to my horse, I quickly fed her one of the treats I just purchased and gave her a comforting pat, thinking about Eddie's new steed, Bullet.

How that boy managed to tame an Ardennes when he had barely any experience with horses was beyond me, but the pianist seemed to like him well enough. And I didn't imagine Bullet missed Thatcher at all. My only concern at the moment was if anyone else did.

I mean, the way Eddie described him...it sounded like Middleton was rather close with this Atticus feller. And even though I didn't exactly know Atticus well enough to make any judgements, I couldn't stop myself from wondering if Thatcher's death was only the beginning.

After all, I had seen the damage grief could cause to even the strongest of men. And I had seen the same men driven to madness by a need for vengeance, forever chasin' the peace they'd already destroyed.

If Thatcher meant anything to Atticus...well, I was willin' to wager there'd be a good chance he might try to retaliate. I only prayed that, whoever this Mister Rose was, would be smarter than that.

I supposed we would just have to wait and see.

Storing my belongings in my horse's saddlebag, I shut the flap closed and prepared to leave, suddenly being greeted by a familiar voice just before I could mount up.

It was Dutch.

"There you are!" The man exclaimed from behind me, leading me to glance over my shoulder. As always, the man had a cigar in his grasp, and his lips were permanently stuck in a mischievous grin to match the twinkle in his eyes.

What was he plannin' now?

"I've been tryin' to catch you, son," Dutch said. "But you been in and outta camp before I even have the chance to say hello!"

I chuckled, turning around to face him. "Ah, I'm sorry, Dutch. I been busy lately."

He returned the laugh. "That's good. We need as much money as we can obtain. But I wanted to discuss that gala you've been investigating. Any progress?"

I nodded. "Believe it or not, I managed to charm one of the people hostin' it. A certain Miss Lillian Powell. Wretched woman, but she said she'd arrange an invitation for me. I've also been helping out a pianist from the Râleur who's plannin' to perform at the gala."

Dutch seemed pleased. "You befriended a performer from the theater we just robbed? Ha! Good work, Arthur. Would they mind if you brought a few...'friends' along?"