𝘊𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘎𝘌 | ᴘʀᴇ ʀᴅʀ2

Chapter Eleven

Rosalie stared off into the distance as she sat on a log by the dying fire. The cicadas sang in the background as they basked in the summer heat, creating a gentle melody as she took slow drags from her cigarette. Everyone else had retired to their tent, but as per usual, she struggled to fall asleep, the constant lingering nightmares preventing her from getting any kind of rest.

She wasn't sure when she would feel peace. Guilt would eat her alive before Rosalie found true happiness after the loss of her father and uncle. Any bit of joy or comfort she found with Hosea, Arthur, John, or Dutch led her to be faced with the sickening feeling of regret, and disgust with herself for having any inkling of enjoying herself. It felt wrong to be happy, even if it was fleeting.

When she was to consider what her father and uncle would want for her... It was not this path of vengeance to kill Cormac O'Drsicoll. If they knew her goal was to put a bullet through the skull of an outlaw gang leader, they would be turning in their graves. She knew that, but it didn't change the desire to track him down and kill him for what he did, slowly.

Throughout her life, Rosalie had followed whatever path her uncle and father laid for her. She would carry out their next scheme, be an actor in their next ploy, or travel to whatever town they had decided was their next move. There was never an opportunity for her to build relationships with people of her choice or pursue something she felt was important. She would always do what others around her wanted.

But now, faced with the deaths of the only family she knew, Rosalie felt confident about her desire for something for the first time in her life. She knew what she wanted to do, not because someone told her to do it, but because she wanted it. Cormac O'Drsicoll would die, and then, maybe, she would be able to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks. Her nightmares would be laid to rest, and her father and uncle could too.

This was all Rosalie could really hope for.

Dutch sold the items they stole from the Harrington plantation for whatever cash they could get, and then they were off. Rosalie barely slept throughout their journey to Louisiana. Nightmares were prevalent, and she was lucky if she got five hours of rest. They traveled down the continent, moving as long as they could for each day, determined to end Cormac as they traveled through the states. This drive allowed her to push forward, even through the soreness of her injuries during those first few days.

A week had passed, and Rosalie had healed up decently. The busted lip was almost gone, and the cuts she was supporting on her cheeks had also healed. She no longer had a limp and riding Blitz was not painful for long periods. That last part was a small success in itself.

They had reached Tennessee, and Dutch decided it was time for them to take a break and enjoy themselves. During the day, Rosalie did her best to not let the pains of the night drag her down, so she agreed when Dutch suggested spending the night at a saloon for some drinks. Rosalie felt no reason to burden the others with her misery because she was certain they just wouldn't care anyway. They set up camp just outside of Jackson, Tennessee, intending to spend the night relaxing there.

Dressed in her all-black outfit of pants and a button-up, Rosalie hitched her horse beside Boadicea outside the saloon. Though she considered wearing a dress for the occasion, she couldn't bring herself to put on the floral patterned clothes in her bag. The only other clean dress she had was the one she wore on her last scheme with her father. Wearing that dress for a night of simple fun felt unbearable to her.

Rosalie made a conscious choice in not wearing her father's hat that night too, her blonde hair wild and poofy, creating a lion's mane of golden curls around her thin face. There was guilt in the choice to go out that night, and to wear her father's hat would be a sore reminder of what had occurred just two months ago.