When Dutch Van Der Linde, Micah Bell and Arthur Morgan stumble across Violet Adler after a crisis that robbed her of the last family she had-her dearest brother, Jake Adler, and beloved sister-in-law, Sadie-she's offered a home. A temporary one, unt...
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"Got you," I whispered victoriously, eyeing the shattered bottle like it was a flesh and blood enemy facing the brutal end of my vengeance.
I hadn't actually killed before and had no illusions that shooting practice could ever prepare me for the act. Instinctively taking mortality into one's own hands would strike a little deeper than damaging inanimate objects. I didn't need to be a seasoned gunslinger with years of experience under her belt to know that in my bones.
But it helped. Every bullet that hit its intended target eased the pesky voice in my brain that insisted upon my uselessness. The weight of a gun in my hands started to feel less like a hazard or more like the steep promise of security.
If it ever comes down to my life or someone else's, would I be ready to make the choice that the Van der Linde gang made routinely? Would pulling a trigger really come as seamlessly as it had for the past half hour, while I'd been shooting bottles that possessed no sentience whatsoever?
The approaching clambering of hooves disrupted that uneasy train of thought. I sharply turned, raising my pistol.
"Woah, easy." Arthur released Wilbur's reins to raise his hands. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
I lowered the weapon, exhaling in relief. "That's alright. How'd you find me?"
"Hosea said you'd ridden out for shootin' practice. Then I just followed the sound of your pistol."
I raised an eyebrow. "A little reckless of you. What if I'd been one of many trigger-happy O'Driscolls, sir?"
He pointedly rested a hand on his gun belt, smiling rather serenely. "Ain't traveled a day unarmed in a couple decades. I'd have managed."
Sunlight poured down through the tree leaves like syrupy honey. Its effect was a contradictory result of an Arthur Morgan invitingly softened at his uncompromising edges, while the rifle ammunition stocking his bandolier glittered across his chest.
I looked down at the handle of my pistol, tracing its straight-lined wood with my thumb. "What can I do for you, Arthur?"
"Gotta go restock on some supplies in town and mail a letter for Pearson. The girls told me you ain't been out of camp since we moved here, so I wanted to see if you'd join me."
My grip fumbled on my gun and I tried to play it off, as I made my way to Alice to stuff it in her saddle storage. With my back to Arthur, my eyes widened with mute panic .
"Oh, I'm already behind on chores," I laughed and the sound came out too high and sharp. Control yourself, Violet! "You know I'd love nothing more than to have your sarcasm replace Grimshaw's griping for the day, but I'd only be digging myself a deeper hole for the week. You stay out of trouble, though, and I'll see you for supper."
