Honor is a Thing of Perspective - PookieCowpoke (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The grandfather clock in the corner struck eleven. The chime ringing out eleven times in the deadly silent room. With each toll, Arthur's eye twitched and the rubbing of his worn out denim jeans grew more nervous.Chewing on the inside of his cheek, the gunslinger glanced at the two guards brandishing their shotguns behind their boss who lounged lazily on his plush velvet couch. He felt too big for the room, his neck sweating and clothes sitting uncomfortably against his skin.

Angelo Bronte watched him like an alligator stalking its prey with eyes barely breaching the water's surface. Dangerous and stealthy.

Angelo Bronte wasn’t anything impressive by Arthur’s standards. He had expected a tall, broad-shouldered man with a strong jaw… honestly he had expected something like Dutch.

But instead, Bronte was small man who held an invisible power, able to wave his hand and have someone killed. He didn’t have to use his bare hands to strangle the life out of a man, didn’t even have to raise a gun and pull the trigger. And that made Arthur uneasy.

He still didn’t know why Bronte had told him to stay instead of Dutch. When Bronte said that two of them could go to the graveyard, Arthur had started to stand up, but Bronte held up his hand, halting him.

“Mr. van der Linde and you,” he had pointed at John, “Go, and you,” his finger shifted to Arthur, “you stay.”

He was completely out of his environment, usually Hosea or Dutch would handle negotiations. He'd never been very good at improvising. When left to his own devices his words get tangled until the ball of lies he'd formed unraveled in front of him.

Those dark piercing eyes bore holes into Arthur’s body as they traveled head to toe. He squirmed under the attention and soon tore his eyes away to stare at the crackling fire, the flames dancing around the charred wood. It had been a mistake to barge into the mob boss’s house demanding to have Jack returned to them.

“You know it is rude to ignore your host,” that heavily accented voice vibrated through the room pulling his guards to attention and Arthur’s eyes from the fire.

Arthur clenched his jaw, his eyes going wide for a moment. His hands lifted up in surrender. "I did not- I did not mean to be impolite."

Bronte laughed and waved a dismissive hand, enjoying how uncomfortable Arthur was. "I jest, Mr. Cowboy. There is no need to be nervous."

Embarrassment burned at Arthur's ear tips as he forced a smile that strained his face. Of course, being in charge of Jack's life gave absolutely no reason for Arthur to be nervous. Who did this bastard think he was?

"I don't think I caught your name. What was it again?" Bronte tilted his head, his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip.

Arthur cleared his throat roughly and scratched the stubble on his cheek. "Arthur."

“Arthur.” Bronte drew out his name as if tasting it, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “A man of few words, potresti imparare qualcosa da lui, Enzo." Bronte laughed and slapped one of the guards behind him.

The guard cracked a smile and shrugged. Arthur felt like he was sitting on the outskirts of an inside joke, and it grated on his patience. Bronte sighed and turned back to the man seated before him. "I can understand a father wanting his son, and a so-called leader wanting to protect what is his, but why do you want the boy so badly?”

Arthur opened his hands in a passive shrug. “I guess ya could say he’s my nephew. Me ‘n’ the boy’s father were kinda raised together, as brothers. I also helped raise the boy.”

“I see.” Bronte stroked his clean shaven face, arching a thick eyebrow. “And what would you do to get him back?”

Arthur thought for a moment, looking at the mob boss then around at the ornate room with its fancy trim and massive fireplace before answering, “Not much I wouldn’t do for that boy.”

The corners of Bronte’s lips angled upward, a dark look settling over his face. “Perfect.” The purr of the Italian’s throat settled over Arthur’s body in an oppressing discomfort. Bronte's face lightened with a smile, but the darkness still shone in his pupils. “Tell me. Are you a man of the arts?”

Arthur found the question odd, but not wanting to upset the mob boss he nodded. “You could say that.”

He remembered his brief conversation with the strange Frenchman the day before. While he didn’t consider his sketches to be anything worthwhile, he did appreciate the skill and craftsmanship others put into their artistic works.

“How lovely. Have you ever witnessed the skilled artists of Italy before?” Bronte opened his arms, spreading them wide trying to draw Arthur in.

“Naw, I can’t say I have, Mr. Bronte.” Arthur’s mouth felt dry as he picked at the frayed edges of a patch on his jeans.

“Come, come, I have this beautiful piece of artwork upstairs in my study.” Bronte stood up with a flourish and motioned for Arthur to stand as well. The armed guards in the room all tensed, fingers itching at the triggers of their weapons.

Arthur’s tongue poked around the inside of his mouth before he stood up, his hands purposefully raised away from his holsters. “I can’t say I know much about the… finer arts.” Arthur mumbled, only for Bronte to shake his head and start to walk out of the room.

“Nonsense, come along.”

Muttering softly under his breath, Arthur followed the smaller man up a grand staircase, his spurs' jingle ringing off the walls. He glanced over his shoulder to see two guards positioning themselves at the base of the stairs, sentencing him to his demise.

Bronte walked into one of the doors on the upper floor, holding the door open for Arthur. Nodding politely, the gunslinger looked around the study. A large oak desk stood imposingly surrounded by a bookshelf, no doubt filled with expensive and rare books. Hanging just behind the desk was a beautifully painted piece of artwork. The portrait held a fierce look in the angle of his eyebrows and slant of his lips. As beautiful as it was, Arthur still thought it was tacky to have a portrait of oneself in their own house. He stopped when his knees brushed the front of the desk.

The brushstrokes melted together leaving a sharp but blended mix of colors. His mind was boggled at how someone had the skill to create such a piece. He felt a hand on his lower back making him stiffen up. The warmth of Bronte's palm burned Arthur's back, spreading through his body like a wildfire. His eyes went unfocused as Bronte began speaking, but his mind couldn’t process what was being said.

Why was Bronte’s hand on his back? Why was he touching him? He didn’t dare move. No guard had followed them into the study, but that didn’t mean that the slightest noise wouldn't bring one in here.

“Isn’t it magnificent? I had it commissioned by an artist all the way from Italy. I have a similar one down in my dining room."

Arthur could only dumbly nod. The hand moved up his back to grab the back of his neck, curling like talons into his nape. His hands clenched, wanting so badly to punch the smug Italian in the jaw and unload a cylinder of bullets into the man’s chest. But he had to think of Jack. This man held his life in his hands.

“I believe you said there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do for the little boy. Am I correct?” The hand on his neck soothed, brushing through his hair.

“What do ya want?” Arthur said in a rush, his voice cracking.

“Hmm, I want you to bend over the desk for me.” The fingers tangled in his hair, guiding his head downward. “You won’t need this, Cowboy.” The fingers slid up and flicked his hat off of his head. The hat fell onto the desk as he let the man push his chest to the desk’s surface.

He was stunned silent. Never would he have thought this would happen to him. Arthur planted his hands on the edge of the desk ready to stand up from the humiliating position.

“Ah ah ah, I can have the boy killed if you want to refuse.”

Arthur tilted his head up, his eyes catching the watchful eyes of the portrait before he turned to rest his cheek on the cool wood. His hands relaxing and his arms going limp.

“Hmm, bravo ragazzo." The hand left the back of his neck and slid down his spine. “Just do as I instruct and no hair on the boy’s head will be touched.”

“Why this?” Arthur blurted out as Bronte’s hands settled on his waist.

Thumbs rubbed into his shirt, smoothing against the solid muscles underneath. Arthur shuddered wishing he was back in Colter bundled in his thick winter coat, his body hidden away. Being in this damn swamp heat forced him to change into a light button-up, the sleeves rolled up and his necktie absent from his neck.

“There’s nothing like having such a proud human crumble underneath me. You thought you could just march into my city, some gunslinging cowboys? I’ll show you just how powerless you are, Arthur.” The hands moved to the clasps of his suspenders, unbuttoning them, first the back then the front.

Arthur worked his mouth open and closed, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to delay this, he couldn’t just let the man take him. “B-but why me?”

“So many questions, tsk.” Fingers deftly slide between the waistband of his pants, teasing the fabric. “You were the biggest out of the three. The brute. Oh, the power rush you get from taking apart someone so strong is like nothing else. Plus, you just had the cutest clueless look on your face.”

Swallowing hard, Arthur opened his eyes to glance over his shoulder at the man looming over him. For being such a small man, Bronte made Arthur feel like he was some pesky bug about to be crushed under foot. The hands glided over his hips and underneath him. A muffled grunt left Arthur’s throat as Bronte undid the buckle to his gun belt. He let the weapons fall to the floor with a clatter before those cursed hands found their way to Arthur’s ass.

They kneaded the muscled flesh for a moment before coming up to the waistband of his pants. He slowly pulled them down, and the hairs on his ass stood on end as they hit the open air. Arthur was hit by embarrassment to have not put on a union suit in his heat.

“My, you are a filthy little bumpkin and so pale.” Arthur turned his head and pulled his arms up to hide in shame. Fingernails drug slowly over the globes of his ass, causing goosebumps to form. A harsh slap echoed around the room as Bronte smacked the flat of his palm against his flank. “Do not hide from me, Arthur.”

He hated how he said his name in a way that sounded both patronizing and soothing.

Arthur moved his arms away from his face, resting his hands flat on the desk again. His neck was sweating from the heat coursing to his face. Embarrassment, humiliation, and arousal zipped up and down his body in a confusing mix.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had had sex. Let alone with another man. He shuffled his feet only to find his pants had fallen to his knees and locked him in place.

A surprised gasp left Arthur’s throat when Bronte pushed his ass cheeks apart. He shivered at the intense stare at the place no one should ever be looking at.

“Have you ever been with a man before?” Bronte asked after taking one hand away from Arthur’s ass.

“N-naw. Can’t even remember the last time I was with a girl.” Arthur dragged a hand down his face, a laugh fluttering anxiously out of his chest.

“What a shame, but I’ll happily show you the way.” Two slick fingers rubbed down his crack over his puckered entrance.

Arthur sputtered, rising onto his elbows in surprise. “E-Excuse me?!” Those fingers massaged over his hole, making his face screw up in disgust. It felt weird but not unpleasant yet. “What the hell are you dOIN-” Arthur yelped when one of the fingers pushed into him.

Now that was very uncomfortable. Arthur squirmed and hung his head to rest his forehead against the desk. Bronte moved slowly, gently pushing in and out until the discomfort faded to a strangeness. Arthur couldn’t wrap his head around why the man wasn’t just sticking it in him. Pain he could deal with. Whatever this was made his mind twist and turn.

The finger left his insides making Arthur to relax again. “If you’re going to take my co*ck you need more preparation.” Those fingertips rubbed over the outer muscle soothingly, almost teasingly

“Why aren’t ya just f*ckin’ me already? Why draw it out?”

“Impatient much? You’ll thank me for this. Breaking someone isn’t about pain and agony. If I wanted to hurt you I would have had you tortured within an inch of your life. No, I want you to remember this, Arthur.” Bronte forced two fingers into Arthur making the gunslinger moan in pain.

That is until the fingers curled and his mind went blank. He could hear himself groan, and his dick gave a pleasant twitch. His back arched as the fingers massaged the area inside of him. Whatever it was, it was making him feel more aroused than the first blowj*b he got from a whor* out West.

“That’s it, just let go and feel that pleasure.” Bronte’s other hand reached around to grasp Arthur’s co*ck. “That feels good doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah, I guess so.” Arthur’s hips bucked and his hands curled into fists. He hated that he was getting off on this, but what was he supposed to do when those fingers twisted inside of him and rubbed him just so?

When the fingers left him, Arthur groaned before he snapped his jaw shut and pressed his knees together. “One moment, Arthur. Stay right there.” Bronte gave his co*ck a firm stroke before the hands left him. He swiveled his head to watch Bronte move around his desk. A drawer opened and closed before going back to stand behind him.

Cold gel was smeared over his hole making a tingly wave of pleasure race up Arthur’s back. Bronte set a container of pomade down on the desk next to Arthur before he pushed his two fingers back into him. He collapsed spinelessly onto the desk when those fingers sought out his prostate again.

A third finger was added, stretching Arthur out to almost the point of discomfort again, but his co*ck had quickly become hard between his legs. Arthur was dreading when Bronte push his co*ck inside of him, yet he found a part of him curious as to what it would feel like.

“I believe that is well and good enough.” The three slick fingers left him, making him feel empty. “Onto the main event.”

Arthur could hear fabric rustling and a heavy sigh before Bronte’s clean hand settled on his hip. He held his breath when he felt the blunt tip of Bronte’s co*ck at his entrance. Bracing against the desk, Arthur waited for the mob boss to push into him.

“Tell me you want my co*ck inside of you.” Bronte’s hand rucked up Arthur’s shirt, tracing over his ribs and the mess of scares that littered his pale flesh.

He couldn’t bring the words to come out of his mouth. Saying it would be admitting that this whole thing was making him impossibly aroused, but not saying it could also cause Bronte to change his mind. Arthur chose Jack’s life over pride.

“I want yer co*ck inside o’ me.”

“Good now do it politely.”

Arthur clenched his jaw and fingers digging into the polished wood under him. “Please, Mr. Bronte. I want yer co*ck inside o’ me, please.”

“Much better. It would appear the West has been tamed.” Arthur couldn’t argue with that logic, especially as Bronte started to push his co*ck into him.

The tip was wider than what three fingers had felt like, but after the tip popped in the rest followed easily. Arthur choked and his knees buckle, his chest hitting the desk. It felt heavenly and sinful at the same time.

Bronte chuckled above him, his fingernails tracing a wide scar on his back. “Do you like that, Arthur? My co*ck inside of you?”

Arthur nodded slowly, his thighs flexing.

“I can’t hear you.” Bronte gave a small thrust that made Arthur hiss.

“Y-yeah, I like yer co*ck inside o’ me.”

Humming in smug approval, Bronte pulled out halfway before pushing back in with a squish. His silky co*ck head rubbed against Arthur’s prostate making his body tremble. He was so thoroughly wrecked with pleasure he couldn’t even begin try and regulate the noises coming out of his mouth.

They were filthy wet moans, his voice cracking and making him sound like he was whining. His co*ck ached and begged to be touched, but Arthur didn't have the willpower to move his hands from where they were locked on the desk.

Both of Bronte’s hands were on his hips, pulling him into his thrusts. Each drag of Bronte's dick in and out hit the bundle of nerves inside of him. One of his hands latched onto Arthur’s co*ck, and Arthur thought he would blow his load right then and there. It was all too much.

“Go on, Arthur,” Bronte panted heavily, “climax for me, I won’t hold you back.” Bronte’s hand formed a vice for Arthur to rock his hips into. His balls tightened and the tightening coil snapped in his stomach. Arthur cried out, back arching and knees knocking against the wood of the desk. He saw stars in his vision as his spent splattered along the floor and all over Bronte’s hand.

Bronte clasped onto Arthur’s thighs, his fingers curling into the solid flesh. He was growing more hurried and sloppy, cursing in what Arthur’s foggy mind thought was Italian. Arthur was boneless on the desk letting the mob boss f*ck him through his org*smic high. After a few rough thrusts, the sensation started to hurt from the continuous rubbing.

It felt amazing and the sensitivity made Arthur’s toes curl and his flaccid co*ck give a few pulses of life. His moans turned into hoarse rasps as drool fell from the corner of his mouth. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the room, and Arthur registered that the guards downstairs could probably hear what was going on inside of the office. But he couldn't care less about it.

Bronte let out a breathless laugh as his hips stuttered.He firmly pressed against Arthur holding him tightly with his delicate hands. Hot fluid seared his internal walls, and a warmth settled over Arthur’s shoulders comfortably. He picked his head up off the desk to look back at Bronte with droopy eyes. Bronte smirked at him, his pupils blown out and chest heaving.

Bronte leaned over, grabbing Arthur’s jaw and staring him in the eye. “This is my city. Everything in it I own. That includes you now, Arthur. Do you understand?”

Arthur gulped, his neck hurting from the angle he was bent at and his ass still very much full of Bronte’s co*ck and sem*n. “I-I understand.”

Bronte’s eyes flashed with excitement, and he patted Arthur’s cheek before standing up and slowly pulling his dick from Arthur’s ass. Arthur shivered as cum and pomade slowly dripped from his ass into the seat of his pants. Arthur used the desk to push himself up, his knees wobbling like they might give out at any moment.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to bend over and redress himself when there was still a mess dripping out of him. He glanced back at Bronte who was pulling up his pants and fixing his robe. He held out a dirtied handkerchief to Arthur, who used it to clean up some of the mess before he pulled up his pants and tucked in his shirt.

He leaned against the desk for support while reattaching his suspenders and buckling his gun belt. “Please, Mr. Bronte, where is Jack?”

Bronte put his hands on his hips, seemingly proud of knocking the cowboy down a peg. “Yes, yes, we will retrieve him for you.” Arthur let out a heavy sigh and his shoulders slumping. His hand fumbled around on the desk before he set his hat on his crown. He instantly tipped the brim down to hide his eyes.

Bronte narrowed his eyes and approached the gunslinger. He boldly flicked the brim of the hat up and stared directly into Arthur’s beautiful blue-green eyes. “The mayor is having a garden party, I’m inviting you and your band of merry idiots. And as much as I think the little cowboy outfit is cute,” Arthur’s ears flushed red, “I want to see you in a suit.”

“Why would I go to a ‘garden party’?” Arthur asked, his eyes twitching as he tried to look the part of a menacing gang brute, even if his ass was sore and face still red from org*sm.

“Hmm, it wasn’t a suggestion, my bumpkin Cowboy. You’ll be there or things will become very unpleasant for you.” As if things for the gang couldn't get any worse. Bronte smiled and turned to walk towards the door as the response sent Arthur reeling. “Come along if you want to see your nephew.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose before shuffling after Bronte. Dutch would surely be happy about this invitation.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Arthur’s mind was a spiraling web of confusing embarrassment and ashamed desire after leaving the Bronte Mansion. Of course, he was relieved to have Jack back, and he was sure everyone else at Shady Belle would be ecstatic too.

But he couldn’t even focus on the joy of saving Jack. Bronte’s warm hands and dark eyes, and the way his rear ached with each of his stallion’s strides were all he could think about. He absently listened to Jack talk about ‘spaghetti’ and slippers, but he could only imagine Bronte’s rumbling Italian accent as he taught Jack the words.

Arriving back at Shady Belle Jack was whisked away by his mother, and everyone started singing and drinking in his honorable return. Arthur hitched his horse, giving his pink nose a stroke before walking over the bridge toward the plantation house. He paused to look at the party before deciding to have an early night.

"Arthur, a word." Dutch swung his leg over The Count's back and motioned him over.

Arthur thought about ignoring Dutch and continuing on his way, but he knew that would lead to consequences he didn't want. He paused on the bridge and turned to look at Dutch.

Dutch still had an annoyed look on his face from having to go on a jaunt with John, but he clasped an arm around Arthur's shoulder and put on a fake smile. "So tell me, did you get any information, son?"

The invitation that Bronte had slipped him felt like a ball and shackle in his satchel, weighing him down. "Ah... Nothing of much use." Arthur was tempted to not even bring up the invitation but it burned like a flame at his side. With a sigh he dug around in his satchel and pulled the envelope out and held it out to Dutch. "'Side this, I guess."

Dutch's eyes widened as he snatched the envelope away and opened the fold. His eyes scanned over the letter as Arthur awkwardly shifted his weight back and forth. "An invitation to the Mayor's garden party. Well done, Arthur." Dutch smiled a genuinely gleeful grin that bared his teeth. "I'll talk to Hosea about this in the morning."

Arthur couldn't help but feel a little pride at Dutch's pat to his back before he walked away, holding the letter out like a trophy. A long sigh left Arthur's lungs. "Great, ya couldn't just keep yer big mouth shut, huh?" Arthur grumbled as he made his way to the old house.

The climb to his bedroom had his thighs and knees throbbing with soreness. He always had a lingering feeling of exhaustion, but after that evening his body felt like it was going to collapse. The thoughts in his mind weighed on his shoulders like chains. It was set in stone now that he'd have to face Bronte again.

When he finally stumbled into his room he fell face first into his bed, not even caring to take off his satchel and gunbelt. His arms curled around his pillow and dragged it under his face while he pulled his feet onto the bed. He didn’t know what mess he had gotten himself into but he assumed it would escalate into something he couldn’t escape. As Arthur closed his eyes he felt like he was falling into a black abyss and waiting at the bottom with open arms was Angelo Bronte.

Arthur awoke the next morning feeling even more tired than before. His body was shackled to the bed by an invincible weight on his back. When he moved his arms out from under his pillow his spine cracked and popped.

He wanted to lay in bed for the remainder of the day, but the hazy rays of sunlight roared at him to get up. With a flutter of his eyelids, Arthur sighed and began to sit up. He instantly regretted it when a shooting pain ricocheted through his lower half.

Hunching over, Arthur waited for the pain to subside before he hauled himself up and took a few steps. He stumbled into the table with a map laid over it before deciding to take another breather.

He was getting old, wasn’t he?

By some miracle, Arthur stiffly made his way down the stairs intent on snatching some salted beef from Pearson. He was stopped by Abigail who shyly looked at him before giving him a hug that made him grimace as pain echoed through his hips.

“Thank you, Arthur. I- John- You-” Abigail pulled away, rubbing over her arm.

Arthur laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, trying to wipe the soreness from his face. “No need to thank me, Abi. I’d do anything… for that boy.” Arthur’s throat tightened and he straightened. “How is he doin’ today?”

“He acts like nothing even happened.” Abigail looked away and hugged herself. “Keeps talking about something called spaghetti. Wonders if Pearson can make it.” Both of them laughed softly before Abigail bit her cheek. “One day maybe he will understand, but I’m glad he's... playing with his dog.” Her eyes misted up before Arthur brushed a few strands of hair out of her face.

“Don’t you worry none. He’s back safe, just enjoy having him back.” He patted her cheek with all the fondness that a brother could give before stepping toward the door.

His hand had just brushed the doorknob when he heard Grimshaw's shrill voice rise up in calling from outside. "Mister Morgan! We have a problem!"

Arthur's shoulders sagged with a heavy sigh, peeking behind him to see Abigail wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "No rest for the wicked, I reckon."

"When have we ever caught a break, Arthur?" Abigail asked with a rasping laugh.

"Got me there." Arthur chuckled before exiting the house and rounding Pearson's wagon to where he heard Grimshaw's shout. He swiped a tin of crackers on the way through and opened them leisurely as he approached Grimshaw. "Susan, what is it I can-" He grunted when Grimshaw shoved a carbine repeater into his chest making his crackers spill onto the muddy ground. "I was eatin' them..."

"There ain't no time for snacking, Mister Morgan. Tilly's turned up missing and I know it was them Foreman Brothers doing." Grimshaw walked toward a pair of Suffolk Punches attached to a wagon.

"Say that again, Grimshaw?" Arthur crouched down to grab a cracker that hadn't landed in the dirt, blowing it off before walking toward the wagon.

Grimshaw turned a fiery eye to Arthur, her lips pulled into a thin line. "Arthur Morgan just get on the wagon and start driving toward the Radley's House. I heard they were holed up there." She dragged herself onto the wagon and sat down, waiting for Arthur to clamber up too.

Shoving the cracker in his mouth, Arthur jogged up to the wagon and pulled himself up onto the driver seat. He knew he should have blown a hole through that Foreman bastard's head back in Valentine. With a flick of his wrist the two Suffolk Punches dug into the ground and hauled the wagon onto the road leading out of Shady Belle.

o0O0o

When Arthur, Grimshaw, and Tilly arrived back at camp, the sun was casting its orange glow through the cypress trees, bouncing off the swamp water's rippling surface. Tilly was shaken up, but Arthur knew she'd be okay. She'd always been a tough one since Dutch brought her in at the ripe age of twelve. Arthur pulled the wagon to a stop by the pasture of other horses, and he hopped down to help Tilly out of the back of the wagon. Tilly took his hand and jumped down onto the ground, her head bowed and eyes droopy with exhaustion.

"You gonna be alright, Miss Jackson?" Arthur gingerly cupped her crown, soothing over her dark hair.

"I just wanna rest right now." Tilly whispered, rubbing a smear of grime and dried blood from her cheek.

Grimshaw came up beside them, gesturing for Tilly to come with her. She put her arm over her shoulder blades and nodded to Arthur. "I'll take care of her, Arthur."

Arthur half-smiled and gave a nod of understanding, watching the ladies walk toward the huddle tents. Kieran was close by taking care of the horses, daring to glance over at Arthur in between swipes of his brush. Arthur zeroed in on him and pointed to the Suffolk Punches still hitched to the wagon.

"Hey, Kieran, mind taking care of these horses for me?" Arthur called, not even waiting for his response before turning to head toward the main fire.

Today's tolls were wearing on his body, his stomach growled for food and the balls of his feet ached with each step. He collapsed onto a folding stool by the fire, pulling a carton of cigarettes from his satchel and a match from his matchbook. Just as he lit his cigarette and took his first inhalation of smoke, a shadow fell over his slumped potion.

"Hosea," he greeted, taking another deep inhale of smoke.

"Arthur, mind if I take a seat?" Hosea held two bowls of stew, a spoon in each one.

Arthur shrugged and gestured to the log next to him, taking one of the offered bowls. "Be my guest, old man."

Hosea chuffed and 'accidently' swatted Arthur's head when he sat down with a grunt. "How is Tilly fairing?"

With his cigarette pinched between his fingers, Arthur took a spoonful of ruddy colored stew into his mouth, humming in satisfaction as nutrients finally entered his body. "She's a little spooked, but Grimshaw is watchin' over her."

Hosea nodded, his weathered fingers rubbing over the metal of his spoon. "Dutch told me about the garden party."

"Oh, joy." Arthur grumbled and tossed his half smoked cigarette to the ground, not even interested in smoking anymore as a foul taste settled on his tongue.

Hosea's lips angled into a frown and he nudged Arthur's boot with his own. “I didn’t see you during Jack's party. What happened last night?"

Balancing the bowl of stew on his knee, Arthur hung his head. "Nothing much... me 'n' Bronte chatted. Mostly about the finer arts."

“Is that all, huh?” Hosea hummed and nudged Arthur's boot again. "Ya know I can tell when you're lying, son."

Arthur’s neck started to sweat and his body hunched a bit more, trying to hide from Hosea's knowing gaze. "It's fine, 'Sea. I just- I didn't expect to be the one speakin' to Bronte last night. Threw me off." He rasped after a moment of silence.

Hosea narrowed his eyes and slowly hefted his frail body up. His hand rested on Arthur's back calming his raising nerves almost instantly. "Well, if ya feel like talking to me, come find me." Hosea caressed between Arthur's shoulder blades before starting to walk away.

As Hosea made his way back to the house, Arthur tapped his fingertips on the bowl and took a moment to process the situation. He dreaded the party, but there was a small part of him that was curious as to how Bronte was going to react. Groaning, Arthur stood up and brushed off his jeans, might as well see if everyone was getting along well around camp.

o0O0o

Arthur adjusted his bowtie for the millionth time since getting into the carriage. He laughed along with Dutch, Hosea, and Bill, but deep down he was nervous. He felt like a clown in this fancy suit that suffocated him. Dutch and Hosea seemed to have such big plans for this night out, but all Arthur wanted to do was avoid anything to do with Bronte.

Bronte made him feel things he was confused about. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy getting f*cked in his ass, and yet he did. He was able to crush him down to his barest form in the span of an hour. What could he do in a whole evening?

When the group of outlaws toasted with champagne, Arthur downed the bubbly liquid as quickly as he could. It stung going down his throat, but he needed some kind of liquid courage to get him into the mayor’s house.

He stepped out of the carriage, his eyes sweeping over the grand-looking house. The warm glow from the lamps and the trimmed hedges almost made it look inviting. Almost.

Dutch handed the invitation over to the greeter, who announced no weapons would be allowed inside the Mayor’s house. Great, on top of being squished into his monkey suit, Arthur would have to give up one of his lines of defense. At least he still had his fists if things got ugly.

He gave his revolver over with trepidation, giving the greeter a forced smile. The greeter gestured to another servant saying ‘Luca’ would take them up to see Bronte. That Bronte was expecting them.

Arthur’s neck started to sweat as he played with the bottom of his suit jacket, wrinkling the ironed fabric. They followed the young well-dressed man into the mansion, Dutch, Hosea, and Bill stupidly patting the greeter's shoulder. They were acting like this was some kind of joke!

While Luca droned on about how Bronte commanded respect from people, Arthur looked around the interior of the house. He was in awe that someone could afford to have such an elegant house. It seemed like a stupid waste of money in Arthur’s book, but then again Arthur was happy to even have a room with four walls at Shady Belle.

Luca looked over his shoulder toward the back of the line right at him. “Mr. Morgan! Bronte will be thoroughly glad you showed up tonight.”

Arthur nodded and pursed his lips together. The look that Dutch gave him made his heart sink and shoulders slump. Why couldn’t Bronte focus on Dutch instead of him? Dutch wanted Bronte’s attention.

“Hosea, Bill, why don’t you join the party? Arthur and I will meet you out back after we pay our respects to signor Bronte.” Arthur dragged his feet as the group separated. He was tempted to ask Dutch if he could go with Hosea and Bill but decided that might make Dutch pissy.

Arthur followed closely behind Dutch as they ascended a case of stairs. He stared at his shoes, making sure not to stumble as his legs started to turn into jelly. Who thought it was a good idea to have decorated stairs too?

Arthur’s heart pounded like a stampede of bison as they neared the balcony. The first thing he noticed was that one of the guards held a shotgun in his hands. Arthur was defenseless, and it put him on edge. His eyes moved from the shotgun to the man of honor.

Angelo Bronte.

Arthur’s mouth was dry, his stomach roiled, and his hands turned clammy. He knew Bronte was speaking, but the words did not reach his ears. It was like cotton was shoved into his ear channel. He shakily approached as Dutch shook Bronte’s hand. He fumbled with his hands before forcing himself to shake hands with the crime lord.

Bronte’s smile cut Arthur’s body like a dagger, his hand was trapped in an iron grasp as Bronte looked him up and down. “So the cowboy does know how to clean up, hmm?”

Arthur’s jaw trembled before he nodded instead of speaking. He was making a fool of himself, but Bronte seemed to enjoy that. After he let go of his hand, Arthur took a half step back, his face flushed with embarrassment. Dutch interrupted Bronte’s staring with an observation about the party, which Arthur noticed made the Italian’s eyebrow twitch.

With Bronte’s attention off of him, Arthur took a moment to fill his lungs with much-needed air. When a servant came around offering cigars he took one and nervously rolled it between his fingers. His other hand remained at his side, rubbing the pressed fabric of his pants. He bit off the end of the cigar and spit it over the banister, hopefully not one someone’s head.

The servant held a light out for him which he gratefully leaned over for before puffing heavily on the cigar. Dutch had to grab the servant’s hand, stilling him to light his own cigar. Dutch’s eyes narrowed under the brim of his top hat, making Arthur wish he had his own hat to hide under.

Bronte began to introduce some of the bigger guests at the party, yet Arthur couldn’t focus on trying to remember the names of Saint Denis’ higher society. He really needed a glass of brandy or whiskey, hell, some ‘shine would do wonders for his nerves.

While introducing Hobart Crawley, a confederate major in the Civil War, Bronte went into detail about his very young wife. “I mean… young mistress . As is the natural order of things, yes? But a young wife? It is unseemly .” Bronte turned, making sure Arthur could see his dark eyes flash in mirth before continuing.

Bronte’s clear bigotry for the ‘redskins’ made his spine crawl uncomfortably. He thought about the old Fort Riggs by Strawberry and the bison being slaughtered in the Heartlands. They hadn’t let the Americans take advantage of them. Their liberty had been stolen from them. Violently .

Arthur’s nostrils flared and he turned away from the party, leaning back against the balcony railing and puffing angrily on his cigar. He was ready to leave this party and return to his room in Shady Belle.

He was relieved when Dutch announced that they should get to the party. He stood up straight snubbing out his half-smoked cigar and placing it in his inner jacket pocket for later. Arthur walked toward the door, barely listening to whatever insult that was spilling from Bronte’s mouth like toxic waste.

“Yes, yes, go enjoy yourself, Mr. van der Linde. It will make you long for the days you could shoot each other and screw cows on the open range. But I do wish to speak with Mr. Morgan for a while.”

Dutch’s eyebrows flew up in surprise, and Arthur halted in his tracks. “Ah well, I’m sure Mr. Morgan… won’t mind. Would you, Arthur?” Arthur turned around bashfully with his eyes lowered.

“Naw… not at all, Dutch.”

Dutch gave a nod that lay between jealousy and wounded pride before he walked toward the door. Arthur stood awkwardly in the middle of the balcony before Bronte waved him over to the railing. His hands locked onto the top of the wooden banister as Bronte turned to the man standing next to him and spoke something in Italian to him.

“Arthur, this is my trusted right-hand man, Guido Martelli.”

Arthur pulled one of his hands away from the banister to hold out. Martelli took it firmly and gave it a single downward shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Martelli.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Martelli pulled his hand back and rubbed his palm on the side of his pants as if Arthur had some kind of disease.

Clenching his fist to keep from popping the prissy man in the jaw, Arthur returned to his stance on the banister, watching Bill clumsily try and woo some ladies by pouring champagne. He rubbed his forehead and shook his head in disappointment. Bill certainly wasn’t the man to take to this social event.

“So, my little cowboy, what kind of mischief have you gotten yourself into?”

Arthur hated being ‘possessed’ he was always ‘one of Dutch’s boys’, never Arthur Morgan. And now this high-class crime boss was all of a sudden his master as well? Arthur snorted and looked up at the purpled sky shining with white stars. “Nothin’ much I suppose.”

That was a lie.

He had saved Tilly from the Anderson Boys, helped Brother Dorkins save a pair of fellows at the Fence, and had given twenty-five cents to every beggar he saw. But none of that Bronte needed to know. Arthur was a hardened outlaw, not some compassionate soul who went around helping people.

“For some reason, I doubt that.” Bronte chuckled and took a puff of his cigar. “Can I interest you in some champagne, oh wait, you probably prefer that back-water moonshine.” The people gathered around Bronte laughed at the joke, sounding like hens clucking when given a nibble of food.

“Some whiskey is fine.” Arthur bit out harshly. Why would Bronte bring him up here just to poke fun at him? It was irritating, to say the least.

Bronte chuckled, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. “How about some brandy?” Heat radiated from Bronte’s hand straight down to Arthur’s stomach. He nodded and Bronte waved at Luca to fetch the brandy.

After a few moments of Bronte not moving his hand Arthur began to squirm, his hands fidgeting and scratching at his freshly shaved jaw every now and then. When Luca came back with a crystal glass of brandy, Arthur nodded in thanks and took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat like oil, and a sweet fruity aftertaste laced his mouth pleasantly.

Bronte must have seen his brow raise and eyes blink at the finest brandy money could buy, because he smiled and ran his hand down Arthur’s shoulder blade. “See when you do crime correctly, it pays well.”

Arthur took another sip of his drink, glancing at the smaller man with narrowed eyes. What was this man playing at? How was he so bold as to touch him in front of his men? Was he really that powerful to not fear disgust by his own men?

Bronte answered the questions filtering through Arthur’s eyes with a wicked smirk that had more heat pooling in his gut. He was definitely doomed.

The night dragged on. Arthur had sipped through five fingers of brandy and the heaviness of being drunk was starting to settle over him. He was planted in a chair, swirling a sixth finger of brandy and smoking the remainder of the cigar he had saved. This quality stuff definitely hit harder than warm beer.

Bronte had grown more touchy throughout the night, his hands sliding down his back, sometimes clasping over his neck. At first, Arthur had been uncomfortable, but as he drank more he started to care less. When Bronte’s hand had soothed over the curve of his lower back, Arthur had looked at him with wide eyes and red painted his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Arthur tipped his head back against the chair and blew out a plume of smoke. It was as if he could still feel the burn of Bronte’s hands littering his body, and it made him feel warm and almost to the point of needy. He closed his eyes as he inhaled his cigar, letting the tobacco roll over his tongue before two hands fell onto his shoulders. Bronte stood behind his chair looking down at him.

“Enjoying yourself, Arthur?”

Arthur let the smoke in his lungs escape, blowing directly into Bronte’s face. “I am.” Bronte’s hand moved to cup under Arthur’s jaw right against his Adam's apple. Arthur gulped, struck by how close his face was to Bronte’s prick.

“If you came to work for me, you could enjoy this every night.” The hand on his throat tightened slightly, making Arthur feel trapped.

“Naw, sorry. I know where my loyalties lie.”

A huff of a laugh left Bronte’s chest before he patted Arthur’s cheek. “What a shame. But I believe your ‘loyalties’ are preparing to leave.”

Arthur blinked before hauling himself to his feet, stumbling as the alcohol sloshed in his stomach. Maybe he was further gone than he thought. Bronte was right at his side, slipping an arm around his waist to hold him up. “Come, I’ll help you down the stairs. I fear you might end up falling down them.”

“Shuddup,” Arthur slurred and set his glass down on the table and his cigar in the ashtray. “‘M fine.” He could have easily pulled away from Bronte's grasp, but in his drunkenness his embrace felt... nice.

“Nonsense. I see a simple cowboy like yourself can’t hold his liquor very well. Allow me to help.” It wasn’t a suggestion when Bronte said it, and Arthur knew it.

Two guards followed behind the pair, and Luca led the way as Arthur let Bronte help him out of the balcony and down the stairs. Arthur tripped on a stair, but Bronte caught him with a bruising hold on his hip. How did his hand get there?

Arthur sluggishly grabbed at Bronte’s suit jacket to hold himself up, meeting his eyes briefly. Bronte’s pupils were blown wide like he was aroused which made Arthur force himself upright. There was no reason to be hanging off of him like some… ‘young mistress ’.

After reaching the ground floor Arthur leaned against the wall for support as Dutch, Hosea, and Bill entered the house to leave. Dutch looked surprised to see Bronte away from the security of his balcony, and even more surprised to see how drunk Arthur had gotten himself.

“Signor Bronte, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dutch asked as Bill and Hosea stood defensively behind Dutch.

“I came to return your gunslinger.” Bronte pressed a hand to the back of Arthur’s neck in a way that could be friendly, but it only made Arthur nearly choke as memories of the other night came flooding back. “It seems he had a bit too much fun.”

Arthur grunted and tried to walk in a dignified way toward Dutch, but he looked like a toddler just learning to walk. Hosea held an arm out for Arthur to support himself, giving him a fatherly look of disappointment that made Arthur dip his head shyly.

“Well, thank you, signor Bronte. We’ll be heading off then, have a lovely evening.” Dutch mockingly bowed before signaling for the group to head towards the front of the house.

“Of course, oh! Before you leave Mr. van der Linde. I wanted to ask… a favor from you.” The group paused and turned to look at the crime lord. Arthur clenched his jaw wanting to say they had already helped him with his grave robbing problem but held his tongue. “I’ve been having an issue with alligators growing too curious and bold for their own good. They keep lurking around my patio, and I’d like them taken care of.”

“How does this concern me? You have several men with guns that can deal with them?” Dutch gestured to the guards behind Bronte with a snarky laugh.

“My men are good for personal security. They don’t know how to deal with animals. But I’m sure one of your men knows better on how to deal with them.” Bronte clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head leveling Dutch with a challenging glare.

Dutch narrowed his eyes before relenting. “Well, since you seem so enamored with dear Arthur here, I’ll send him after he recovers from his hangover.” Dutch’s voice took on an ugly tone that made Bronte chuckle.

“Careful, cowboy. I bite too.” Bronte turned his back on Dutch and waved over his shoulder at him. “Arrivederci.”

Arthur gave Dutch a helpless look as he tightened his grasp on Hosea’s arm. “Dutch…”

“Not now, Arthur, let's just go home. We’ll talk tomorrow. We have some planning to get a jump start on.” Dutch patted his jacket pocket like he held something important in it. Hopefully tonight wasn't a total bust then.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Bitter coffee washed down Arthur’s throat dulling the pounding headache that had bloomed early that morning. He should not have indulged himself so much at the party last night. He sat down next to the main fireplace, feeling sorry for himself as the sun started to crest into the sky. Most people were still sleeping, Dutch included. Which Arthur thanked the heavens for.

Hosea sat on the log next to him, sipping on an equally bitter cup of coffee. They seemed to be the only two awake besides Karen who was on guard duty and Kieran who always got up before dawn. Hosea kept glancing at him, a question brewing behind those watchful eyes. He knew something was amiss, and Arthur knew he wouldn’t stop until he found out what it was.

“Hosea, please… It’s too early for this sh*t.” Arthur mumbled before Hosea could open his mouth.

“Oh hush, Arthur. I remember on your twentieth birthday you got drunker than piss and still got up to do the chores the next morning. It ain’t a hangover dragging you down. Something is eating at you.” Hosea leaned forward resting his tin on the edge of his knee and giving Arthur the look .

The look that could make paint peel off of walls. Arthur hid under his hat, staring into the black sludge in his coffee cup. He was more comfortable telling Hosea stuff without fear of judgment. Hosea had been the first to know about Eliza and Isaac, the first to know about Mary, and the first to know about anything important going on in his life. He could trust Hosea.

But if Dutch found out about what was happening between Bronte and him. Arthur feared the worse. A sigh left Arthur’s lungs before he looked up at Hosea. Hosea tilted his head inquisitively, face changing from sternness to concern.

“Don’t tell Dutch.” Arthur whispered, voice barely carrying over the crackle of firewood.

“You know anything you tell me stays between us.” Hosea reached over to lay a slender hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur leaned into the touch, eyes focused on the mud caked on his boot. “When me, John, and Dutch went to get Jack from Bronte… Bronte asked me to stay with ‘m while Dutch and John did his dirty work. I dunno why. I’m just some dumb brute.”

“That I can agree with.” Hosea chuckled hoarsely and ruffled the hair at Arthur’s nape. Arthur smiled slightly and took a sip of his coffee trying to think of how to form his next words.

“I guess Bronte thought so too. He seemed… enticed and asked me what I would do to get Jack back. I felt trapped and I… God, Hosea.” Arthur bowed his head feeling ashamed and humiliated. “I let him do what he wanted with me. I thought if I didn’t let him he’d hurt Jack. And I- I liked it.” Arthur’s voice cracked as his face flushed a burning red color.

Hosea was silent next to him. Arthur could feel the anger rolling off of his stilled slender frame. He was going to tell Dutch, and Dutch was going to kick him out. That is if Dutch didn’t unload a round of lead between his eyes first. Arthur could feel his breath get shorter and more labored, his vision growing black around the edges.

Hosea rubbed over his back, pulling him out of his spiraling train of thought. Arthur could tell rage roiled under the surface of Hosea’s calm exterior, but the anger wasn’t pointed at him. “Shush, there is no need to get all up in a fuss, son.”

Arthur looked up from the ground and into Hosea’s creased brow. “There is no shame in what you have done. You were looking out for Jack’s best interest. And as for enjoying another man’s company, there is nothing wrong with that either. Hell, Bill has his open secret, and Dutch and I did fool around some before you came around. There is nothing to worry about in that aspect.”

Hosea’s hand paused on his back and his expression turned stormy. “But if I ever see Bronte’s face again I will disfigure it with a shotgun. I will talk to Dutch about sending someone else to go to Bronte’s today. And don’t worry I won’t tell him about this. He doesn’t need to know. I’ll just tell him you’re hangover has incapacitated you.”

Arthur felt like his body was weightless as his actions were validated and shame washed from his mind. “Thank you, ‘Sea. I owe ya one.”

“At that rate you would be owing me more than one,” Hosea barked a laugh that sent him into a coughing fit. “But on a serious note, Arthur, I will take care of you as long as I’m breathing. I swear on that.”

The statement should have put him at ease, but all Arthur could think about was how Hosea’s health had declined significantly in the past few months. He wasn’t sure how much more breathing Hosea would be doing. “I don't need to be coddled, but I appreciate it, 'Sea.”

That earned him a smack to the back of his head, making his hat angle over his eyes. “Well, this ‘coddling’ father is going to go talk to Dutch to get you out of this mess.” Hosea’s knees cracked as he stood up before waddling off toward the plantation house. Arthur fixed his hat and tapped the side of his tin before downing the coffee and getting up to see what chores Kieran had yet to do.

But it turned out that Dutch’s mind was made up about the subject. Arthur was sure this was some kind of punishment for his actions last night. Even though Arthur hadn’t asked to be pampered by the Saint Denis crime boss. He cinched up his stallion’s saddle, putting more force than necessary into it. He winced and patted the Trotter’s side in apology before slipping him a sugar cube.

He looked back at Shady Belle, seeing Dutch on his balcony smoking a cigar. Anger flared through his body before he shook his head and climbed into the saddle. His spurs tapped his Trotter’s side pushing the racehorse into a gallop. They flew by the dilapidated factory slowly falling apart by the railroad tracks, then cantered by the fields on the outskirts of Saint Denis. Once in town, Arthur slowed to a swaying walk not wanting to accidentally plow some blue-collar worker over.

The blazing sun stung his eyes and made his lingering headache come back to a dull ache. He really hoped Bronte wasn’t going to challenge him to any quick-witted verbal battles today, for he was sure he’d say something he’d regret. Several lawmen were stationed on the road Bronte lived on, which Arthur assumed was the work of bribery. The lawman hardly gave him a passing glance which was a shape contrast to the stares he had been getting upon arriving in Saint Denis the first time.

Arthur knew he wasn’t well-dressed. His shirts and pants had patched holes in them and his boots had lost their luster years ago. Even his pa’s godforsaken hat had a bullet hole through the crown of it. He didn’t fit into the high-society crowd, and yet these lawmen didn’t even give him a passing glance. The observation put him on edge as he pulled his steed to a halt in front of the infamous Bronte Mansion.

After hitching his horse and petting him on the neck, he pulled a double barrel shotgun from the sleeve on his saddle. He checked to make sure two rounds were in the chamber before clicking it shut. He had brought it knowing how thick a gator’s hide could be, but he hoped he wouldn’t be using it today. Stiffly walking to the front gate, he swung the shotgun over his shoulder and waited for a guard to come open it for him.

When a guard approached, Arthur straightened and put on his meanest intimidating glare. “Bronte wanted me to swing by t-”

“I know who you are, Cowboy. Come along, signor Bronte doesn’t like to wait.” He replied in an icy tone and unlocked the gate, waving Arthur through. Arthur sucked on his teeth and he stomped up the walkway to the house. He was greeted at the door by a familiar face.

“Mr. Morgan! It’s good to meet you again! Signor Bronte is waiting at the back patio for you.” Luca smiled brightly at Arthur, making the outlaw feel a bit better about being surrounded by a small army of guards.

“Thank ya, Mr. Napoli.”

Luca’s cheeks flushed and he shook his head, “Just call me Luca, Mr. Morgan.” The servant led Arthur through the hallway to the backyard of the Italian mobster.

“Alright, Luca, but that means ya gotta call me Arthur. None of this Mister business.” Arthur paused as he looked at the wallpaper in the hallway. “Yer sh*ttin’ me,” he whispered. He hadn’t noticed last time but the wallpaper had a very prominent ‘A+B’. How prideful could someone be to have their initials plastered on their walls?

Well, he was sure Dutch would do that too if he had the money.

“Are you coming, Mist- Arthur?”

He himself might have chosen some wildlife scene with a whitetail deer and pheasants. Arthur looked away from the wallpaper and followed the younger man. “Sure…”

Bronte’s ‘backyard’ ended up being more of a garden that would have cost a fortune to make. The walkways were pristine and the shrubs were all trimmed neatly. A large water feature was surrounded by three pavilions making the whole ‘backyard’ look more like an oasis that some king might have. Under one of the pavilions, Bronte was lounging with a cigar and a cup of wine. He was wearing the same clothes he had been the last time Arthur had been here, but the robe was a royal purple and the funny little hat had thorns and roses on it. He looked perfect, without a wrinkle or crease.

Bronte’s face lit up at the sight of Arthur, making his gut turn over in a queasy yet exciting way. Arthur stood awkwardly in front of Bronte, holding the shoulder strap of his shotgun before taking a seat across from Bronte.

“ Lasciaci, Luca. I didn’t think you would be coming, Arthur. It’s already midday. Don’t tell me you wanted to keep me waiting?” Bronte picked up his glass of wine from the coffee table separating them. Luca bowed slightly and returned to the house.

“Oh uhm, nah, didn’t wanna keep ya waitin’. Just had a bad hangover.” Arthur mumbled, his fingers rubbing into the worn leather of the shotgun strap. “Now ‘bout them gators-”

Bronte held up a hand and took a sip of wine, halting Arthur’s sentence. “You make me wait then act like you are on a time schedule. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like some wine?”

Arthur frowned and unslung his shotgun from his shoulder to lean it against his chair. The thought of alcohol made him feel sick, but a little wine never hurt anyone. Arthur took note that Bronte had a second glass next to the wine bottle like he had been expecting him.

Of course, he had been expecting him.

Thanking Bronte with a nod, Arthur took the delicate glass after Bronte poured a generous amount into it. He had to admit it was nice to sit back and enjoy the day. The only problems were the smothering heat that made him want to take off his shirt and the predator eyes looking him up and down.

“You drank quite a bit last night. I’m surprised you are able to function.”

Arthur chuckled and sipped the dry, aged wine. “Ah well, I’ve had some experience drinkin’ and goin’ to work the next day.” Crossing his legs at the ankle, Arthur leaned back in his chair with closed eyes, sinking into the soft cushions laid over the wooden frame. “Though I dunno how you deal with this heat. It’s downright suffocating.”

Bronte hummed the clink of his glass hitting the coffee table. “You get used to it, tesoro .”

Arthur peeked an eye open to glance at Bronte, wondering what he had just said. He had picked up on pieces of different languages but Italian was not one of them. He had learned some Welsh from his mom before she passed, Dutch spoke plenty of Dutch in the years Arthur had known him, there was Herr Strauss who mumbled in German quite often, and Javier who sang in Spanish.

“What’s that mean?” Arthur sat up and leaned onto his elbows, tilting his head.

“ Tesoro ?” Bronte smirked and slowly stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and strutting around the table to stand behind Arthur. “The closest thing in English is treasure or darling.”

Arthur laughed to hide the fact he turned red from his cheeks to his ears. “Me? Treasure? I think ya got the wrong idea.” Shaking his head Arthur stood up, placing his glass down and grabbing his shotgun. “How ‘bout ya show me yer so-called gator problem.”

“Very well, Tesorino . Come along.” Bronte motioned for Arthur to walk with him to the back of the property. Behind the garden courtyard area was a pavilion with a small dock around it. Just standing from the bricked patio Arthur could see seven alligator heads bobbing in the murky water. Their snouts were all longer than Arthur’s forearm and hand.

“You weren’t joking about the gators.” Arthur said in disbelief, his shotgun felt measly in his hand.

“I am many things, Arthur, but a liar I am not.” Bronte stated making Arthur choke on a laugh that had many of the alligator heads disappearing under the water.

“I doubt that on several levels, Mister Bronte.” Arthur said after he stopped laughing. When was the last time he genuinely laughed?

Bronte turned to Arthur, a smirk playing at his lips and the wrinkles by his eyes creasing. “I bend the truth, but I don’t lie.”

Arthur snorted and crouched down at the water’s edge, looking into the muck. He hadn’t ever hunted gators before but maybe he could talk to the people in Lagras on some methods. After he had helped that lady get back home after her horse died, he would get smiles and greetings when passing through there. “I would of thought you’d like havin’ gators so close. Easier to get rid of bodies.”

“Is that so?” Bronte spoke from behind him, and Arthur was struck by how easily Bronte could end him with a shove into the dark water. Arthur glanced over his shoulder giving Bronte a warning look before the older man stepped away and clasped his hand behind his back. “Personally I would prefer to have shoes rather than use them for a corpse disposal. Do you think you can get rid of a few?”

Arthur stood up quickly and walked away from the edge, surveying the land around the lake with hands on his hips. “Imma need more than just this shotgun. Killin’ them would draw more in if the bodies stay in the lake. I’ll go up and talk to the people in Lagras for advice and come back with a better plan.”

“I see. Turns out you aren’t a jack of all trades like I thought, tesorino .” Bronte left the patio and walked back into his courtyard leisurely. Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he strode after Bronte.

“Listen, if they were f*ckin’ rabbits I could deal with ‘em, but those are carnivores with big mouths and bigger appetites.” Arthur snapped, gesturing to the water.

Bronte rounded on Arthur, coldly looking at the enraged outlaw. Arthur clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling more than a little embarrassed his temper had flared up. He lowered his eyes in a form of submission, something he had learned helped appease Dutch’s anger. “As I said, Cowboy. Not a jack of all trades, but you seem to always finish a job. So I will give you credit there.”

Arthur nodded and cleared his throat, tipping his hat down. “I should get on that then-”

“Ah ah ah, stop pouting. Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t pouting, but something other than Pearson’s stew would be heavenly. “Sure, I’ll stay for dinner. What are we havin’? Spaghetti?” He joked, but Bronte just tilted his head.

“If you would like spaghetti I can have the cook make it,” Bronte said simply and wandered toward his house.

The cowboy stood still in surprise before blinking and rushing to keep up with Bronte. “I guess I’ll see what Jack was raving all about.” He mumbled softly.

It turned out spaghetti was delicious albeit very messy. He couldn’t imagine how Jack, a four-year-old, managed to eat it without getting sauce all over his face. He had found out halfway through his struggle to eat the slippery noodle, that if he twisted his fork he could gather a mound of noodles.

Bronte didn’t comment on the sloppiness, but he did smile in amusem*nt as sauce splattered through Arthur’s grizzly beard. The meal was mostly silent, but it was anything but an awkward silence. Arthur found it refreshing compared to the boisterous dinners back at camp. Luca had given both of them a glass of white wine that Arthur had stupidly gulped in between bites of spaghetti.

He was pleasantly buzzed by the end of the meal. He counted how many light bulbs were on the chandelier hanging over the table as Bronte finished his meal with much more finesse than Arthur. It had grown dark in the hours he had been at the mansion, and Arthur assumed Hosea would be worried about his return and Dutch was plotting his punishment.

“Well, I appreciate ya havin’ me for dinner, but I gotta get goin’, Mr. Bronte.” Arthur clapped his hands on the table and stood up. Bronte arched an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“So soon? Come now, Tesoro . I have some more art I would like to show you.” Bronte slowly stood up and pushed his chair in, knowing the polite cowboy would surely follow him.

Swallowing hard, Arthur looked from Bronte to the self-portrait at the head of his dining room table. He knew what Bronte was implying, but if he waited much longer, Hosea would send a search party of some kind.

His body longed for attention that those dark predator eyes could grant him. Arthur looked down at his satchel in thought before sucking on his tongue. “Sure… I’d love to see more art you’ve acquired.” He grabbed his hat from where he had hung it on the back of his chair and rubbed the brim between his fingers.

Bronte’s eyes crinkled and his lips quirked up into a smirk. “Very well. Luca!” The servant came rushing into the room before coming to attention in front of him. “Make sure Mr. Morgan and I are not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening, Oh, and tell Marco he will be cooking for two tomorrow morning. Also, make sure Mr. Morgan’s horse is adequately cared for.”

“Of course, signore. Have a good evening.” Luca bowed and began to collect the plates and silverware from the table. Arthur watched the young man work before Bronte snapped his fingers a few times and gestured for him to walk towards the stairs.

Arthur raised his arms in surrender and sauntered towards the stairs, his heart thudding in his chest. He was really doing this wasn't he? His cheeks heated in embarrassment, but it was exciting to have someone’s attention solely on him. Bronte chuffed behind him, mumbling something that sounded like ‘little minx’.

When on the second floor, Bronte led Arthur to a room he assumed was Bronte’s bedroom. Upon entering the room Arthur’s eyes widened at the grandness of a bed big enough that a horse could lay in. Covered in satiny layers and with a headboard decorated in reds and gold, the bed probably cost more than anything Arthur owned. He whistled and let his gaze wander around the room to an archway that led into a luxurious bathroom.

Arthur felt like a kid in a candy store as he strolled around the room touching everything from the cushions of a couch to the dark polished wood of the bed frame. After exploring the room, Arthur turned to Bronte who was watching him with intense interest.

“Not used to luxury, as predicted.” Bronte approached Arthur, stalking him like a tiger would a deer. Arthur felt frozen on the spot, his fingers rubbing holes into his gun belt. “Now, Arthur , why don’t you take off that satchel and your holsters for me?”

Arthur’s throat went dry as he reached up instantly to pull his satchel over his head. His holsters were unbuckled more hesitantly but came off all the same. He set them on the couch against the wall and kept his gaze lowered as he played with the buttons on his shirt. Lastly, he gently sat his hat on top of his satchel.

Bronte’s hand curled under his jaw pulling his eyes up from the floor, “No need to be shy, or do you want me to unwrap you like the treasure you are?” Bronte’s words made Arthur blush all the way down to his neck. He didn’t know how to respond and let out a choked laugh.

“I- uhm-”

“Lay down, Arthur,” he said with a force that Arthur recognized as being an order.

Arthur’s body moved while his brain struggled to process what was happening. He felt vulnerable as he presented his stomach to Bronte, but the uneasiness faded from his tense form when Bronte lifted one of his legs to pull his boot free.

The other boot soon joined its twin on the ground as Bronte’s hands slid up Arthur’s outer legs up to his hips. With a sputtering breath, Arthur curled his hands into the satin covers and held tight. His pants were tented already, his groin begging to be touched, but Bronte’s hands skimmed up over Arthur’s rib cage and across his pecs. Fingers pressed into the flesh of his chest before coming up to start unbuttoning his shirt. It threw Arthur for a loop at how gentle Bronte was being compared to the last time he had been f*cked.

Arthur audibly moaned when Bronte ran his fingernails down his bared sternum to the thick hair trail that led into his pants. He was starting to squirm more and more with each passing moment, his breaths coming out in steamy puffs. He almost begged Bronte to hurry up, but threw his head back when Bronte rubbed his thumbs over Arthur’s hardened nipples.

Red hot pleasure coursed through his body making him buck up off the soft mattress and reach up to grab a handful of Bronte’s robe. Bronte smirked above him and rolled the buds between his fingers, ending in a short tug.

“Sensitive there are we?” Bronte rumbled, giving one of his nipples a flick that made Arthur shout. He never realized how good it could feel to have his nipples played with. Sure, he knew some women liked it, but the thought never crossed his mind that he would like it.

Bronte left his throbbing chest alone to unclip his suspenders and unbutton his pants. When his pants parted, Arthur bit his lip until he winced. His dick and balls were aching as the cold air kissed the hot skin. A hand wrapped around the base and gave it a dry stroke before hooking around the waistband of his pants.

Arthur arched his hips off the bed so Bronte could pull them off, leaving him in his unbuttoned shirt, gloves, and socks. It felt dirtier than being completely naked. Bronte held one of Arthur’s legs up, giving his knee a kiss that sent a fire through his lower half all the way to his face. The mob boss slid between his legs, spreading Arthur’s thighs and exposing him more.

Arthur rested his legs awkwardly on either side of Bronte as he took off his robe and headband. The intimacy of seeing Bronte face to face made it hard for Arthur to look at him, especially when his clothed thighs rubbed against his hairy ones. Those hands were on him again, smoothing up over his stomach to his pecs, pressing their groins together and making all of Arthur’s thoughts wane to nothing.

A loud groan echoed in the room as Arthur pushed his chest up into Bronte’s hand. He was boxed in when Bronte used one arm to prop himself up and the other to indulge in making Arthur’s erect nipples an angry pink.

“My, you are a needy thing aren’t you, Tesoro ?” Bronte tilted his head as he looked into Arthur’s hazy eyes and drooling mouth. “Don’t worry I won’t torture you for much longer.” Bronte’s warm lips pressed against Arthur’s collar bone and the fingers teasing his nipple traced down to his co*ck.

“Please…” Arthur rasped, his forehead starting to sweat and knees trembling against Bronte’s hips. He cried out when Bronte bypassed his dick to cup his testes. They gently squeezed for a moment before going down to massage his ring of muscle.

“Is this what you want? Something inside this pretty hole?” Bronte sat up, leaning away to reach into his pocket. Arthur’s tongue seemed to swell in his mouth making it hard to speak, and his eyes darted to and fro trying to ignore the sharp eyes looking at him. “Come now, answer my question.”

Arthur shut his eyes and sighed, before looking at Bronte as he opened a tin of pomade. “Please, Mr. Bronte… I- yes I want something inside of me.”

“ Bravo Ragazzo . You may call me Angelo in this situation, Arthur.” His fingers dipped into the pomade before smearing it over Arthur’s entrance and using his clean hand to undo his own pants and slick up his dick. Arthur stared at Angelo’s dick, seeing it was a darker color than his own, and the pubic hairs were neatly shaved, unlike his unruly forest.

His dick wasn’t particularly large, Arthur could almost say he was bigger, but it didn’t matter as Angelo leaned down to press the head at his ass. Angelo had thrown the pomade somewhere so he could lean down, chest to chest with Arthur. His hands rested on either side of Arthur’s head leaving no room to look away. They breathed the same hot and humid air as Angelo carefully eased the tip in.

The painful stretch made Arthur whine pathetically, but Angelo soothed a hand through his sandy locks, gently tugging them. The sensation caused the stretch to dull and his head to tilt back, exposing his neck to Angelo.

“That’s it, you are taking it so well, Tesorino .” Angelo praised while pressing his lips to Arthur’s throat. Angelo gave a sharp thrust that suddenly buried himself in Arthur. He yelped and grabbed Angelo’s sides with his hands as his toes curled. It was uncomfortable at first, but when Angelo started rocking his hips, Arthur’s head lolled and his hands fisted in his shirt.

“f*ck- Oh Goddammit, Angelo,” Arthur sighed in bliss his legs curling around Angelo’s waist. Angelo nuzzled his face into Arthur’s shoulder, leaving bruising kisses and stinging bites along the reddened flesh. Arthur hiccupped when Angelo struck the sweet spot inside of him.

“Hmm, hang on, little cowboy.” Angelo warned before starting to thrust in and out, his balls slapping against Arthur’s ass with each stroke. Arthur’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his dick leaked precum into his own naval and belly hair. Angelo’s breathing drew ragged, and his control began to slip. When he started to grunt animalistically and one of his hands traveled down to hook around his hip, Arthur knew he was done for.

He stared at the decorated ceiling as the bed rocked against the wall with Angelo’s energetic motion. He briefly thought about how he had ever gotten in this situation, gasping as Angelo’s angle changed to go deeper into him. He latched a hand around his forgotten dick and started smearing precum over his shaft. On each thrust, Arthur rubbed over his slit, and on each out pull he fondled his balls.

He was so close to org*sm he cried when Angelo stopped thrusting and sat up. His eyes refocused but he looked disheveled and out of breath. Arthur’s body quivered with shocks of pleasure, his mouth moving but nothing besides air came out.

“Ask me nicely to let you cum.” Angelo ordered, a smile painting his lips as his thumbs circled Arthur’s inner thighs.

Arthur wanted to curse and insult the man, his temper rising like a cornered animal before he whined. “Please please, Angelo. Let me cum. I need it so, so bad. I’ll do anything, please.” Arthur hadn’t begged since he convinced Hosea to let him keep Copper. He didn’t care if he sounded like some needy whor*. He needed to org*sm and release the intense pleasure curled in his gut.

Angelo smirked, his own hand wrapping around Arthur’s dick and pumping it as he rolled his hips roughly. He dragged Arthur into each thrust by the hold on his dick, and with the pressure inside of him and the tugging of his co*ck Arthur arched his back. His lungs heaved and his thighs flexed around Angelo’s midsection before his dick started to shoot strings of sticky sem*n over his exposed chest and belly.

His eyes rolled back into his head and his hips bucked into Angelo’s thrusting to ride out his climax. Angelo let go of his flagging dick and grabbed his hips with both hands to push the last of his energy into f*cking the limp body under him. Arthur rubbed his sweaty face as his body jerked with Angelo until the older man groaned and warmth filled Arthur’s insides.

Angelo panted roughly, pulling out almost immediately to collapse on his back next to Arthur. Arthur arched a tired eyebrow to look at him, cringing when cum slowly leaked out of his winking hole. “Did I wear ya out, Angelo?”

Angelo gave him an unimpressed look and slicked back his hair. “When you get to be forty-eight, let me know how you fare.” He smirked and reached up to tousle Arthur’s hair.

“I’ll be sure to do that, I’ll even write ya a letter.” Arthur mumbled and stretched his arms above his head, wincing when his shoulder ached. “Did ya f*ckin’ bite me?”

“You seemed to like it, don’t complain.” Angelo muttered and sat up, putting his flaccid dick away and getting up to put his headband back on, neatly tucking his hair back. “You’re welcome to use the bathtub… Arthur?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed half asleep, his sore body relaxing peacefully and a smile gracing his lips.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Arthur’s body slowly began to wake up, his mind coming alive with the dull ache in his lower half. Fluttering his eyelids open, he smacked his dry lips and reached a hand up to rub his face. Plush softness cradled his body making him want to curl up and fall back asleep.

As his mind began to process his surroundings, Arthur froze and furled his brow. He realized the comforter he was wrapped in was nothing like the ratty blanket on his bed back at Shady Bell.

Come to think of it, this room looked nothing like his room.

Arthur shot up and panickily looked around the luxurious room before his beating heart calmed, remembering his night. Alligators and Bronte- no, Angelo. Thank God, Angelo was not in the bed with him. Arthur didn’t think he could have handled the embarrassment. Arthur threw off the comforter and looked at the hints of bruises on his hips and the mess that had dried to a crusty yellow in his pubic and stomach hairs.

A groan rumbled out of his throat as he covered his face and fell back into the nest of blankets and pillows. He was supposed to go back to Shady Belle last night, but he had spent the night with Angelo. What was Dutch going to say?

Savoring the satin against his skin, Arthur slowly crawled out of the bed and hobbled towards the bathroom. The bathtub looked inviting with its pristine white porcelain and rich mahogany wood border, but he was pressed for time. He turned the faucet on letting cold water spill over his hand, using it to scrub at the mess around his groin. When he was cleaned of the dried sem*n, he took the time to wash his armpits and face before turning off the faucet.

When turning to look in the mirror, Arthur froze. Hickeys littered his neck where his beard did not yet reach. He cupped his face in horror before sagging his shoulders and stomping out of the bathroom.

He collected his clothes from where they were scattered around the room. After dressing in a hurried manner making sure to pull his collar up, Arthur slung his satchel over his shoulder and buckled his gun belt over his hips. He absently stuck his finger though the bullet hole in his hat before grabbing the crown and plopping it on his head.

If he was lucky he might be able to get out of the mansion without Angelo spotting him. He had half a mind to search the bedroom for valuables, but the way Angelo had not only f*cked him, but made love to him, made Arthur rethink that.

Angelo had actually made love to him. Arthur almost laughed as he walked out of the room towards the staircase. When was the last time that had happened? Probably when he talked Mary into having sex with him before he proposed to her. His hand glided across the A+B wallpaper as he descended the stairs.

Swiveling his head around for any signs of a guard or Angelo, Arthur stalked towards the front door. His fingers had just grasped the bronze handle when a voice called his name.

“Arthur! Good morning, I hope you had a pleasant night. Signor Bronte has been waiting for you.” Luca chirped and waved Arthur to follow him. Arthur’s shoulder’s sagged before he turned to follow Luca towards the dining room.

Arthur was surprised to see Guido Martelli sitting at the dining table with Angelo. They seemed to be in deep conversation before Angelo spotted Arthur. “Ah, it would appear sleeping beauty decided to wake up.” Angelo opened his arms with a sh*t-eating grin.

Arthur huffed in response, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “We can’t all be perfect.” He took a seat across from Martelli, staring the younger man down. Martelli had an equally sour look on his face, eyes narrowed and jaw moving.

“Guido, you remember Signor Morgan from the mayor’s party, yes?” Angelo picked up his wine glass, swirling it before taking a sip.

“Unfortunately,” He said shortly and then turned to look at Angelo, snapping something in Italian.

Arthur’s nose flared as he grabbed a glass of water in front of his empty plate, taking a much needed gulp. Oh, how he wanted to take this prissy bitch out back and beat him black and blue.

Angelo said something back in Italian before laughing and gesturing to the dining room entryway as Luca and the chef came out with platters. “Breakfast is served, albeit a bit later than usual, eh Arthur?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and reached into his satchel to check the time on a stolen pocket watch. Quarter to ten. He internally cringed and leaned back so Luca could set his platter in front of him. On the platter was a pile of scrambled eggs, a pastry of some kind, and a hefty slice of beef steak.

Arthur blinked in surprise at the large portion of food. He hadn’t seen this much food on one plate since- he didn’t even know when. He glanced at Angelo who had a significantly smaller portion, then to Martelli who wore a disgusted face. Arthur was going to make it his personal goal to eat all of the food, and as sloppily as he could. Just to spite Martelli.

“I thought you could use a larger portion. I can’t imagine--what was his name?-- Mr. van der Linde feeds you like he should. For the brute of the gang, you could do to gain a few pounds.” Angelo announced simply and unwrapped his silverware to place his napkin in his lap.

Arthur nodded, still dumbstruck at the food. He almost dug in with his bare hands, yet a sensible part of him unwrapped his silverware and forked a large amount of eggs into his mouth. They were light and fluffy. He stabbed the steak in his entirety and took a bite out of it. The meat was tender and still slightly bloody, the juices dripping down his chin.

After the eggs and steak were devoured, Arthur grabbed the pastry and made eye contact with Martelli as he took a bite. Martelli’s lip curled up and he turned to Angelo, announcing he would wait in the sitting room for Angelo.

Arthur smirked victoriously and leaned back in his chair, happily munching on the flaky pastry. Angelo shook his head, lightly dabbing his lips with his napkin. “You are something else, tesoro .”

“He was lookin’ at me funny,” Arthur pouted, not unlike a toddler, before he set his pastry down and patted his belly. “But I have to thank ya for the meal. It beats Pearson’s cookin’ by a mile and a half.”

“You are very welcome, Arthur. I imagine you will be leaving shortly, so I had Luca collect your horse from the stables. He is waiting out front for you.” Angelo set his napkin on the table and interlocked his fingers together. He looked as if he wanted to say something but could not find the correct words.

Arthur subconsciously leaned forward toward Angelo waiting to hear what he was going to say. He desperately wished in the dark, sad part of his heart Angelo would tell him to stay. To tell him how much he loved last night.

“I do wish you will return at a later time to deal with this alligator problem.” He finally said, his eyes flashing a youthful lust that didn’t fit the wrinkles on his face.

Arthur bit his lip, tilting his head and rubbing his neck. He felt like a schoolboy, whose crush just asked him out. He was thirty-six and way past his prime, but Angelo obviously liked something about him, even if it was just his body.

“Sure… I already gave you my word I would do it,” Arthur said just above a whisper. Angelo smiled and reached out to brush over Arthur’s jaw before flicking the collar of his shirt down.

“As an outlaw, your word means nothing to me.” Angelo mumbled while tracing one of the dark marks on Arthur’s sunburnt skin. “Actions speak louder. Do not disappoint me, tesorino .”

Arthur felt a pressure on his chest, like when Dutch told him to ‘have a little faith’ or when Hosea gave him a disappointed frown. He didn’t want to disappoint Angelo. Not one bit.

He gave a curt nod and leaned into Angelo’s feather-like touches before standing up, his hands going to his gun belt and his gaze lowered. He cleared his throat and bit his tongue, “and… thank ya fer everything.”

“I already told you, you are welcome,” Angelo chuckled before gesturing to the corner of the dining room, “Don’t forget your shotgun. You might be needing that.”

A blush coated Arthur’s face as he nodded and went to retrieve his shotgun. He awkwardly stood with the shotgun in his grasp before he tipped his hat to Angelo and turned to leave.

Luca smiled and half bowed as Arthur walked to the front door. A few guards were patrolling the front yard, and one of them stopped to open the front gate for him. His stallion was hitched to one of the ornate posts, and Arthur had to pause at the sight.

The amber champagne horse’s coat shone brightly in the Saint Denis sun, and his brown mane and tail looked like they had been washed thoroughly, making them light and silky. His hooves even seemed to have a shiny coat of polish on them.

“Boy, what did they do to ya.” Arthur laughed warmly and ran his palm over the stallion’s neck as he nickered at him. “Look like a little show pony.”

Arthur shook his head and unhitched the steed, before pushing his shotgun into the sleeve on his saddle. “I reckon, Dutch is goin’ ta be more than a lil upset…” A sigh dragged through Arthur’s body making his shoulder’s slump and face droop. After swinging up into the saddle, Arthur wheeled the Trotter around to walk down the cobblestone road.

oO0Oo

Angelo entered the sitting room shortly after Arthur left. His second looked agitated, his knee bouncing and fists clenched on his thighs. It amused Angelo that his little cowboy could rile up his second so drastically.

“Guido, come now, don’t tell me Mr. Morgan makes you that irritated,” Anglo said in Italian while he took a seat opposite of Guido. Guido’s nostrils flared and he rolled his eyes.

“I just don’t see why you are spending so much time with that outlaw. He’s repulsive, vile, dirty, the list goes on.” Guido threw his arms up and shook his head as Angelo nodded along.

Angelo didn’t rightfully know why he was so interested in Arthur either. He just seemed like a man who never got the love he deserved. He craved praise even if he got flustered from it. Sure, he was a brute who was as loyal as a dog, but he had a rough charm that Angelo found adorable. That Dutch van der Linde didn’t deserve to have such a loyal follower with the sh*t that spewed from his filthy mouth. Angelo rubbed a hand over his mouth before considering what Guido said.

“I’ll be honest with you Guido. I don’t have an answer for you, but it is none of your concern what I do in my free time. Is it?” Angelo tilted his head, his tone not unkind, but Guido stiffened just slightly.

“It is when it endangers our businesses. Just,” Guido sighed and relaxed his body, “please consider what you are doing. I beg, not just as your second, but as your friend, Angelo.”

Angelo waved his hand at Guido and crossed his legs at the ankle. “I would not endanger our business for some country bumpkin, Guido. Now, what is it you wanted to discuss?”

Guido huffed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Everything is in order. Chief Lambert has been paid off, turned a blind eye to that murder one of his officers saw. All the business fronts have been handling our products without a problem, and they paid their protection money. Mr. Gagnon was behind on his payments, but made up for it this month. Moonshine went down due to the… issue with the Braithwaites, but we have recruited more hillbillies to produce so that is going back up.” Guido paused in his long winded report, his jaw flexing. “ But opium profits have been on a downward trend and are down by twenty percent this month.”

Angelo’s eyebrow twitched and he uncrossed his legs. “Why?”

Guido made a motion with his hand like he was looking for the right words to not upset Angelo. “I’ve heard rumors that some of our dealers have been pocketing the cash and not giving us our due. I’m not one to be swayed by rumors, but the numbers speak for themselves.”

“Who are they?”

“One is named Bernard Thompson. He is a repeat offender in this area, but there are four other suspects: Gene Davis, Carter Lewis, Red Meyer, and Frank Müller. I believe Thompson needs to be paid a visit. Make it a warning for our other dealers to not cross the Bronte empire.”

Angelo nodded solemnly. It would not do to have someone thinking they could stab him in the back. “Organize someone to intimidate him, and if sales don’t go up in the next month, have him eliminated. The same for the other four as well.”

“We could just send your little dog,” Guido mumbled before clearing his throat and straightening. “I’ll get right on that, Angelo.”

Angelo smirked and scratched his jaw, “Maybe we do send Mr. Morgan.”

Guido froze and looked at him with eyes the size of dinner plates. “I was joking.”

“And I wasn’t. Arthur is good at intimidating; he could get the job done easily.” Angelo let a fond smile cross his face, which made Guido sputter.

“And so could Rocco! Maybe you have forgotten, Angelo, but Arthur is already part of a gang. Why would he run a job for us, when he has obligations to that ragtag group of his?!” Guido’s face was flushed red from his anger.

Angelo chuckled and laced his fingers together over his stomach. “You forget, they will do anything for money. While Rocco does good work, I want to see what kind of mettle Arthur has.”

Guido stood up and started to pace around the room, his fists shaking at his sides. “What kind of game are you playing with this degenerate, Angelo?”

Angelo hummed, taking a moment to mull over his thoughts. What was he playing at? Sure, the thought of the cowboy going out to beat the sh*t out of someone under the Bronte name made his body light up in arousal, but that didn’t constitute why he would suggest such a thing. Maybe, deep down he wanted to claim Arthur as his, sweep him away from that gang and integrate him into his brotherhood.

He hadn’t had a thought like that for a long while. He was getting older, the desire to settle down had started to cross his mind. Settling down with a lover to spoil had also crossed his mind. Maybe Arthur was that someone, but it was still too early for Angelo to commit to a life not at the head of an empire.

“What is wrong with having one more ally in this business?” Angelo asked.

“He could stab us in the back, Angelo! This man has your mind scattered, you aren’t thinking straight. Please, just take some time to think about this before you rush into it.” Guido sighed and collapsed on the couch again. “What do you see in him that I’m not seeing?”

“He could make a great addition to the brotherhood. He’s hardworking, loyal, intimidating, smarter than he looks, and knows his way around crime.”

“While I might agree with you on most of that. He’s loyal to someone else.”

“For the time being, yes.”

Guido shook his head and gave Angelo a watery smile, “I know I can’t stop you from doing what you want. I only hope what you are saying is true.”

I hope so too , Angelo thought momentarily. “I would not do something to put us in jeopardy, Guido. Was it not I who got us out of poverty stricken Italia and started this business in America? I would not betray you like that. Trust me, my friend.”

Guido reluctantly nodded. “I trust you with my life, Angelo.”

“Good, now, I have some work I must get done, I would appreciate it if you could do a thorough sweep of our opium dealers to seek out others that might… be persuaded by their own desires.” Angelo stood up and went up to Guido to kiss his cheeks in farewell.

“I’ll get on that, signore ,” Guido replied after pressing his own farewell kisses to Angelo’s cheeks.

oO0Oo

Arthur’s return to Shady Belle was met with a disapproving glare from Dutch, who stood on his balcony. Arthur knew he had f*cked up and tried to high-tail it to his room and away from Dutch’s wrath, but he was stopped by Jack who spit-fired questions about his stay at Bronte’s. Of course, Dutch had run his mouth about Arthur not coming home last night.

“Did you have spaghetti, Uncle Arthur!?” Jack’s eyes were wide and smile even wider.

Choking a little, Arthur crouched down to Jack’s level, head swiveling looking for Dutch’s approach. “I uhm- Yeah, I did have some, Jackie. Can ya do me a favor and go upstairs and find Uncle Dutch and distract him for me?”

Jack huffed and crossed his arms. “No. Uncle Dutch is with Micah. And Micah is stinky.”

Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, that’s fair. I wouldn’t wanna be ‘round Micah either.” With a defeated sigh, Arthur stood back up. “Well, I guess this battle is for me and me alone, bud.”

“Momma says it's okay to be afraid. You can hold my hand if you want!” Jack chirped and promptly grabbed Arthur’s hand and started to tug him towards the stairs. Arthur smiled fondly at the kid and followed him up the stairs. His smile instantly vaporized when they reached the top of the stairs.

Dutch stood in front of his double doored bedroom, his arms crossed and a cigar locked between his teeth. Micah was leaning against the wall beside him, a smug smirk peeking through the coarse hairs of his moustache. Arthur’s heart thumped in his chest when faced with the ferocity of Dutch’s stare.

“Jack, can you please go downstairs? I need a word with Arthur.” Dutch’s tone betrayed the anger Arthur could see in his pose.

Jack bravely squeezed Arthur’s hand before he lost his nerve and rushed down the stairs. Arthur wished he could do the same as Dutch jerked his head toward his bedroom. Micah stood up and brushed past Arthur as he walked down the stairs, mumbling a “Good luck, cowpoke”.

His fists clenched wanting to grab Micah by his ratty hair and throttle him, but instead forced himself to walk into Dutch’s room. His words died in his throat when Dutch took a seat on his bed.

“So, do you have anything to say for yourself, my son ?” Dutch snarled, stubbing out his cigar so he could hold his undivided attention on Arthur.

Arthur fiddled with his gun belt as he tried to form a response. “I did what ya wanted. I went to help Bronte with his gator problem…”

“And that took all night, and clear into the noon hour? Arthur, I love you as a son, and it pains me to see you ignore your family because you have some schoolboy crush on a crime lord.” Dutch’s voice cracked as it rose in pitch, showing how upset he was.

Arthur bowed his head, hiding his eyes with the brim of his hat. He wasn’t ignoring the gang. He contributed nearly all of his earnings to the camp funds and hunted regularly, but maybe there was something he could do more like doing more chores or buying more ammunition.

“‘M sorry, Dutch. Time got away from me-”

“I expect better from you! You are my son; my second in command. I can’t have you away from me, doing what you want, when there are people that need to be fed. People see you spending time with some high class criminal and lose faith in our cause. I need you here to set an example, Arthur.”

Dutch’s words cut deep. He was faithful. He did everything for this gang. He would lay his life down for any one of his family (minus Micah of course). Arthur’s mouth felt dry as he tipped his head up to catch Dutch’s eyes. They looked crazed and intense. Those were the eyes that had murdered Colm’s brother; the eyes that thought they could con both the Grays and Braithwaites; the eyes that had allowed the massacre of Blackwater. They weren't the eyes that had chuckled warmly and offered Arthur a cot all those years ago.

“What even is our cause now, Dutch?” He said it before he could stop himself. He regretted it when Dutch leapt up, arms spread wide.

“Do you not have any faith in me anymore, Arthur?! Both you and Hosea, losing trust in me. Gah! I’ve done nothing but provide for you, and all I ask is that you follow me.” Dutch’s roar made Arthur feel like he was fourteen again. Afraid of being thrown out because he upset Dutch or Hosea for some silly reason.

He so badly wanted to remind Dutch of those they had lost recently due to Dutch’s leadership. Jenny, Davey, Mac, Sean . Arthur’s heart tightened at the raw memory of the red-headed bastard. The way Sean’s body had slumped over his shoulder, smearing brain matter all over his shirt. He hadn’t cried since losing Eliza and Isaac, but he felt his nose tingle unpleasantly.

“You’re right, Dutch. ‘M sorry. I’ll do better.” Arthur said robotically. It’s all he could say.

“Good, I expect you too. Now, get out of my sight.” Dutch waved his hand at Arthur while smoothing over his slicked back hair.

Arthur fled from Dutch’s room and went to his own. After plopping down on his cot, Arthur held his head in his hands, his fingers tightly holding his hair. He felt tears well in his eyes before he choked them down and sighed shakily. It felt like everything was spiraling out of control, and there was nothing, nothing , he could do.

The dangerous thought of wanting to be in Angelo’s mansion crossed his mind, but he shook it away before he could think about it further. Arthur stared at the ceiling battling his own spiraling thoughts until a knock on the door pulled him out.

He straightened and tried to wipe the mental turmoil from his face as Hosea opened the door slightly. When they locked eyes Arthur felt like crumbling again. He bowed his head, his throat constricting and jaw clenching. Hosea entered the room but shut the door behind him. The bed dipped beside Arthur and a weathered hand came to rest on his hunched back.

“You didn’t come down for dinner, so I brought you some stew. Though I wouldn’t say Pearson’s stew is good for the soul.” Hosea chuckled, but when it didn’t make Arthur quirk a smile he went silent.

“‘M not hungry ‘Sea.” Arthur thought bitterly that someone else could have his share of the food, maybe Dutch would be happy then.

“You don’t look like you could swallow a bite anyway.” Hosea set the bowl of stew off to the side and gently rubbed between Arthur’s shoulder blades. A dreadful silence filled the room.

“Hosea… I’m tired. So f*ckin’ tired.”

Hosea sighed as he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “I know. I am too, Arthur.”

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Arthur sighed as he settled down against a tree in the thick woods that surrounded Shady Belle. His journal lay open in his lap and his pencil was held loosely in his fingers. The lead tip gently tapped against a blank page as Arthur stared off into the gently swaying tree tops.

A lot had happened the past week, which hadn’t left Arthur much time to himself. Especially because Dutch had him locked under ‘house arrest’. His pencil began to glide across the page as his thoughts filed out of his mind.

He knew he had betrayed Angelo’s trust by not returning to help him with the alligators, but he had a duty to his family. But if family came first, why did he feel so guilty about not going to Angelo’s? Of course, with all the sh*t that had transpired, there was no way Arthur could have gone to Angelo’s anyway.

Within the second day of Arthur’s return, Micah had dragged him and Bill along on a stagecoach robbery. The echo of the dynamite exploding still vibrated through his bones. That poor horse team didn’t deserve to be blown to smithereens. And Micah’s grating voice flaunting his newfound friendship with Dutch made Arthur want to pummel him into the ground.

Just because Micah Bell III had been around for six f*ckin’ months didn’t mean he knew the gang like Arthur did. Arthur’s grasp on his pencil tightened to the point it nearly broke in half. With a calming breath, Arthur loosened his grasp and let a more pleasant memory be scrawled into the paper.

Cattle wrestling had been interesting. Usually, Arthur wasn’t too fond of doing jobs with Uncle, but the man had some charm. A bare hint of something Arthur found more pleasant than being anywhere near Micah. Anything would be better than being within a ten-foot radius of the bastard.

They had made a semi-decent profit from the cattle they stole from a drunken farmer. Arthur chuckled remembering how they had swindled the cattle out from under those two fellers who arrived to steal them first. At least the two jobs had made Dutch’s anger soothe over, relatively.

Dutch no longer gave him a betrayed glare, but the air of mistrust still circled around him. Even with Arthur getting up to do all the chores before dawn, Dutch still frowned at him. At least Hosea was there to calm the storm.

Hosea made sure to check in with him every night. Which Arthur thought was a little excessive, but he appreciated it all the same. He made sure Dutch stayed off of his ass when he could as well. Arthur was lucky to have the silver-tongued conman in his life. Sure, he taught him the finer arts of thievery, but he was the closest thing to a father he had.

Arthur turned the page of his journal and dropped his pencil in the divet between the paper. Things had been as good as they could be when they had lawmen chasing after them like hunting dogs who smelled a ‘coon, except with that incident with the O’Driscolls.

Poor Kieran was still recovering from his eyes being gouged from his skull. In hindsight, things could be much much worse for him, but they could be better too. Luckily, Mary-Beth was around to help lead Kieran around as he struggled to adjust to being blind. Kieran had grown on Arthur. He was a good kid, even though most of the guns still saw him as an O’Driscoll.

A dreaded thought had been plaguing his mind since the shootout. What if it hadn’t been Kieran they tortured? What if they had taken Lenny? Or Hosea? God forbid if one of the girls had been taken. The thought scared him to his core. He couldn’t let his defenses slip again. If he was going to protect everyone, he had to do a better job. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if someone else got hurt.

His mind momentarily went to Sean. If he had observed better, if he had been quicker, if he hadn’t listened to Micah… he might still be alive. Arthur shut his journal with a snap of the pages and leaned his head back against the tree. If he had tried better to talk to Dutch before Blackwater, before Micah crawled his way into the picture, Jenny, Davy, and Mac might be alive too.

Arthur looked back toward Shady Belle, seeing Jack run around with that stray dog made a smile quirk on his lips. At least they had done something right and got the boy back to his momma. If only he could get that bastard of a father, John, to man up and be a father. Now, that would be a miracle.

Arthur savored the peaceful humid breeze in the trees before dragging himself up and putting his journal into his satchel. He was low on his personal stocks of ammo and provisions which warranted a trip to Saint Denis. Before heading off he found Hosea to ask if he needed anything from town. The older man gave him a small frown before shaking his head.

“Please, be careful, Arthur,” Hosea said as Arthur began to walk away.

“Nawh, I’m a big boy, ‘Sea. I’ll be fine.” A cheeky grin pulled at Arthur’s lips as Hosea rolled his eyes and waved him off, returning his focus to his book.

Jack trampled into Arthur’s knees, and that stray dog barreled fully into Arthur’s legs causing him to stumble. “Jesus, Jack, that dog’s a nuisance.” He chuckled and clasped Jack’s shoulders as Cain barked happily.

“Hehe, momma says that too! Are you going to town, Uncle Arthur?” Jack’s eyes went wide and his lower lip stuck out in a pout. “Can you get me a chocolate bar?”

Arthur huffed and scooped Jack up, only to flip him upside down and hold him by his ankles. He mentally noted how his back ached as Jack squirmed with a childish squeal. “Oh ya want a chocolate, do ya?” Arthur gently shook the boy before using his knee to turn Jack back over to land on his feet.

“Pleaaasseee!” Jack clutched at Arthur’s pant leg refusing to let go as Arthur walked towards his horse. Cain weaved between his legs making Arthur stumbled once again. It was like the pair were conspiring against him.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll get ya a damn chocolate bar while I’m in town. Call yer hound off.” Jack unlatched from his leg and giggled as he called Cain to his side.

“Thank you, Uncle Arthur! Have a good time!” And just like that Jack was running off with Cain close on his heels. Arthur shook his head fondly before walking up to his Missouri Fox Trotter. The stallion was grazing alongside Micah’s Trotter and looked like he could care less about his rider’s quarrel with the other horse’s rider.

While Arthur fed his stallion a carrot from his satchel, Baylock looked up in interest at the treat. “Naw, this ain’t fer ya.” Arthur scolded as Baylock ambled closer and nosed at his bag. Arthur could see mud and dirt caked into Baylock’s coat and the healing scabs at his flacks where Micah spurred him. His heart ached for the beautiful stallion, he didn’t deserve to be abused because Micah couldn’t take care of his goddamn horse.

Those pleading blue eyes stared into his soul, causing Arthur’s resolution to crumble. “Fine, but don’t tell Micah ‘bout any o’ this.” Arthur pulled a partly crumbling oatcake from his bag and let the black horse inhale it from his palm. Baylock munched on the treat happily before turning around to continue his grazing.

Arthur’s stallion seemed to be happy with the gesture as well, and let Arthur saddle him without a problem, usually he would puff his stomach out to make the saddle cinch too loose.

When he mounted the Trotter he spotted Dutch at his balcony perch. His watchful eye scoured the campgrounds before landing on Arthur astride his horse. Arthur made eye contact with him before flicking his reins and turning his horse around. He felt those eyes burn into his back long after leaving the woodlands.

The ride to Saint Denis was calm with no Lemoyne Raiders in sight and only the blistering sun beating down on his shoulders. As sweat began to gather at his brow, Arthur realized how he must smell. He hadn’t had a bath in who knows how long, and bathing in that swamp water was more of a death wish than not bathing. The Bastille Saloon would have to be added to his list of errands.

Upon entering the city, he got cast a few judgmental looks that quickly turned away when recognition flashed in their eyes. The aura as he rode toward the general store grew steadily more tense to the point his fingers were itching to grab his gun from his holster. Why was he getting so many glances? Was his cover blown? Did people know he was Arthur Morgan?

His interaction with the store clerk was terse as he threw a pack of cigarettes, a bundle of carrots, a new pencil, two chocolate bars, and a few canned vegetables up onto the counter. He added a bottle of whiskey to the pile and paid the clerk with an extra tip before briskly walking out of the store. While putting the carrots and cans into his saddle bag, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He glanced up to see two men in vests and ties walking up to him. Tipping his hat down, Arthur rounded his horse, hand resting over his holster.

“Signor Morgan.” One of them called and waved at him. Arthur was about to bolt thinking these were Pinkerton scum, but the thick Italian accent made him pause. His body was still tense, but he slowly turned toward them and nodded.

“What can I do ya for?” Arthur grunted, instantly picking out the guns on their waist and possible places a knife to be stashed.

The younger-looking of the two walked right up to him making Arthur’s fists clench. “Well, you may have heard through the grapevine, Signor Bronte has been awaiting your visit.”

“I ain’t been in this rotten city for a week, so naw, I haven’t ‘heard through the grapevine’,” Arthur hissed as a blush crossed over his neck.

The young man raised his hands up in mock surrender before glancing back at his partner with a barely contained laugh. “Listen, signor Morgan, there is no need to get testy. I just wanted to personally relay the message to you.”

Arthur chewed on his tongue and looked between the two men. Of course, Angelo was going to be pissed that he didn’t show up. He hesitantly nodded and mounted his horse. “Alright… I’ll go pay ‘em a visit.”

“I wish you the best of luck, little cowboy!” The man yelled as Arthur trotted down the street. He heard cackling over the clop of his stallion’s hooves on the cobblestone, making him frown.

Surely, Angelo wasn’t going to be that upset?

Arthur was sorely mistaken.

He stood awkwardly in Angelo’s sitting room, his hat clenched in his hands and his eyes trained on the carpet. Angelo hadn’t moved from the couch since Arthur had been let into the mansion. The burning silence weighed on Arthur’s shoulders like rocks.

“Angelo-”

“Silence, Arthur, and raise your eyes. You look at me when I talk to you.” Angelo’s tone was nothing like the smooth accented voice that whispered in his ear a week ago.

After scuffing his boot on the carpet and fingering the cord on his hat, Arthur reluctantly looked up at Angelo. His wrinkled face was stony and his eyes sharp like a predator hawk’s. Arthur’s shoulders dropped and his head ducked down minutely. He was glad no guards were in the room to witness him metaphorically push his tail between his legs.

His ears strained as Angelo crossed his legs at the knee and rubbed his forehead, grumbling in Italian. “You have one chance to tell me the truth about why you did not return as you promised.”

Arthur didn’t realize he was meant to speak after the harsh words had been said. He swallowed hard only to find his mouth dry and his tongue numb. “I-” He was tempted to lie. Angelo didn’t need to know about the workings of the gang or the feud between the Van der Linde Gang and the O’Driscolls.

“Things got a little busy with the gang.” He hoped that would appease Angelo, but the Italian just co*cked his head and narrowed his eyes.

“Come here, Arthur.” Angelo flicked his wrist and pointed at the floor in front of him.

Arthur’s boots felt like they were caked in swamp mud as he trudged over to the spot Angelo pointed. The intense glare was so much worse when he was this close to him.

“Kneel.”

“Wha-”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed and slowly dropped to his knees in front of Angelo. He had to tip his head back to meet Angelo’s face, which made his cheeks heat in embarrassment and his fingers tighten on his hat.

“Now, what ‘things’ had your full attention?” Angelo leaned back in his seat, his slippered foot nearly grazing Arthur’s cheek.

A million things ran through Arthur’s mind as he stared blankly into Angelo’s dark eyes. He settled on being as blunt as he could be. “Robberies… fighting… the uhm, usual.”

Arthur winced when Angelo pressed the point of his slipper into his sunburnt throat. “I suppose I was expecting too much of you.” Disappointment dripped from Angelo’s mouth causing Arthur’s head to tip down and spine to hunch.

“Come now, no pouting, tesoro.” Angelo tipped Arthur’s chin up with his slipper and uncrossed his legs to cup Arthur’s jaw. His thumb gently grazed over his lower lip as he sighed and softened his features. Arthur leaned into the touch and let his eyes dip closed. It felt good to not have any harsh sneers or twenty people looking at him for protection. “Hmm, my poor Cowboy. They’ve worked you to the bone haven’t they?” Angelo tutted and slid his hand up to tangle in Arthur’s sweaty hair, giving it a stroke.

“‘M sorry, Angelo… it was not my intent to… disappoint you,” Arthur mumbled, nearly moaning when fingernails scratched over his scalp. He squirmed uncomfortably on his knees as the weight of his body ground the bone into the floor.

“I’m sure it wasn’t. There is a way to earn my forgiveness.” Angelo smirked when Arthur perked up his eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “No, no not that. Though maybe if you do a good job, you can receive a reward.”

“What do ya want me ta do?” Arthur leaned forward pressing his head closer to Angelo’s gentle fingers. He would do anything if those fingers continued to massage his head.

“I know you are not new to the art of intimidation,” Angelo brushed a lock of hair behind Arthur’s ear, “I have this troublesome ‘employee’ who has been taking my opium for his own profits. I’m sure you know the kind.”

Arthur frowned and sat back on his calves. Intimidation jobs were not something he enjoyed. As much as he did a good job of playing a brute who would beat someone until his knuckles were bloody, he hated doing it. “Sure…”

“Now, now, don’t give me that sour look. I’ll make this worth your while, tesorino.” Angelo’s head tilted and he patted Arthur’s cheek. “Can you do this for me, Arthur?”

Arthur’s chest heaved with a body-sagging sigh. He was being used again, this time by someone he did not have any ties with. He wasn’t family, he wasn’t a gang member, this was some rich Italian that ran the city. He could say no and walk away, but the whispering promise of what Angelo could offer him called to him. Angelo would take care of him without a second thought, and give him comfort and peace.

“I… suppose I can do that for ya.” God, what would Hosea say? Arthur grimaced and looked away from Angelo in shame.

“Bravo ragazzo. I will have Rocco accompany you to the dealer’s corner.” Angelo clasped his hands together, a smug smirk quirking his lips. Arthur rose to his feet and stretched out his joints from being kneeled on the floor. He had to remember he wasn’t twenty anymore.

A dirty feeling settled in his gut as he hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. Did this count as betraying the gang? He was doing this for himself, not for money or the gang. Frowning deeply, Arthur turned to the window that overlooked the front yard. He truly was a rotten ‘son of Dutch’, maybe Dutch had been right about him being selfish in his desires. Arthur jumped when Angelo cleared his throat drawing him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Deep in thought, Arthur?” Angelo hummed and propped his chin up on his hand.

“Oh uh- Yeah, mah apologies. Were ya sayin’ somethin’?” Arthur flushed a deep red from embarrassment, seeing a new man had entered the room. The man was of a similar build to himself. Tall with muscles and a rough face not yet plagued with age.

“Arthur, this is Rocco. Rocco, meet signor Morgan.” Angelo gestured to the new man who looked Arthur up and down. Arthur narrowed his eyes and subconsciously puffed his chest out and widened his stance to look bigger. The two muscles were locked in a standstill until Rocco took a step forward and held his hand out to Arthur. Rocco’s posture relaxed and a goofy smile crossed his thick lips.

“Piacere, signor Morgan!” Rocco grabbed Arthur’s limp hand and shook it enthusiastically. Arthur blinked and looked at Bronte who just shrugged and nodded his head to Rocco.

“Ah- Hello, feller,” Arthur said stiffly and gave Rocco’s hand a shake. The younger man chuckled and put his hands on his hips, looking at Angelo.

“So, I finally get to work with the famous Arthur Morgan. What a day! I want to hear everything about your adventures. A real cowboy! Ah!” Rocco’s excited tone carried loudly in the room making Arthur grow uncomfortable and hold his buckle once again.

“Yes, calm down, Rocco. You are going to scare him off if you keep that up.” Angelo shook his head fondly and waved them off. “You two get going before nightfall. I want him back in one piece, Rocco.”

“Oh, I promise I will signore! Come along, signor Morgan!” Rocco swiftly left the room, motioning for Arthur to follow him. Arthur threw a disdainful look at Angelo who smirked and wiggled his fingers in a goodbye wave.

It was never a fun time doing jobs with kids. Rocco couldn’t be more than twenty-five with his mannerisms and young face... Why did this spunky young man need some old-timer like himself to go with him on this? The man hadn’t stopped talking since they left the mansion, going on about all of the articles he had read about Arthur in the newspaper.

It seemed like Rocco knew more about Arthur’s life of crime than Arthur even remembered.

“Is it true you’ve been doing this for twenty years?” Rocco’s eyes were wide with awe as he looked down at Arthur, because of course he was a few inches taller.

After glancing at an officer they were passing, Arthur gave Rocco a flat look. “Ya gotta stop talkin’ so loud ‘bout mah past. I got Pinkertons on mah ass already, don’t need em sniffin’ out my trail.” When Rocco continued to stare expectantly at him, Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes. “Dutch picked me up when I was fourteen. Did mah first big job when I was twenty-four, ya might know about it-”

“Oh, Dio Mio! Was the one where you robbed the Lee and Hoyt banking house and stole five thousand dollars? Then you…” Arthur half listened as Rocco blabbered about his first big robbery. It felt like a lifetime ago. When it was all about stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. How things change. They were now running like dogs with their tails between their legs, following a madman’s vision of freedom and greed.

Rocco’s hand slapped across his chest, making Arthur grunt. Arthur nearly threatened to break every finger off his hand, before Rocco moved his hand and pointed to a lanky man weaving into an alleyway littered with trash and sh*t.

“That’s our man; Bernard Thompson. Do you want to take the lead, signor Morgan? Or…” Rocco leaned forward into Arthur’s personal space, lips quirked up and eyes bright.

Arthur shoved Rocco away a few paces and huffed. “I got this, just give me some Goddamn space, kid.” Rocco snickered and crossed his olive-tanned arms over his chest, an eyebrow co*cked up mischievously.

“By all means, I can't believe I’m going to see the Arthur Morgan in action.” Rocco trailed close on Arthur’s heels as he marched down the alleyway after Mr. Thompson. He wasn’t sure if Rocco was tagging along because he was some kind of sick fan, or if Angelo wanted him to have a babysitter. Whatever the reason, it was starting to grate on Arthur’s nerves, even if the kid had good intentions.

“Hey! Thompson!” Arthur hollered to the shady man’s back.

Instead of stopping, Thompson glanced over his shoulder, face pale with fear before he bolted.

“Goddamn it. Hey, stop!” Arthur started sprinting after him, hearing Rocco’s thudding steps behind him.

The slippery bastard weaved and ducked through buildings and courtyards, testing Arthur’s aging stamina. Left and right, up and over. Rocco seemed to not be having any trouble keeping up in the way he vaulted over a fence. A loud commission was heard on the other side of the fence like he had finally caught Thompson.

Arthur wheezed and held his chest before grabbing the top of the wooden fence and dragging himself over the top. His boot snagged on the lip making him grunt when he landed awkwardly on the ground. After recovering Arthur nodded to Rocco who had Thompson pinned to the wall with a palm over his thin neck.

“He’s all yours signor Morgan,” Rocco said with a face that reminded Arthur of when he had taken Jack fishing and he had shown him the necklace he made for his momma. Seeking approval. When Rocco shoved Thompson toward him, Arthur grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him into the wall, his head cracking against the bricks.

“Thanks… Now, you’ve been stealin’ from Mr. Bronte, and he wants his money back.”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Thompson’s shrill voice was French-accented and full of fear. Arthur’s stomach knotted like it always did when he was collecting debt money. Narrowing his eyes and clenching his fists in Thompson’s shirt he leaned in, their noses almost touching.

Thompson turned his head away pressing his cheek against the wall, refusing to look at Arthur. “That’s not what Mr. Bronte’s told me.” Arthur shook Thompson and grabbed his jaw in a bruising grip to turn his face toward him. “Ya gonna give what ya owe willingly? Or do I gotta beat ya to a pulp? It shouldn’t be too hard with them delicate bones of yers.”

Arthur let the threat hang in the air, allowing Thompson to swallow down his words. Rocco leaned close to them, his eyes darting between Arthur and Thompson like he was taking mental notes of everything Arthur was doing. Rolling his eyes, Arthur used the wrinkled fabric clenched in his grasp to fling Thompson to the ground. The Frenchman curled up in a fetal position and held his head, looking like more of a child than an opium dealer.

Arthur had to shake away the guilt he felt for causing such a reaction to the other man before he stood over him. “Well? What’s it gonna be?” Reaching down to turn Thompson onto his back, he held his quivering hands out to protect his face.

“Wait! Wait, I only have- have thirty-five dollars on me right now! B-but I can get the rest to you later! Please, don’t hurt me!” Thompson’s broken voice echoed in the alleyway, and a hand reached into his ratty jacket to pull out a clip of money.

Arthur snatched the clip and stepped away from Thompson to thumb through the bills. Rocco, who had been leaning against the wall with crossed arms, approached Arthur and looked over his shoulder at the money.

“He owes signor Bronte more than that,” He said flatly and glared at Thompson as he started to sit up from the grimy cobblestones.

“Sure, but we have part of the payment ‘ere. He’s learned his lesson. If he skips town, we just hunt ‘m down. Ain’t that right, Mr. Thompson?” Arthur’s eyes rose from the money to look at the sniveling man picking himself up.

“Oui, oui. I’ll-I’ll get you the rest of the money. I swear!”

“See, Rocco? Now, we should get goin’ back ta, Ang- Bronte. We did what he wanted.” Arthur was already walking away from the scene, feeling sick to his stomach. He heard a yelp of pain behind him but didn’t care to look over his shoulder as Rocco trotted after him.

The air between them was quiet, but Arthur could feel Rocco’s vibrating excitement at his side. Sean used to be the same way. Wanting to run his mouth but knowing he might get socked in the jaw for talking when Arthur was in a mood.

“That was amazing, signor Morgan!” The silence was broken as Rocco threw his hands up in the air. “You didn’t even have to hurt him to get him to squeal!”

Arthur huffed an unamused laugh. “When ya have years of intimidation under yer belt, it comes easier.” But it was never easy to do. Arthur had learned how to harden his face and drop his voice, but that didn’t mean it was easy to do. He fought an internal battle every time he did it.

Rocco soaked up every word Arthur said, leading Arthur to believe he was just a fan of his work and not some babysitter hired by Angelo to watch him. As they drew closer to the Bronte Manor, Arthur listened to Rocco’s tales of his own experience as an enforcer for Bronte. Arthur found himself starting to enjoy Rocco’s energy, from comparisons earlier that afternoon. It shocked him that Rocco reminded him of the little bastard Irishman. An annoying little brother who wouldn’t stop talking but looked up to him and wanted his approval.

Stamping down the sorrow that curled in his gut, Arthur laid a hand on Rocco’s shoulder, causing the man to shut up instantly. “I can’t say this line of work is honest, Rocco. Just-” Arthur’s tongue was heavy in his mouth. “If ya enjoy somethin’ don’t let this hold ya back. I made that mistake too much in mah time, but I’m too old ta correct that now.”

“What do you mean?” Rocco’s head co*cked to the side and one of his eyebrows arched up.

Arthur sighed and patted Rocco’s shoulder. “Nothin’, nothin’ at all. Let’s just go see yer boss.”

“He’s your boss too,” Rocco muttered, making Arthur whip around and glare at him.

“Whatchu say, boy?”

“‘Nothin’, nothin’ at all’.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at Rocco’s cheeky smirk and gave him a rude gesture over his shoulder as he continued to the walled estate of Angelo Bronte.

Rocco had accompanied Arthur into the estate but was dismissed shortly after Angelo received the payment of thirty-five measly dollars. Angelo invited Arthur for dinner, which Arthur was too famished to deny. Anything was better than Pearson’s food. Arthur lost himself in the evening of a good meal and small talk with Angelo. The weight of Thompson slowly lifted off his shoulders, especially when Angelo personally praised him for his work.

Dutch never praised him for his work anymore, and while Hosea was his father, he didn’t get much praise from him either. It was always do this and do that, never hey you did good take it easy. The grandfather clock’s arms had made two rotations before Arthur realized how late it was and went to excuse himself from the dining room table.

“‘M sorry, Angelo, but I still have to run an errand ‘fore headin’ back ta the gang. It’s been a lovely evenin’ though. Thank ya.” Arthur stood up and pushed his chair in, but Angelo stopped him when he raised his hand.

“What kind of errand are you running this late at night?” Angelo asked and took a sip of his evening red wine.

“Oh uh,” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, “I was gonna head ta the Bastille Saloon for a bath.” Heat flooded Arthur’s cheeks and ears at the indication that he was indeed dirty.

Angelo gave him an odd look. “Why pay for a bath, when you can use my own tub. Unless you prefer the help of a working girl?” Angelo’s tone dripped with disapproval that made Arthur jump to correct himself.

“Ah! Naw naw, that’s- Naw. I just didn’t wanna intrude.” Arthur held his hands up like he was trying to calm a spooked horse.

“Hmph, you aren’t intruding. What’s mine is yours, Arthur.” Angelo took another sip of wine.

Arthur paused and took a step back at the sheer implication. Arthur couldn’t accept that kind of respect from the mob boss. Sure, Dutch had talked about giving Arthur ‘the world’, but it was just flowery talk that Arthur didn’t really believe. But when Angelo said it, he believed it.

“I- well, thank ya, Angelo. I appreciate that.” Arthur’s voice definitely did not crack. He refused to acknowledge that it had.

“Ah, ah, enough talking. You may go upstairs to my room and bathe. No strings attached. Think of it as your reward for your excellent work today.”

Arthur lingered in the dining room, waiting for Angelo to tell him it was a joke, before heading upstairs. Awkwardness and discomfort settled in his body when he entered Arthur’s room without Angelo there to direct him, but he shrugged it off and took off his satchel, holsters, and hat to lay them on the couch. Upon entering the elegant bathroom, Arthur pulled the ties on the curtains so the heavy material closed to give him some privacy.

His clothes fell in a heap at his feet as he undressed. His eyes pointedly ignored the mirror in the corner while turning on the faucet and putting a stopper in the drain, letting the tub begin to fill with heated water. He could get used to the luxury of not having to boil water for it to be hot enough to bathe in. When the tub was half full he gingerly lowered himself into the rising water, a heavy sigh leaving his lungs and his eyes closing.

The hot water leached away the ache in his joints and put his worrying mind at ease. He lay in a near comatose state until the water reached his clavicle, and he sat up to turn off the water. The ceiling above him was decorated like the rest of the house, his eyes tracing the intricate curves painted into the tiles as he let the water soak into his dirty skin.

At one point he thought he heard the door to the bedroom open and close, but he was in too much of a dream-like state to care much. Someone could fly through the curtains and aim a gun at him and he could care less. When the water began to cool he pulled himself upright to grab the bar of soap sitting in a tray on the lip of the tub. He scrubbed his scalp and skin until it was raw, hissing when he rubbed too hard at his still tender wound in his left shoulder.

Colm’s bastards had really done a number on him. While soothing the bar of soap over the soft pink scar, Arthur frowned and looked down his chest at the maze of scarring on his midsection. Stabbed, shot, beaten. He didn’t see how anyone, especially Angelo could like a sorry piece of sh*t like himself.

Arthur’s shoulders sagged into the water and he let himself flop backward against the tub. Water splashed onto the floor, but he hardly minded. He shouldn’t be here right now. He should be back at Shady Belle, giving a chocolate bar to Jack or brushing the horses because Kieran couldn’t yet.

All in a huff, Arthur rose out of the tub, pulling the stopper and putting the soap back where it belonged. He clomped around the room, leaving wet footprints on the floor as he searched for a towel. After finding one in a cabinet, he scrubbed himself dry and threw the towel on the floor to mop up the water trail he left.

“Yer a sorry fool, Morgan.” He mumbled to his reflection in the mirror before slipping his pants and boots back on. He exited the bathroom, still buttoning up his shirt when Angelo’s voice made his eyes snap up.

“Leaving so soon, tesoro?” Angelo was lounging in the middle of his bed, a robe wrapped over his body and headband firmly in place on his forehead.

He looked so handsome and powerful like a king on a throne. And here Arthur was just some dirty outlaw. “Uh… yea. I got some people I gotta look after, and ya know dirty cowboy things ta do.” He pulled a lopsided smirk onto his face to hide the anguish he felt, but Angelo saw right through it.

“Arthur. Come here.”

He really shouldn’t.

But he did.

Arthur dropped his hands from where they were fumbling to button his shirt and walked to the foot of Angelo’s bed. Angelo patted the satin comforter drawing Arthur to slip onto the bed next to him. He felt unworthy as he propped himself up against the headboard, his shoulder barely brushing Angelo’s.

“Tell me what is wrong, Arthur. And I expect the truth, no excuses or winding explanations. Just the truth.” Angelo was looking at him but Arthur couldn’t meet his gaze.

A shaky sigh left Arthur’s chest, his hands lacing together so they wouldn’t tremble. “I- I dunno where to begin, Angelo…”

“Begin where you feel comfortable.” Angelo’s hand slipped over to rest against Arthur’s thigh, it was a weight that felt supportive and comfortable.

Arthur was silent for a moment, trying to arrange his thoughts into a coherent string. “Well, I’ve been Dutch for more than twenty years. He raised me when I was a boy. ‘M and Hosea, that is. Taught me ta read, write, hunt, fish, survive in the wilderness, everything a kid should know what ta do, and everything a kid shouldn’t know how ta do. Pickpocket, lie, steal, intimidate. Was Dutch’s prize pony at one point. His left-hand man. I did everythin’ for ‘m. When he brought a new stray to camp, I… I took care of em. I provided for mah family. Through the lows and highs, I was there. I followed Dutch ta the end of the world and back. Then, he changed.”

Arthur took a breath, absently reaching down to squeeze Angelo’s hand.

“He says I do nothin’ for the gang. That I’m selfish. That I don’t have faith in ‘m anymore. Angelo, I would do anythin’ for the gang, mah family. I just don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong.”

Angelo let Arthur’s shaken breaths still before he turned his hand to interlock his fingers with Arthur’s. “Tell me, Arthur. What’s the difference between ‘faith’ and ‘loyalty’?”

“They’re the same, ain’t they?” Arthur let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

“I suppose some people think they are the same. They are similar, but not equal.” Angelo reached up to brush his knuckles over Arthur’s jaw, drawing him to lean his head down onto his shoulder. “Faith is believing in someone or something, so much that it can blind you. Religion is faith. Doing what they believe is best.”

Arthur closed his eyes when Angelo combed his fingers through his wet, sandy locks. “What’s loyalty then?”

“Loyalty is standing beside someone or several someones, through their worst and best, and doing what you believe is best. They do seem similar, but they are not. You can be faithful without loyalty, and you can be loyal without faith.”

“I… don’t understand, Angelo.”

“You are loyal to your gang. You’d do anything for them as you’ve told me. But to Dutch, you are not faithful. You don’t believe in his showy words anymore, do you? You do what he says because you think it is best for the gang as a whole. You stay with the gang because they are family. Because you are loyal. Not because you are faithful. It’s okay to be loyal and not faithful. You obviously see something in Dutch that is not worth following anymore. Which makes you so much stronger than he.”

Arthur let the words flow in his mind, trying to unpackage them. Arthur wanted to believe Angelo was right, but he felt like his world was crashing around him. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything, Arthur. I’m just telling you what I think.” Arthur sighed and nuzzled his nose into Angelo’s neck, his body heavy and muscles relaxed. “Why don’t we get some sleep. You can head back to Van der Linde tomorrow.”

All Arthur could do was nod in agreement.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Fingers stroking over his back pulled Arthur from his deep slumber. Grazing fingertips scattered goosebumps down his spine, and he buried his face further into the warm body next to him. He peeked up at Angelo who chuckled and pet Arthur’s hair. Groaning softly, Arthur stretched like a cat, before relaxing once more into the plush satin.

“Buongiorno, tesoro. Did you rest well?” Angelo’s rumbling tone made Arthur shiver and lick his lips.

“Better ‘n I usually do.” Arthur tried to ignore the tugging in his loins as his dick began to harden.

Angelo hummed and soothed his hand over the sunburnt skin at Arthur’s neck. Angelo looked regal in the morning sunshine, his dark hair tousled and lips quirked in a smile. Arthur was tempted to lean up to press a kiss to his lips but paused and furrowed his brow.

Where was this boyish desire coming from? The hand, caressing him like he was something special? Being treated like a prince in these satin sheets?

He had to remember he was nothing more than a grubby outlaw to Angelo, just there to do his dirty work and leave. So why was he still in Angelo’s bed especially after pouring his guts out to him?
“You are in your head again, Arthur.”

Arthur startled and pulled himself up onto his elbows. “‘M sorry, just thinkin’.”

“What about?”

Chuckling and hanging his head, Arthur let his calloused fingers catch on the fine bed covers. “Thinkin’ ‘bout why ‘m here in yer bed, after I just beat a man into pissin’ his pants.”

Angelo joined Arthur in chuckling before he sat up against his wide array of pillows. Who needed more than one pillow? “Who wouldn’t want un bel ragazzo in bed with them?”

Even without knowing what Angelo said, Arthur’s ears burned with a blush as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. When he looked up from the bedding, he was once again enticed to kiss Angelo, but this time he let himself arch up to lean in close. Chapped lips brushed the starting stubble on Angelo’s jaw before his jaw was caught in Angelo’s hand. Fear of rejection raced through his body but quickly dissipated when Angelo pressed his lips to Arthur’s.

Arthur’s eyes fell closed and tilted his head to allow their tongues to intertwine. It was leisurely at first, playful flicks of their tongues, but Angelo bit Arthur’s lower lip and a whimper drew from Arthur’s chest.

“Straddle my legs, Cowboy.” Angelo whispered huskily, spurring Arthur into motion.

Heat traveled through Arthur’s face as he swung his leg over Angelo’s, his dick was already hanging half hard and dripping precum. Angelo’s warm chuckle made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“A little excited are you?” Angelo pinched the tip, smearing precum between his fingertips.

Arthur’s hips thrusted forward into the pressure before Angelo calmed him with a hand on his thigh, not unlike calming a spooked horse. “S-sorry, ‘m not usually, haha, this boyish-” Arthur swallowed hard and settled down to rest on Angelo’s upper legs.

“Really? From our past interactions, I would have never guessed that.” Angelo smirked, placing his hands on the dips of Arthur’s hips, thumbs massaging the layer of fat over his stomach.

Unsure where to put his hands, Arthur placed them over Angelo’s and dipped his head down. “Yeah, well, ya do interestin’ things ta me, Angelo.” Arthur shared the same heated air with Angelo before tilting his head, his lips aching to be on his once again.

“Is that right, tesoro?” Arthur moaned when their lips connected.

Arthur cupped the back of Angelo’s neck, brushing into neatly shaved hair. Angelo guided his hips down so his clothed bulge rubbed against his stiff dick. Shivering as Angelo’s soft hands trailed over his spine, Arthur reached between them to palm Angelo’s bulge.

Their lips parted enough for them both to breath, saliva keeping them connected. Angelo suddenly grabbed Arthur’s ass and squeezed it making the gunslinger yelp before chuckling.

“I never saw the enjoyment of riding horses for days on end, but I can appreciate what it does to a man.” Angelo’s hand, still groping, traveled back around to his thigh.

Arthur huffed a laugh and leaned back onto one of his hands displaying his stomach and groin erotically. Embolden by his arousal, Arthur gave his hips a roll as if he was perched on a horse. “I’ve done mah fair share of ridin’.”

Angelo settled back into his pillows and ran his fingers down the hair on Arthur’s thigh to his knee. “Why don’t you show me exactly how you hide a horse, hmm?”

Arthur’s tongue darted out to wet his lips before he gave a deep roll of his hips, making his dick swing lewdly between his legs. Biting the inside of his cheek, unable to form words, he did exactly what he did when he was riding. Feeling the gait of the horse under him, moving with the thundering of hooves. He’d look back on this and be embarrassed, but having Angelo’s warm brown eyes watching him buck his hips made it worth it.

After several moments of heady looks, Angelo cupped his hips and pulled him back up to a sitting position. Arthur was worried Angelo was bored, but Angelo just pulled down his pajama bottoms so his co*ck could spring out. Arthur grinned cheekily and canted his hips so his dick brushed over Angelo’s.

“Tellin’ me I’m excited, and look at ya.” Arthur didn’t even have time to laugh before Angelo swatted his flank.

“Now, that I've seen the process. Why don’t you give me a real example?” Angelo already had a tin of pomade making Arthur shake his head and shuffle forward, his own dick tantalizingly close to Angelo’s face and ass hovering over his dick.

“Depends on what I get in return.” Arthur teased and dipped his fingers into the pomade when Angelo opened it. “Unruly horses will throw ya ‘round tryin’ ta break yer neck.” Arthur slowly circled around his hole before testing a finger. He held back a moan as he sunk into himself, smearing the pomade around. “Kinder horses’ll make sure yer comfortable.” He let out a breathless laugh when he added a second finger. “I much prefer bein’ thrown ‘round. Makes it fun.”

Angelo co*cked an eyebrow as he smeared pomade over his dick, brushing his knuckles along the underside of Arthur’s dick as he opened himself up. “You really play the part of a true cowboy, Arthur.”

Arthur pulled his fingers free of himself and shakily wiped them on his thigh. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Angling his hips, Arthur began to lower himself down while Angelo positioned his dick.

The stretch was sharp, making Arthur bite his lip and push through the bright pain to seat himself on Angelo. “sh*t. Ya get bigger?”

Angelo stroked a lock of hair out of Arthur’s face and cupped his sunburnt neck. “Perhaps.”

Arthur chuckled and wiggled his hips, feeling the stiff mass firmly inside of him. He leaned in for another kiss, moaning into Angelo’s mouth as he rolled his hips. One hand rested on Angelo’s waist while the other held his shoulder for balance. His thighs burned from holding his weight up, but the pleasure from Angelo’s dick rubbing against that spot inside his channel made him start a gentle swaying pace.

Curses flowed in between wet smacks of lips, mostly from Arthur as he bounced up and down on Angelo. The dragging of Angelo’s veiny shaft along that spot inside of him set off fireworks in his stomach.

“sh*t, Angelo.” Arthur hunched over the older man, his thighs trembling with tinges of pleasure that made it hard to continue moving. He dropped down fully onto Angelo’s dick with a whimper and panted hotly against his dark hair.

“Tired already, my Cowboy?” Angelo laughed warmly, his lips tracing along his collar bone before giving his shoulder a sharp stinging bite. Arthur bit his lip to keep from moaning as his own leaking co*ck twitched.

“No offense, but I ain’t experienced in riding somethin’ that ain’t a horse.” Arthur shifted his hips, rocking them weakly and squeezing along the stiffness inside him.

With a soothing tongue over the bite mark, Angelo nodded and took a moment to claw his fingers into his ass before gesturing to the bed. “Let me take over then. As much as I admire your skills, you are going much too slow.”

Arthur barked a laugh as he let himself flop onto his back next to Angelo, his hole clenching on nothing and his dick slapping against his stomach. “Calling me too slow, old man?”

“This ‘old man’ has brought you to tears twice now.” Angelo pinned Arthur down with a hand on his chest and positioned himself between his legs.

Arthur should have been ashamed of the sigh that came from his mouth when Angelo sunk into him again, but he wasn’t. He let his head loll back and eyes shut as Angelo began to thrust into him. He moved one of his legs up to wrap around his hips and grabbed Angelo’s wrist for support as his body was jarred with each push inward.

It didn’t take long for Arthur’s moans to reach a high pitch and his stomach began to tighten. He feverishly stroked his own dick his mouth hanging open as he watched Angelo’s brow pull together in concentration. Arthur was growing to love the rough edge Angelo’s voice took on when he was close to org*sm. In a spur of need, Arthur reached up to drag Angelo down into a kiss that smeared saliva over both of their mouths. The weight of Angelo blanketing him and the rhythmic slapping of his hips into Arthur, pulled him over.

Arthur keened into Angelo’s ear and bucked his hips as bliss overtook his movements. He felt the hot spray of his own sem*n along both of their bellies and the heaving of his own lungs as Angelo grunted in his own release. Arthur enveloped Angelo into a hug, their sweaty bodies pressed flush together and Arthur’s forehead nuzzled into Angelo’s neck.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered, unable to trust his own tone. He expected Angelo to shove him off, but he only turned his head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“You are welcome, tesorino.”

They laid like that until Arthur started to squirm from the drying seed on his stomach and the growing discomfort in his nether regions. Angelo helped Arthur wash up much to Arthur’s amusem*nt, saying he was acting like a mother hen.

While Arthur dressed in what he wore the previous day, Angelo pulled out a pressed suit from his wardrobe. A wardrobe that was filled with a fortune of clothes and accessories. Bashfully, he looked down at his own outfit, dusty and with sweat stains. Angelo didn’t seem to mind about his dirty attire and pulled him down by his neckerchief to give him a kiss to his cheek in farewell.

Feeling adventurous on his post-org*sm high, Arthur turned his face to plant a wet kiss on Angelo’s mouth that made the mobster pull back with an unamused frown. Arthur grinned and gave him a two finger salute before sauntering out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Luca greeted him at the bottom of the stairs, offering him a croissant for the road, which he took gratefully.

The guards patrolling the house had mixed emotions seeing him. Some full on glared, but others seemed to not mind his presence, which was an improvement from two weeks ago. His Missouri Fox Trotter perked up upon seeing him approach.

“Heyyy, boy, whatchu up too huh?” Arthur petted his velvety nose and brushed his forelock out of his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout the wait. Didn’t expect ta spend the night.”

The trotter huffed in response and stuck its nose against his satchel. Arthur chuckled and retrieved an oatcake from the package and let him munch on it while he mounted him. Arthur took his time getting back to Shady Belle, letting the trotter amble along and snatch some patches of grass from the roadside.

He really shouldn’t dread seeing his family, but Dutch hadn’t been acting himself lately. Angelo’s words rung in his ears. You can be loyal and not faithful. Arthur knew for a fact he was loyal to the gang, but with Micah worming his way into Dutch’s inner circle, he wasn’t sure if he could afford to be blindly faithful. He had twenty people to look after, something Dutch seemed to be forgetting, even if he preached about protecting and feeding them. They were in a world that didn’t want them anymore, it was time to move on, not think of the next big score.

Charles was on guard duty when he trotted down the path to Shady Belle. He looked relieved but also stricken to see Arthur.

“Morning, Arthur.” Charles’s fingers tightened around his repeater making Arthur feel uneasy.

“Mornin’... is somethin’ wrong?” Arthur forced himself to loosen his grip on his reins, not wanting to agitate his stallion.

Charles looked back to camp before settling Arthur with a frown. “Things aren’t good, Arthur. I guess Micah saw you in Saint Denis doing a job with one of Angelo’s men. And you know he would do anything to get a leg up on you. Dutch’s furious.”

Arthur sagged in his saddle and looked down at his hands. “Of course Micah would… Thank ya for the heads up, Charles.”

Arthur tapped his trotter’s sides, but Charles halted him with a hand on his shin. “I’ll always ride with you, Arthur. Dutch isn’t the same man I knew. If things…”

“I understand. I appreciate you Charles.” Arthur pulled his posture upright and stuck his chest out. “Time to face the music, I reckon.”

Arthur led his trotter to the small herd of horses, a small smile pulling at his lips seeing Kieran fumbling to brush Branwen. He had slowly started to get the hang of being blind, but it was still a process. Before he could let Kieran know his trotter was back, a piercing shout ripped across camp.

“ARTHUR!”

Arthur swallowed hard and pushed his hat lower on his head before turning to watch Dutch stride across camp like a freight train. Arthur met him halfway only to grunt when Dutch’s ring-clad fist connected with his jaw. Gasps echoed as Arthur tasted blood in his mouth from his teeth cutting into the flesh of his cheek.

Arthur took the hit with dignity and righted himself without wiping the blood from his lips. He had learned early on to not square up to Dutch, it would only make him more hostile, so he tried to lower his shoulders and unclench his fists. Dutch’s dark eyes were alight with fire and his moutsache twitched.

“Do you mind explaining yourself, son?” Dutch grabbed his suspenders and pushed into his personal bubble, his tone like a hissing snake.

Arthur fought the urge to shove Dutch away and swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva. “I don’t rightfully know what yer speakin’ ‘bout, Dutch, mind tellin’ me?”

Dutch let go of his suspenders and threw his arms up. “Oh that is rich. Choosing to be ignorant right to my goddamn face! You know what mister Bell had the pleasure of telling me last night?”

“Knowin’ it came from Micah Bell sets the tone fer it, yeah. What he tell ya Dutch? That I ran a job for Bronte? Ya always preach ‘bout me needin’ ta look out for the gang over myself, and I have been. If ya didn’t care ta notice, I ran several jobs over the past week, hauled in plent o’ money fer the gang. I ran that job fer Bronte because ya told me to help ‘m with his li’l gator problem? I neglected that because ya also told me to look out fer the gang! Make up yer goddamn mind, Dutch!” Arthur pointed a finger at Dutch’s increasingly fiery face. “Tell me ta do one thing at a f*ckin’ time, I ain’t mister Bell I can’t juggle everything at once.”

Arthur’s chest heaved like a horse that had just run halfway across the state, and in some ways he had run halfway across the state. He wiped the corner of his mouth, smearing blood into his stubble and leaned back from where he had gotten in Dutch’s face.

“I don’t know what sh*t that Italian has been shoving in your ears, but I will not take this disrespect from you or anyone else in the gang! You think you know so much better than I do, Arthur? Get out of my sight! I don’t want to see your backstabbing face back here until you learn who you are loyal to! Me and this gang or that sh*t shoveling Italian.” Dutch held his arms out wide, disbelief and anger coating his pale face red.

A torment of things Arthur wanted to say nearly lunged out of his throat, but Hosea, frail yet stern, walked over and told Dutch to walk away. His weathered face and concerned eyes made all anger blow away from Arthur, and he let Hosea lead him into Shady Belle. He ducked his head low, not willing to meet the horror on the girls’ faces, the disgust radiating from Bill, or the triumph on Micah’s smug face.

Arthur collapsed in one of the dining room table chairs and held his head in his hands. “‘Sea… I- What am I goin’ ta do? I love this gang! I would die for every single one of ‘em!” His voice broke and Hosea rubbed a hand down his back.

“ I don’t know what Dutch is.. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Micah has locked me out from being able to talk to him.” Hosea crouched down, his knees cracking. “What I do know is that you speak the truth. I know you would do anything for the people outside.” His hands grasped Arthur’s from his face and squeezed them. “What you are going to do is take a vacation. Go out camping. Get away from this sh*t city. Go see the Heartlands or go up to O’Creagh’s Run. Let me try and win Dutch over, and when you feel rested, you come back.”

“But- He said I have to prove myself loyal…”

“I know, but you won’t be able to do that when you are wound up like you are. Just pack for a short trip, things will be back to normal before you return.” Hosea squeezed Arthur’s hands before slowly standing up.

With no other options, Arthur shuffled up to his room and began to pack his satchel with things he might need. Canned food, tobacco, alcohol, ammunition, clothes. He felt like a teenager being sent to his room to think about his actions.

Leaving his room, he spotted little Jack peeking through the hole in the wall. He was chewing on the cuff of his sleeve, a nervous habit he picked up after being broken from sucking his thumb. Arthur sighed and crouched down by the hole, giving Jack a watery smile.

“What’s wrong, Jackie?”

“Why is Dutch making you leave?” Tears sprung to his eyes, and he sniffled loudly.

“Aw, Jack come ‘ere.” Arthur motioned for Jack to come out of the room, opening his arms so his nephew could hug him. “It’s only fer a li’l bit. I’ll be back, Dutch is just upset with me.”

Jack nuzzled into his neck, tears wetting the cotton of his neckerchief. “But why do you have to go! I don’t want you too!”

“Oh I know Jack, I know. I don’t want to either. To tell ya the truth I don’t know what I did wrong. But,” Arthur kissed the top of Jack’s brown hair and moved to reach into his satchel. “I did get ya that chocolate bar ya wanted. Just don’t tell yer momma okay?”

Jack pulled away with wide eyes and a smile that could melt anyone’s heart. “Thank you, Uncle Arthur!” He squealed when Arthur handed him the two bars and gave him another fierce hug around his neck. “I’ll hide them from momma.”

“Yer a good kid, Jack. I’ll see ya when I get back. Don’t cause too much trouble.” Arthur stood up, patting Jack on his head before turning to walk down the stairs. It was going to be a long few days, and even though Hosea said he didn’t need to, Arthur knew he needed to come back with a way to appease Dutch. Whatever that thing may be.

o0O0o

Thunder rolled over the city of Saint Denis, and rain pelted the windows of Angelo’s sitting room. Fire roared in the fireplace, heating the room comfortably and casting it in an orange glow. A flash of lightning drew Angelo from his book reading to glance out the window at the fierce storm. He wondered if Arthur was sheltered for it. His mind had been drifting to Arthur more and more the past few days. Their last night together Arthur had laid himself bare for Angelo to pick at. He was an anguished soul stuck in the role of an enforcer for a man who no longer saw his value.

If only Arthur could truly see his value and how his little gang was going down the drain. Since meeting the Van der Linde gang he had done his research on them, more specifically Arthur Morgan. A young boy orphaned at the ripe age of eleven and later picked up by Hosea Matthews and Dutch van der Linde. He was raised by the two, learning how to be a low-down crook, but it wasn’t always about the next score. They had been a band of Robinhoods at one point, and Angelo had no doubt that Dutch was to blame for the act change.

Angelo shut his book and leaned his head back against the couch. He was still perplexed as to why he found Arthur so interesting. He should be thinking about how best to use him in his empire, not how he wanted to spoil and pamper him.

“Bah, Luca, vieni qui!”Angelo shouted, while grabbing his empty wine glass.

Luca trotted into the room, prepared for whatever his boss told him. “Si, signore?”

“More wine, make it quick.” Angelo twirled the stem of his glass, and Luca nodded briskly before rushing off to the wine cellar.

Luca returned with a bottle of red wine, uncorked and ready to be poured, but a banging on the front door made him pause. He filled Angelo’s glass halfway before answering it. Angelo narrowed his eyes suspiciously and reached into the waistband of his pants for the pistol he kept on him. He heard the splattering of rain outside and hushed Italian before Luca entered the room.

“Signore, Mr. Morgan is here, should I allow the guards to let him in?”

Angelo’s ears twitched and his hand abandoned his pistol. “Certamente!”

While Luca went back to the front door, Angelo smoothed down the front of his robe and crossed his legs, looking the part of a dignified mafia boss. He was excited to see Arthur after three days' absence, but he wasn’t about to let Arthur know he was excited. Swirling his red wine, Angelo relaxed his posture hearing Arthur’s low drawl thank Luca for letting him in.

Angelo paused his swirling upon actually seeing Arthur come around the corner. He looked like he had been drug through the mud, with black muck plastering his boots all the way up to his forearms. His eyes drooped, more tired than normal and even his signature hat sagged on his head.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess… I uhm… I kind of need ta call in a favor.” Arthur’s voice was thick like he was holding back a torment of emotions.

He flicked his hands, sending mud falling to the floor. Luca frowned at the mess and rushed away to get a towel to wipe off some of the mud on Arthur’s form.

“Of course, you must be cold, come let’s get you a fresh pair of clothes.” Angelo was up and moving before he could remind himself he should be asking what happened.

Arthur’s shoulders dropped like he was ready to collapse right then and there. ‘What happened’ could wait until after Arthur wasn’t on the verge of exhaustion. Luca toweled off the majority of the mud before Angelo took Arthur upstairs to draw a hot bath for the cowboy.

“You are just full of surprises aren’t you, Arthur Morgan?” Angelo chuckled sadly as he helped him peel off the layers of his clothing.

Arthur looked down at his boots and sighed. “Ya could say that…”

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Arthur slept better in Angelo’s bed that night than he had the past three days camping in the Heartlands. Waking slowly Arthur found himself alone in Angelo’s room, a fresh set of clothes laying on the foot of the bed. The clothes he had been wearing for the past few days were in Luca’s care trying to clean the stains of blood and mud out of the fabric. Arthur pulled the satin sheets up to his nose, inhaling Angelo’s rich scent before forcing himself to sit up.

His body protested the movements, stomach muscles cramping and spine aching. He had ridden in a panic the past few days trying to come up with something, anything, to appease Dutch, but he came up empty. Nothing would be good enough for Dutch. So with his tail between his legs and head hung low, Arthur crawled to Angelo in hopes maybe, just maybe, something would come of use. But Arthur wouldn’t lie to himself, he was drawn to Angelo’s comfort. It was easy to fall into with no strings attached, and Arthur craved that appreciation.

Throwing the covers off of his naked body, Arthur slipped out of bed, his feet slapping against the cold floor. The clothes laid out for him looked to be something from Angelo’s closet, a pair of khaki slacks and a black button up. Even a pair of slippers were set out for him. He wasn’t sure about wearing the slippers, but he pulled on the pants that fit just a bit too snug and tucked the shirt into them. Staring at the slippers and his bare feet, he sighed and put them on. The material was soft, nothing like wearing a pair of leather boots, but it was interesting.

With a groan, Arthur stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, hearing the joints pop and crackle. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but with the slight humid chill in the air, Arthur had to guess it was early morning. Out of habit Arthur put his hat on his head and slung his satchel over his shoulder, but paused as he grabbed his holsters. He didn’t need them with him, Angelo’s manor was heavily guarded, but the survivor part of him roared at him to strap them around his hips.

He left the holsters on the couch and wandered downstairs, being greeted with the friendly face of Luca. “Mornin’, Luca.”

“Oh! Buongiorno, Arthur! Signor Bronte is waiting for you in the dining room. Breakfast will be ready shortly, I hope you don’t mind flapjacks with fruit?” Luca worried the cuff of his suit jacket, like he wasn’t presentable enough for the likes of Arthur.

Snorting softly in amusem*nt, Arthur patted him on the shoulder. “That sounds lovely, Luca. Now about mah clothes-”

“Oh, si! I have them drying on the line, but as you know the humidity makes drying clothes a hassle. You look dashing in what you have on though, signore.” Arthur rolled his eyes at the sparkle he found in Luca’s.

“Now, no need for flattery. I ain’t the type.” Arthur slipped past Luca into the dining room.

Angelo was seated at the head of the table, reading the weekly paper, but he looked up when Arthur awkwardly entered the room, still not sure of his place in this situation. Everyone seemed to adore him, but he felt the admiration was misplaced.

“Ah, Arthur. Come have a seat.” Angelo gestured to the chair next to him, allowing Arthur to relax and sit down. “How did you sleep? Well, I hope. You were snoring louder than the evening train.”

Blushing deeply, Arthur planted his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. “I slept good, thanks for uhm… letting me stay the night. I was, haha, kinda a mess when I showed up.”

“Ah yes, and why was that?” Angelo folded the paper and laid it on the table, locking eyes with Arthur.

Arthur tipped his hat down to break the contact, and his mouth went dry. What should he tell him? The truth? Only what he needed to know? A lie? Angelo’s gaze only made his mind race through his options, skin crawling with adrenaline. “Dutch weren’t too happy ‘bout me runnin’ a job for ya.”

Truth, but Angelo remained silent, waiting for Arthur to continue.

“He… Well, he told me that I was betraying his trust and I should leave.”

Another truth.

“And Hosea told me to stay away for a bit. Until he calms down, but I don’t know if I should..”
A lie. Arthur so desperately wanted to go back to the gang, but if he was going to make this work he needed Angelo’s trust. Arthur never was good at seduction or lying, but if he played his cards right, if he got into Angelo’s inner circle, he would hear something to present as an act of loyalty to the gang. At least he hoped his half-baked plan would work that way.

Angelo’s face twisted in mild shock before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you leaving them, Arthur?”

“I dunno, maybe? They… they ain’t the same people I once knew.” Arthur’s voice broke and his neck started to sweat.

That was a truth and lie mashed together. He loved the girls, Hosea, Jack, Lenny, Charles, and even John’s bastard ass, but Bill, Dutch, Javier that had changed, and Arthur had a feeling Micah was to blame.

Angelo’s face softened and he reached out to cup Arthur’s clenched hands. “Well, until you figure out your path, you have a place here in my manor, tesoro.”

Arthur looked up with a half smile and turned his hand to clasp Angelo's. “Thank you, Angelo.” He felt the hot burn of guilt, but relief that Angelo did indeed care about him, even if it was mostly sex induced.

“We’ll continue this after breakfast. You must be hungry, I know how much that cowboy stomach of yours eats.”

Arthur chuckled and leaned back in his chair, feeling more at ease with the situation. It was so, so easy to let someone else take care of him for once. “Alright, alright, ya got me. I’m famished.” Arthur patted his stomach and winked at Angelo.

Shaking his head slowly, Angelo took in Arthur’s clothing. “I see you found the clothes I left out for you. It looks good on you, a higher quality than your… other clothes.”

Arthur picked at the silky fabric on his chest and shrugged. “I dunno, I think the pants are a li’l tight, not that I’m trying to be ungrateful.” Scooting his chair out, Arthur angled his hips to show the taut fabric over his thighs and hips. As a second thought, he realized how sexually the act would be taken and flushed red when Angelo arched an eyebrow.

“I see, but I enjoy the view.”

Arthur plopped his ass back in the chair and hunched his shoulders, cupping his hands over his very present bulge. Clearing his throat, Arthur nodded in agreement, hot all the way down his neck. Luckily, the cook and Luca walking in with platters of flapjacks and fruit saved Arthur the humiliation of Angelo’s amusem*nt.

Breakfast was wonderful as usual at Bronte Manor. Arthur ate his whole platter and then some, much to the cook’s joy. After the table was cleared, Angelo announced he had to do some work in his study, but Arthur was free to relax in the courtyard or anywhere in the manor. Arthur thanked him once again, before going out to his stallion who dutifully carried him all around the Heartlands and Scarlet Meadows.

The horse chuffed seeing him, and Arthur felt bad for leaving him tacked up in the pouring rain last night. He apologized by taking him down to the stables for a horse spa day, plenty of treats, his mane and tail untangled and coat brushed to a glossy finish. He decided to leave the Trotter at the stable for the time being, knowing for his plan to work he’d be in the city more than the open range.

Returning on foot to the Manor, Arthur went to the courtyard to sit down in a wicker chair to sketch for the first time in the past few days. He copied the likeness of the courtyard, before adding a string of thoughts.

I know what’s right, but why does it feel so wrong? Maybe I don’t know.

“Yer a moron, Morgan.” Arthur huffed and scribbled out the words, turning it into a shrub.

Getting up, Arthur went to the dock in the back, sitting down cross-legged and sketching the swampy scenery. He managed to add a quick alligator head in before it dipped under the water once more. He felt more at home seeing the wilderness, even if it was the horrid swamp. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly get used to the oppressive smog of the city, no matter how futuristic it was.

“I did not know you were an artist, caro.”

Arthur startled, nearly dropping his pencil into the murky water. “I wouldn’t say ‘m much of an artist, to be fair.” He tilted his head back to glance at Angelo who was changed into something more formal than his usual slacks and robe. “Goin’ somewhere?”

Angelo fixed one of his cufflinks before straightening his jacket. “Yes, I have a meeting with Guido, my consigliere, and a few of my capos.”

Arthur blinked, feeling thoroughly lost. “Consi- capo?” He laughed and shook his head. “Ya lost me, Angelo.”

Angelo smiled not unkindly and motioned for Arthur to stand up. “I will explain on the way. I want you to come with me.” Brushing off Arthur’s front of imaginary dust, Angelo tilted his head in genuine interest.

“Me? But, Angelo, this seems like more of an inside family… thing.” Arthur closed his journal and put it in his satchel, watching Angelo’s older hands trace over the curve of his pecs. Sure, his goal was to get in Angelo’s inner circle, but being faced with it made him extremely nervous. He was part of the old world crime of train robbing and hold ups, not this new type of crime.

“Yes, well, you won’t be intruding if I need a bodyguard to come with me.” He cupped Arthur's scruffy jaw and drug his thumb over his lower lip.

Angelo was holding him like some petite housewife, and it made Arthur’s heart flutter. “Ain’t that more… Rocco’s thing?”
“You are really trying to deter me, tesorino? I though you’d jump at a chance like this.” Angelo feigned a pout and patted Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur was left reeling and quickly snatched Angelo’s wrist and pulled it back to him. “I- I’ll go, I just need to freshen up. Where are my clothes?”

Angelo smirked like there was an inside joke that Arthur wasn’t aware of. “They are in my room. You can go get changed, we leave in a few minutes.”

Humming suspiciously, Arthur edged around Angelo and strided to the house. Luca gave him a cheeky smile as he went up stairs, taking two stairs at a time. On the bed lay his clothes, but they weren’t how he left them. His blue shirt looked brighter and absent of holes, and his chocolate brown pants didn’t have a patch on the knee.

They were his clothes but new. Brand new.

Arthur gulped as he slowly picked up the soft fabric of the blue shirt. He felt a little overwhelmed as he pulled off Angelo’s shirt and slipped on the new one. It fit exactly how his old one had, but his shoulders and elbows were no longer worn thin. His pants were the same deal, fitting perfectly but stiff with newness. Luca must have taken his clothes to the tailor and had him sized for new replicas. Luckily, his trusty neckerchief was the same, smelling like his own musk, but no longer stained. The only thing different was his suspenders, cotton and striped, were replaced with sturdy leather ones.

He’d never admit to the amount of time he spent in front of the mirror looking at a younger version of himself. He could almost ignore the bags under his eyes and the wrinkles over his brow. Pleasantly smiling, Arthur walked downstairs, his spurs announcing each step.

Luca clapped and gave a short whistle when he walked into the sitting room. Angelo looked just as pleased when Arthur put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “This was unnecessary. My old clothes were just fine.”

“Nonsense!” Angelo stood up and clasped Arthur on his shoulders. “They were falling apart at the seams; this was for the best. Plus, I’m not letting everyone see you as the dirty bumpkin you are.”

“Oh so yer showin’ me off then?” Arthur grinned and puffed his chest out, the leather of his new suspenders creaking.

Winking, Angelo pulled away from Arthur. “No, remember you’re a bodyguard.”

“Sure thing, signore.”

“Hmm, I like when you say that-”

“Signore, I hate to interrupt you, but your carriage is out front.” Luca waved his gloved hand just as Arthur leaned down toward Angelo’s lips.

Angelo gave an annoyed look but pulled back and gestured for the door. Chuckling softly, Arthur tipped his hat to Luca and sauntered after Angelo. The carriage’s seats were made of velvety leather and allowed Arthur to sink into them rather than perch on the edge.

On the way to the center of the city surrounded by a small squad of horsem*n, Angelo explained the hierarchy of the Bronte family to him. He found that this new crime was a lot more organized than anything in the gang. Sure, there were parallels, but they could not be compared on the same level.

“So, a Consigl- consiglei-”

“Consigliere. Good try though.”

“Right, that, it’s an advisor. ‘N’ then ya got yer underboss, who's the second in command. Then the capos which are underbosses of the underboss. Then the soldiers. Right?” Arthur gave a hopeful look to Angelo, hoping his comprehension was adequate.

“More or less, yes.” Angelo’s approving smile made Arthur face warm and heart speed up.

“So Guido’s gonna be there.”

Angelo shook his head and clasped Arthur’s shoulder. “I don’t understand why you two don’t get along. I feel if you stopped biting at each other’s throats, you could be good friends.”

“That’s a funny joke. He’s a prissy bitch, and sees me as nothin’ more than a dirty outlaw. No offense.” Arthur straightened and stretched his legs in the cramped space of the coach.

“Hmm, he’ll learn I’m sure. We are arriving though.” Winking, Angelo waited for the coach to come to a stop before someone opened the door.

Following Angelo out, Arthur checked his surroundings, nodding to the other bodyguards and hands posed over the hilts of his revolvers. “Ain’t this when ya tell me to behave and not embarrass ya?”

“Oh, I trust you to make your own judgments on what is appropriate. And you can’t embarrass me, because I’ll just have the man that laughs at you beheaded.”

The morbidity of Angelo’s statement sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine before shrugging and following him into the marble building. The interior of the lobby was wide open and each step sent an echo that had Arthur a little self-conscious of his rough exterior. He hid his anxiety under a scowl and a swaying walk that reflected the coiled muscles underneath.

A French accented receptionist greeted Angelo with a polite bow, saying how privileged he was for Angelo to be in his presence. Angelo waved him off without a word and went to the caged door of the elevator. He stepped right into it, but Arthur hesitated and looked over the suspended box in uncertainty. The novelty of an elevator was about as foreign to him as politics in Germany; sure, he had heard about them but actually standing in one was something extremely different.

“It’s safe, Arthur.” Angelo motioned for him to step into it, but Arthur gulped and gave Angelo a stricken look.

Clasping a hand over the doorway, Arthur gingerly stepped into it. “What if it falls?”

“I’ve used this lift several times, and I’m still alive. Come now.” Angelo grabbed Arthur’s neckerchief and tugged him in. Yelping loudly, Arthur grabbed Angelo’s wrist as the box jostled, but remained stable. “See?”

“Al-alright, just get this thing goin’ before I start thinkin’ too much.” Arthur’s body wound tight as the golden cage-like doors shut and the lift began to rise upward.

Instead of insulting Arthur’s fear, Angelo kept a grounding hold on Arthur’s neckerchief as Arthur’s eyes squeezed shut. His breath didn’t return to him until his feet were firmly on the next floor, but upon calming his racing heart Arthur noticed several other bodyguards on this floor, protecting a set of double doors.

The guards straightened upon seeing Angelo behind Arthur, wiping the amused smirks off their faces. Arthur’s lips quirked up in a crooked grin as he guided Angelo to the doors. To play home the act he opened the door and held it for Angelo. Shaking his head in humor, Angelo leaned toward Arthur before entering.

“Stay out here with the others, I’ll be an hour or two. Don’t get into too many fights, caro.”

Arthur caught sight of Martelli scowling from a long conference table and gave him a two finger salute before shutting the door. Relief of not being forced to meet a room full of high powers was short lived as the bodyguards gave him side-eyes.

They were all dressed relatively the same in black vests and white shirts, giving off a cohesion that was lost on Arthur. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but he’d been in worse situations before. Finding a place against a wall next to a flower pot, Arthur hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt and scanned the area from under the brim of his hat. While the bodyguards were fearsome with their gloved hands cradling shotguns and shiny shoes, Arthur could tell they had not been in a gunfight before and were inexperienced in protection.

Their eyes traced the lift doors periodically, but almost never touched on the doors or hallways around for prying eyes or movements. He held his tongue, knowing it was not his place to say something about other’s choices, but it grated on his nerves in a way he didn’t expect.

The silence was tainted in broken English. “So, Cowboy, how is the range?”

Arthur glanced at the speaker, a kid no older than twenty and pointing the shotgun he held at an angle that would take off his friend’s head if he kept toying with the trigger like he was. He snorted and continued scanning the area. “Better ‘n this rotten city, that’s for sure. People know how ta wield a weapon at the bare least.”

An indignant huff left the young man as he moved the gun to rest against his shoulder, the barrel aimed at the wall. “I can shoot better than you, Vecchio.”

“My doubt is immeasurable.” Arthur rolled his shoulder’s and pushed off the wall, making the other guards tense up. Rolling his eyes, Arthur stalked off to prowl the hallways, growing irritated with the arrogant bunch at the door.

He found a quiet corner to light a cigarette and look out a window at the bustling city below. A beggar stumbled into the street and nearly got clipped with a coach wheel before falling to the ground. A pair of lawmen only looked at him in disgust before walking away. The tobacco on Arthur’s tongue tasted sour as he took one last drag of his cigarette. Crushing the tip with his fingers, he hid the butt in a flower pot and returned to the double doors.

An hour’s time had passed by and Arthur was beginning to grow bored, as were the other guards. Luckily, the monotony was broken when the doors creaked open. Everyone straightened and watched the capos file out of the room. Some guards followed after their respected capos but Angelo, his Consigliere, and Martelli remained in deep discussion. The arrogant guard must have been Martelli’s (which Arthur found fitting) as he and four other’s were left.

Growing antsy, Arthur started shifting his weight until Angelo looked from his left and right hand man to gesture for Arthur.

“Matteo, this is the man I was speaking of. Arthur, this is my consigliere, Matteo Condrone.”

Condrone had a weathered face and gray hair made up his sideburns, but there was a hardness deep in his dark eyes. He scutinized Arthur like a piece of meat at the butcher before relaxing and standing to greet Arthur. Two kisses were pressed to Arthur's face making him blush and nearly shove the man away, but he restrained his impulse.

“Uh… good ta meet ya, signor Condrone.” Arthur rasped with a hat tip.

“Angelo, has told a lot about you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the man, but that face is wanted all over West Elizabeth.” Condrone’s warm tone turned dark before Arthur could react.

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur frowned and looked at Angelo who just shrugged. “Matteo worries you’ll draw unwanted attention to our businesses, but as I’ve told him Lemoyne is a long way from West Elizabeth.”

Martelli scoffed and crossed his arms. “You are blinded, Angelo. Even Matteo sees it.”

“Now, Guido. I am just stating my concern, this Arthur has plenty of chances to prove me wrong.” Condrone held his hand up to halt Maretlli’s next retort. “I want to hear what signor Morgan has to say about the matter.”

Arthur blanked as three pairs of eyes landed on him. Angelo obviously wanted him to state his worth to the Bronte Family for Condrone’s benefit, but did he really have anything useful to give? “Well, I- signor Condrone, I realize my bounty might be a little imposin’,” Arthur cleared his throat, thinking about what Hosea might say, “but I didn’t get my bounty for nothin’. ‘M a skilled outlaw, albeit a li’l new to this type of crime, but I ain’t afraid to get my hands dirty.” Arthur locked eyes with Martelli on his last statement.

Condrone hummed before clasping his ring clad hands together. “I say we let signor Morgan prove himself, a trial period if you will.”

Angelo smirked triumphantly and gave Arthur a proud wink while Martelli rubbed a hand down his face. “This fool is going to be our downfall.” Martelli whined.

“You are being dramatic, Guido.” Both Condrone and Angelo said in sync with exasperated sighs.

Feeling a new weight of expectations settle on his shoulder’s Arthur gave a watery smile and sagged under the pressure. Perhaps, he was getting himself in a little too deep with the Bronte family.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

In the following days, Arthur had found a rhythm in the Bronte Manor.

Sleeping in the same bed as Angelo was an easy adjustment. Arthur realized how hollow he felt sleeping alone, and how much he missed a warm body pressed close to his side. He relished in Angelo’s soft hands petting up and down his back and carding through his sandy locks in the early morning hours.

They would wake at sixty thirty every morning, much to Arthur’s annoyance. Curse those satin sheets for being so comfy. Getting dressed would be filled with small talk, mostly from Angelo, as Arthur was ‘un cucciolo scontroso’ before his morning coffee.

In the short time Arthur had been staying with Angelo, he had been given multiple pairs of clothing that were placed right next to Angelo’s in the wardrobe and dresser. He didn’t see the appeal in wearing a different shirt everyday, but if it made Angelo happy to see him in yellow instead of blue, he’d do it.

Arthur had gotten to know Luca pretty well too. Luca was a younger man than he and had been serving Angelo since he was twenty. America had been a dirty desire Luca had craved, but upon actually arriving in the New World, he found himself lost and broke. That is until Angelo employed him as a butler. Luca enjoyed his job, even if the occasional cowboy made a muddy mess on the Turkish rugs. Arthur still apologized for the little incident, but he was sure Luca would never let it go.

Breakfast and dinner were always a delight for Arthur. The cook Angelo hired was amazing at his job, and, the few times Arthur had watched him in the kitchen, he showed expertise with a chef’s knife. Arthur tried not to think too much about the gang, but he had half a mind to steal the cook and gift him to Dutch as a peace offering.

He missed the gang terribly.

They were his family, and as much as Angelo treated him well, the absence of constant bickering and laughing was draining. He spent those quiet moments wandering to the city park to sketch the fowl that braved the smog to wade in the pond. Sometimes he would trek into the swamp and discover a gator’s nest or see an odd looking bug. Angelo always insisted on seeing his newest sketches, and while Arthur was usually a private person, Angelo’s promise to not read his writing made him allow it.

After a particularly long trip into the swamp, Arthur returned with a new sketch and an egret feather. Angelo was lounging in the backyard, red wine in hand and a ledger in his lap. Arthur trampled up the stone walkway, shaking as much swamp gunk from his boots as possible.

“Chow, Angelo,” Arthur said before plopping down in a wicker chair next to the mafia boss, fanning himself with his hat.

“Close, it’s Ciao, Arthur.” Angelo hummed while looking up from his ledger, a smile breaking across his face. “You look like you had a fun little adventure.”

Setting his hat on the coffee table, Arthur pulled his satchel into his lap and dug around for his treasure. “Ya could say that. Found this.” Arthur pulled the snow white, flowy feather from his satchel and held it out for Angelo.

Angelo examined the feather before returning it to Arthur’s rough hand. “Ah, egret feather. Very lovely, though not as fair as you are, caro.”

“Psh, when are ya gonna stop sayin’ sh*t like that?” Arthur chuckled as a blush, not related to the punishing sun, flushed his cheeks.

“When you start to accept the facts,” Angelo said simply, going back to tracing over his ledger.

“Uh huh…” Arthur stretched his legs out and slumped in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach.

He had been neglecting his true purpose of being here as of late. Maybe he had been growing too accustomed to being pampered that part of him didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to face the ungrateful greedy talons of Dutch. Even if he wasn’t returning to Dutch due to faith, he did have people he was loyal to. People he needed to help get to safety.

Angelo’s face pinched as he read over something in the book. “Dannazione…”

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” Arthur nibbled at the bait, tilting his head in interest.

“Entries of percentages and payments for our due in local businesses’ profit.”

Scratching his jaw, Arthur rolled his eyes. “Alright… and what’s the issue?”

Angelo shifted the ledger to the side and crossed his ankles, taking a sip of wine. “We have several local businesses ranging from the gunsmith to the tailor, who pay us a certain percentage of their profit and in exchange we provide protection for their business. They don’t realize that we are the only threat in this city as of now, but that’s beside the point.” Angelo’s tongue darted out to wipe the smear of blood red from his lips. “I’ve been having problems with a doctor, who makes a habit of selling addictive medication illegally. He says he is giving the twenty percent he owes, but I have informants telling me his true scope of profits both legitimate and illegal. And the money he has been paying has only been twenty percent of his legal profits.”

Arthur opened and closed his jaw several times trying to form a string of thought. He was really out of his element in his new crime. “So…techincally he is doin’ what ya want…”

Angelo shook his head, an amused smirk on his lips. “Your naivety is adorable, tesoro. Technically yes, but when you are in the business I am, you don’t let sh*t like this go unchecked.”

“Seems kind of low is all ‘m sayin’.” Arthur muttered while crossing his arms.

A wheezing laugh made Angelo’s wine tremble in his glass. “Says the man who thinks robbing trains is still in fashion.”

“I ain’t never said it was in fashion, but it gets the job done.” Arthur grinned lopsidedly and leaned his head back, basking in the sun like a lazy cat.

“Speaking of getting the job done, could you go with Rocco to handle this? It would make a good impression with Matteo.”

Arthur’s gut clenched at the sing-songy tone. Straightening, Arthur stared down at his boots, using one toe to rub some mud off of his spurs.

“Arthur, look at me.”

Arthur hunched his shoulders, but lifted his eyes to glance at Angelo’s intense stare. “What?”

“You look apprehensive. Speak your mind. I value honesty in this line of work.” Angelo set his glass down and brushed his hands over his lounge robe.

Arthur deflated with a sigh and grabbed his hat so his fingers had something to play with. “I guess… I don’t wanna do any more money collecting jobs. I did that a lot with the gang and- and… Being a bodyguard I can do, but… threatening someone’s life because they owe money, no matter how bad or good they are, it makes me…I- I don’t like it. It makes me feel sick. Like a rat with the plague clawing my insides.” Arthur didn’t dare look at Angelo. Fear of rejection, of disappointment, settled over his shoulders.

Angelo hummed thoughtfully before reaching over to brush his fingers through Arthur’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. “I see. There is nothing to fear, Arthur. I’m not mad at you.”

Arthur’s muscles clenched tight and his eyes squeezed shut. He knew he wasn’t good enough. Not for Dutch, not for Angelo. He couldn’t perform a simple task because what? His feelings regarding it? Now, Angelo was just going to keep clawing at Arthur’s energy until he was nothing but a washed up corpse.

“What would you like to do?”

The question shattered Arthur’s spiral of worry. What did he want? Does he even have any desires anymore?

“I-I don’t know…”

“And that’s okay to not know. Life isn’t always about knowledge. It can be about discovery too. Arthur, you aren’t with that gang anymore. You don’t have to carry the weight of everyone’s worries. Just your own, though I have a feeling you don’t need to carry all of your worries either.” Angelo cupped his jaw and lifted his sinking head.

Blue irises met brown in a dance of confusion and yearning. Angelo was different from Dutch. He seemed to care about Arthur’s emotions, whether that ‘care’ was manipulation or truth, Arthur didn’t know. But knowing someone at least was looking deeper into his mind made him relaxed. Arthur shifted his head to rub his scruffy cheek against Angelo’s hand, not unlike a dog begging for caresses.

Angelo rubbed his thumb over Arthur’s lips and nodded. “Why don’t we keep you as a personal bodyguard? You’ll have to accompany me to all social gatherings and all outings. Do you think you can do that?”

Arthur nodded, lips pressing a kiss to Angelo’s palm. “I can do that, but I can’t promise ‘m good at social gatherin’.”

“We’ll make a high society man out of you, Arthur Morgan.” Angelo winked. “Unless you decide on a better purpose.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if the longing he heard in Angelo’s voice was imagined or not. It wasn’t like Angelo could ever want Arthur to be more to him than a body to f*ck or take a bullet for. Arthur chose to ignore the stab of hurt that realization gave him.

Angelo’s thumb probed at Arthur’s lips, nail scraping along the upper cusp. “Though I do have something you can do for me, caro…” The thumb pushed past Arthur’s pliable lips, grazing the edge of his teeth before pushing on his tongue.

Heat flooded Arthur’s face as he let Angelo coax his mouth open, eyes darting around the courtyard for any guards. “What do ya mean?” Arthur slurred around Angelo’s thumb that tasted of the scented body oil he used in his baths.

“Have you ever pleasured someone with your mouth?” Angelo uncrossed his legs, letting his thighs fall open to expose his groin.

Sure, Arthur had pushed up Mary’s dress a few times, tongued and nibbled until she was trembling and grabbing at his head, but a woman was a vast difference to a man. He’d had a working girl kiss and lick his dick before, but he didn’t really enjoy the sensation the first time. It was sloppy, and Arthur had been scared he’d hurt the lady by thrusting his hips. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to try it.

He opted to give his head a tentative shake.

Thumbpad pushed into the soft muscle of Arthur’s tongue “Would you like to try?”

Nodding slowly, Arthur let Angelo guide him to kneel between his legs. His thumb left his mouth and wiped the gathered saliva off on Arthur’s neckerchief. Arthur set his hands on Angelo’s knees, circling his thumbs into the silky material.

“Won’t someone… see?” Arthur looked over his shoulder, still not seeing any guards patrolling.

Cupping Arthur’s chin, Angelo brought his attention forward. “Hmm, I have my personal bodyguard here by me, the others will leave us be.”

“Alright.” Arthur licked his chapped lips and looked down at Angelo’s groin, the fabric pulled taut, but the start of an erection visible by the seam. “What do I do…?”

Angelo’s warm chuckle, devoid of mock, washed over him in a calming wave. “Well, I assume you would have to unbutton my pants first.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Arthur gingerly unbuttoned Angelo’s slacks and pulled the fly open. Shyly, he dipped his fingers in to pull Angelo’s semi out of his undergarments. This dick had been inside of him more than once, but this was the first time Arthur had seen it so close. Crooking slightly to the left, with a bright pink head and dark skin making up the veiny shaft.

Glancing up at Angelo, Arthur held the base between his thumb and forefinger before leaning in to breathe hot air against the tip. A curse from above spurred him to gently kiss the tip, tasting salt and skin. It wasn’t unpleasant in any way, which surprised Arthur.

Growing braver, he took the tip into his mouth, but unsure what to do he paused and looked up at Angelo, whose eyes were closed and head tilted back. The dick gave a pulse when he swallowed and tongued over the slit. Arthur experimented between swirling his tongue and flat licking the head, until Angelo’s hand shot down to grab a fistful of his hair. That sent a zip of electricity down his spine, mouth popping off of Angelo’s dick.

“You enjoy teasing me, Arthur?” Angelo was breathless and pupils blown with hunger.

“I dunno what ‘m doin’ remember?” Arthur snorted in amusem*nt, which Angelo reciprocated.

“Piccola minchia, I’m taking over, but if you need me to stop, tap my thigh three times.”

Arthur didn’t have much time to process what was said before Angelo was tugging him down by his hair. Obediently, Arthur opened his mouth, but Angelo didn’t stop at just the tip. Arthur struggled to relax, letting part of the shaft fill his mouth, until he gagged when the tip hit the back of his throat. He lifted up only to be pushed back down, just shy of the point he choked on.

After a few bobs of his head, Arthur found himself liking the weight of the dick on his tongue, his mind blank. The only thing he had to focus on was breathing and swirling his tongue around the head when he could. No nagging thoughts of what he should or shouldn’t be doing.

Nails digging into his scalp between tugs of hair lit a fire, and Angelo’s grunts added fuel to the flames in his belly. Arthur brought a hand down to press into his pants, rutting against it feverishly. Precum was bitter in his mouth and Angelo began to push his head down until he was gagging with each bob. It made his throat raw and eyes water, but Arthur relished in it. He never thought he’d be getting off on being a literal co*cksucker, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Angelo moved both hands to head and shoved down with a startled gasp. Arthur's nose crushed into the fabric of his slacks and he felt searing fluid hit the inside of his throat. He felt stuck, unable to breathe and on the verge of panic, but as quickly as it happened Angelo pulled him backward. Air cascaded into his lungs as strings of saliva and cum connected his stubble to Angelo’s pulsing dick. The shock of the encounter made him forget about his own erection, especially when Angelo laughed tiredly.

“Scusa caro, I did not expect that so sudden. You were just so perfect.” Angelo untied his neckerchief and wiped up the mess from his stubble before throwing the cloth away. “You look so cute when you are stunned like that.”

Arthur blinked, looking into Angelo’s eyes. He only saw concern and, dare he say, love, or something similar. His heart throbbed and he pitched forward, pressing his face into the junction of Angelo’s hip to hide his blushing face.

“Nawh, tesoro, I didn’t hurt you did I?” Angelo’s voice grew softer, fingers tracing over the locks of hair he had just been pulling on.

Arthur didn’t trust his sore throat and just shook his head.

“Why don’t we go inside, hmm? I can return the favor?”

Arthur didn’t know why he would offer to return the favor, but his stiff dick rubbing against his pants made him nod his head.

‘Returning the favor’ ended up being one of the best afternoons of Arthur’s life. His body had been so lit up in pleasure, he’s pretty sure he ended up screaming ‘Angelo’ loud enough the whole street could hear. Angelo had sucked his dick until he org*smed, his body withering and toes curling. It was nothing like when the working gal had done it all those years ago.

After org*sm, Angelo had kissed a path up to Arthur’s neck. Mumbling sweet pet names and compliments into his ear until Arthur kissed him hard on the lips to shut him up. The kissing evolved into humping and further until Angelo blanketed Arthur and took him once again.

Arthur was positively sore by the time Angelo rolled off of him and fluffed a pillow to put under his head. Sore but sated like never before, Arthur scoured for a cigarette, lazily bringing it to his lips and inhaling the smoke.

“Did I say you could smoke in here?” Angelo muttered half asleep.

Arthur answered him by blowing a cloud into his face. “Naw, but I thought I earned it.”
Angelo huffed and slapped Arthur’s chest but soothed over the skin after. His thumb circled a bruised nipple in thought as Arthur puffed greedily on the tobacco.

“There is a gallery in town. I wanted to take you to it, but I may have gotten a bit… sidetracked.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow and pinched the cigarette between his fingers, pulling it away from his mouth. “A gallery? Like with paintings?”
“Paintings, photographs, some sculptures. It’s a nice quiet place. I thought you’d like to see it, maybe you could submit some of your own artworks at a later time.”

“Psh, I’d like ta see it, but no mo’ ‘bout my artistic talents. Lemme just… wait for my legs to start workin’ again.”

Angelo’s laugh curled in Arthur’s stomach like a cup of hot coffee.

o0O0o

The gallery from the outside didn’t look like anything special. Just an archway sandwiched between two peeling paint walls, but Angelo insisted it was worth entering. The coach driver hopped off the bench of the coach and asked Angelo if he would be waiting for them. Arthur peeked his head into the archway as Angelo paid the man and said he could be on his way. A group of guards ambled around the building, keeping a watchful eye on the population, not allowing anyone else into the gallery.

“It’s up those stairs, Arthur.”

Arthur squinted at Angelo and gestured to the lettering on the wall next to a set of stairs. “Yeah, I can read.”

“Fiesty. I thought I f*cked the-”

“Haha! Angelo, please.” Arthur’s face turned beat red as he marched up the winding stairs to a small lobby.

A man behind a caged window perked up at entering guests, already giving them a spiel about how the gallery was free but donations were always welcome. Arthur scoured his satchel for a money clip and handed the man five dollars. Sputtering with wide eyes, the man thanked Arthur profusely and shook his hand through the small slot in the bars.

“Naw, naw, no need for that, just make sure it gets put to good use.” Arthur tugged his hand free, giving an awkward smile that made Angelo chuckle.

The clerk looked at Angelo and paled. “Oh, Mr. Bronte! I didn’t see you…”

“That’s quite alright this time. I’d like to donate as well.” Angelo mumbled while pulling a billfold from his jacket and thumbing ten dollars out to give to the man.

Arthur crossed his arms and co*cked a hip out. “Trying to one up me, old man?”

A smirk was all the answer Arthur needed before someone called his name from behind him.

“Oh good heavens, is that you, Mr. Morgan?!”

Spinning around on high alert, Arthur spotted the wildlife photographer in his green vest and straw hat. Arthur lit up and strided to the other man, clasping his hand in a firm shake.

“Well, sh*t! Mr. Mason, it has been a while since I last saw ya! How the hell have ya been? How’s the photos coming along?” Arthur knew he was rambling in excitement, but Mason matched his energy with a bright smile crossing his rosy cheeks.

“I’m well! No more close calls with falling off cliffs though, thank the Lord.” Mason snickered before gesturing to some prints on the walls. “I got some photos accepted into this gallery recently.”

Arthur’s eyes scanned over the fond memories. From their encounter with the pack of wolves to Arthur tripping into the row boat, a gator hot on his heels. Walking up to the photograph of the herd of horses taken in the Overflow, a laugh bubbled out of Arthur’s chest. But he paused upon seeing a picture of, well, himself. Standing before a backdrop of trees, an awkward smile plastered over his lips.

“Well, I should feel offended ya added me ta this, but ‘m more than flattered, Mr. Mason.” Arthur put his hands on his hips as Mason grinned and slid up beside him.

“Please, Albert is okay. I had to include the most endangered species of all in my collection. A man, hardened by life, but still willing to help a fellow out.” Albert bumped his shoulder into Arthur’s side before a throat clearing made both men turn around.

Angelo had an annoyed frown tilting his lips and his stance was wide and defensive. “Caro, you never mentioned you knew a photographer?”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, tugging on his locks of hair in embarrassment. “Oh, yeah, me ‘n’ Albert met a while back. He got his bag stolen by a coyote and needed my help to retrieve it. Helped him capture a few more photos here ‘n’ there too.”

Albert straightened and clasped his hands behind his back under the scrutinizing eyes Angelo was raking over him. “I see… It’s lovely to meet you, Albert. You might know me, Angelo Bronte, to meet your acquaintance.”

Arthur frowned when Albert dipped his head and scuffed his boots along the floor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, signor Bronte. Your reputation proceeds you.”

“As it should.” Angelo walked up to one of Albert’s prints and examined the scene. “You take high quality photos. You capture an aura not many can conquer. I have a piece of land that connects to the swamp, maybe you can collect more pictures there. Though I have to warn you… The waters are alligator infested.” A tightness filled the room, making it hard for even Arthur to breathe.

“Ah, I think I’m ready to get out of this muggy environment for now, but thank you signore. I’m heading back to Boston in a week, so I think my adventures are cut short for awhile.” Albert turned to Arthur with a half smile coming back to his face. “It was lovely to see you again, Mr. Morgan-”

“Arthur’s okay.”

A blush colored Albert’s cheeks. “Arthur. I hope to see you again sometime at a later time.”

“Me too, Albert. Have fun bravin’ the wilds of Boston.”

Scoffing Albert began to walk toward the exit to the gallery. “I assure you, Arthur. I’d much rather stay in New Hanover than Boston.”

After Albert’s exit, Arthur turned to Angelo with crossed arms. “Now, I ain’t the most polite feller, but that was rude.”

Angelo rolled his eyes and glided around the room looking at the varying art pieces. First, Angelo threatens his friend for no reason, then he ignores him? Arthur gritted his jaw and stomped to the opposite side of the room, still trying to appreciate the skill around him, but unable to shake the nagging feeling in his gut.

He spent half an hour ambling from painting to painting, brooding to himself, working his way around the gallery in a circle. Angelo had been circling in the opposite direction, and they ended up meeting in the middle at a specific piece of art featuring a man’s bare ass.

Arthur stubbornly ignored Angelo, until his dark chocolate eyes digging into the side of his face was too much to handle. “What?” He snapped, glaring at the globs of the painting’s rear.

“You know he was flirting with you right?”

“Flirtin’? Ha-ha-ha! He weren’t flirtin’. We’re just friends, Angelo.” Arthur chewed on his tongue before a thought struck him, and he turned to face Angelo. “Wait, yer not jealous are ya?”

Angelo’s face hardened. “When someone so obviously flirts with something that is mine, I grow a little ticked off, tesoro. And he ignored me? I run this rotten city; no one ignores me.”

Arthur barked a laugh that had his whole body shaking. His laughter died down to wheezes and when he was finally able to inhale glorious air, Angelo was staring him down.

“What is so funny? The man was all over you, and you let it happen.” Angelo flailed his arms out wide.

“I don’t see a ring on mah finger, Angelo,” Arthur joked before sighing and rubbing his face, “Sure, maybe, I thought Albert was attractive, but I was never attracted to him. I didn’t even realize I was an invert, until meetin’ ya. And sometimes, not everythin’ is ‘bout ya. Don’t make ya any less powerful.” Arthur smiled sincerely and held his hand out to Angelo in a peace offering. “But if it makes ya feel better. I apologize for the interaction. I came ‘ere with ya, and I ditch ya.”

Angelo glanced from Arthur’s hand to his face before grabbing it. “As long as you don’t run off to f*ck him. Then it is okay. But there is something you should learn, Arthur,” Angelo’s hold turned harsh, nails digging in like hawk talons, “When you are in this city, you bow to the highest power.”

Arthur’s mouth went dry, the soreness of their moment in the garden coming back full force. “I understand…” He knew he would always bend to a power stronger than himself. He was a sheep not a shepherd.

“Bravo ragazzo. If you are finished viewing, I have one more stop I want to take you.” Angelo soothed his thumb over the crescent indents he left in Arthur’s hand.

“Oh? Where would that be?” Arthur followed close by Angelo’s side as they approached the lobby.

“You shall see. But about having a ring?” Angelo quirked an eyebrow and Arthur fumbled for an answer, glancing at the clerk behind his cage.

“I- I was jokin’ ‘bout that. Plus, I don’t think I’d make a very good housewife.” Arthur whispered harshly.

“Hmm, something I have learned about you, caro, is that there is always some truth to your joking.”

Angelo, Arthur, and the group of guards moved like a pack through the weaving courtyards, heading westward. On the way, Angelo pulled Arthur’s past out of him like tearing a stitch. Arthur talked about Mary and how he proposed to her. She had said yes, only to change her mind and send the ring back. He didn’t dive into his actions afterward, didn’t mention Eliza or Isaac, but his heart ached all the same.

Angelo was quiet, but Arthur knew he was listening in the way his head would nod and eyes flick up to his. By the time Arthur’s want to talk had run thin, Angelo gestured to a store Arthur had only been to once in Saint Denis.

“The tailor?”

“Yes, I want to get you an outfit a bit finer than what you are wearing now.”

Arthur looked down at his black button up and tan pants. “This is fine?”

“Oh, caro ragazzo, It most certainly is not. Come, come.” Angelo ushered him through the door, the pack of guards standing protectively outside.

The tailor greeted him enthusiastically, coming around the counter to press two kisses to each cheek. “Signor Bronte! To what do I owe the pleasure!”

“See, Arthur, this is how you greet me.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “But, Lucius, my dear friend here needs something, well, you can see the state he’s in.”

Lucius hummed and looked Arthur up and down, making Arthur feel like a mangy stray dog. Though Arthur was a little annoyed that Lucius could look him up and down, but the moment Albert snuggled up to him it was a problem.

“I see what you mean, come along, sir, let’s get your measurements.” Lucius sounded bored as he motioned to a pedestal surrounded by three mirrors.

Grumbling the entire time, Arthur held his arms out and let the tailor measure his arms, shoulders, waist, and legs. It was the single most invasive moment of his life, and he’d had a dick shoved up his ass. Angelo lounged in a chair and chatted up the tailor like a couple of housewives at Tuesday afternoon tea time.

Arthur let Lucius put dozens of different fabrics of varying color or pattern on his body, listening to Angelo hum in dismay or outright scoff. He changed his mind, he didn’t feel like a mangy dog, he felt like a prize poodle being dolled up for the big show.

Finally!

Angelo came to a decision and Arthur was dressed up in a mock outfit, pins holding together some of the stitches. A white button up stood out against his tanned skin, and black pants accented his thighs and hips a little more than he would like. The golden colored paisley vest that cinched tight over his waist made his chest and shoulders look bigger than they were. Lastly, to top it off, a black tie was situated around his neck feeling more like a noose than an accessory.

Truth be told, as uncomfortable as Arthur was standing in front of the trio of mirrors, he felt uplifted by the outfit. The dirty outlaw that rolled around in the mud was replaced with something refined, something other than a boy on the run from Pinkertons. He still saw the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the bags under his eyes, but they weren’t as prominent. They didn’t matter as much anymore. Arthur looked at Angelo in the reflection of the mirror, a slight smile showing his approval.

“Lucius, I think it’s perfect.” Angelo clapped his hands together.

“I was thinking the same, signore. The gold and black really bring out his figure.”

Arthur turned with an irritated look at the flamboyant tailor. “What’s this all for anyway, Angelo? Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

Angelo looked like a cat that had gotten the cream. “How would you like to accompany me to the police commissioner’s anniversary party?”

How could Arthur say no?

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Arthur should have said no.

This party was turning out to be a waste of his time. Most people spoke with such a sophisticated (fake or real; Arthur didn’t know) air that he could hardly understand the few conservations he had been in. Angelo had all but abandoned him for the commissioner and his gaggle of high society gentlemen, leaving Arthur to his old friends: whiskey and animals.

In the corner of the commissioner’s garden, by some shrub with budding flowers, Arthur hid himself away with a third round of whiskey in a heavy glass. The stuff wasn’t cheap neither. The honey colored liquid went down smooth and burned slowly in his gut. It wasn’t the gunpowder and shards of glass going down his throat like what he would find in Valentine.

The commissioner’s dog had taken a liking to him. Some kind of mixed breed of Collie and St. Bernard with caramel colored fur and a large leather collar, a name plate saying his name was Maximus. Maximus found his place at Arthur’s feet seeming to share his views on Saint Denis high society.

The vest Angelo had brought him was starting to sit uncomfortably on his waist. He would just have to deal with the constricting and suffocating feeling until Angelo decided to leave this outing.

Suffocating was putting it lightly if Arthur was being honest with himself. The muggy swamp air mixing with the smog of factories was horrible on a good day, but the sheer amount of falsehood and acting going on in the garden was disgusting. People trying to outdo each other, lying through their teeth to look better, flaunting their assets when there was a poverty problem going on just outside the door. It made Arthur sick to his stomach with no desire to interact or attempt to integrate himself with the crowd.

Arthur knocked back the remainder of his drink and crouched down to scratch at Maximus’s large head. If he left the party now he wondered how long it would take Angelo to notice he was gone. A smirk played at his lips at the thought of returning to the Bronte Manor and waiting for Angelo to find him in his bed spread out and willing.

“Looks like you found a friend, caro .”

Angelo slid up beside him, a glass of champagne pinched between his fingers. Arthur shrugged while straightening, rubbing over his freshly shaved jawline, the itch of razor burn tingling.

“Yeah, me ‘n’ Maxi ‘ere decided we don’t much like parties.”

“I see. You don’t look to be having much fun, anyway.”

“Oh, what gave ya that impression?” Arthur mumbled, glancing down at Angelo.

Clicking his tongue softly, Angelo spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the hordes of people Arthur was avoiding. “What can I do to make your night better?”

“I can think of one or two things…” Arthur chuckled while shaking his head. “I dunno how ya do it, Angelo. These things ain’t really my specialty.”

Angelo leaned in to whisper into Arthur’s ear. “The secret is to nod and laugh a lot. They love it when you agree with them.”

“Hmph, sounds soo excitin’. Really, it does.”

“I know it’s not your usual robbing stagecoaches and waving a gun around.”

Arthur barked a laugh and shook his empty glass. “‘M too sober for any of this.”

“Aren’t we all.” Angelo grinned as he took a long sip of his champagne. “Don’t tell me you never went to one of these to rob people?”

“Oh, ‘Sea loves coming to these to con people. Makes me follow ‘em around and act all fancy and sh*t. That’s how I learned best to pickpocket fellers without no one noticing.” Arthur winked and waved down a waiter, pointing to his glass.

“No doubt, I’m sure.” Angelo finished his glass and nudged Arthur with his elbow. “As my guest to this function, I’d like it if you did at least a little socializing.”

Arthur’s face twisted with disgust and frustration, making Angelo chuckle fondly. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, tesoro , but can you do it for me?”

Arthur attempted to ignore the sharpness of Angelo’s eyes as he crossed his arms and co*cked his hip out. “I will… if I get somethin’ in return.”

Mischief flashed in Angelo’s eyes as he straightened and grinned. “Oh? Bargaining with a crime lord? I’m intriguied. What can I do for you, Arthur?”

“‘M ‘bout to get sh*tfaced to get through tonight. ‘N’ it’s yer job to not let me wander. I don’t do well without supervision and ‘m not about to let myself wake up in a swamp next to a gator.” Arthur shivered remembering the episode in Valentine with Lenny. The walk of shame back to camp to borrow Silver Dollar to collect his horse had been humiliating. And poor Lenny…

“Somewhat of a party animal? I’d never guess.” Angelo’s tone said otherwise, but Arthur just gave a forced smile and snatched the bottle of whiskey from the approaching waiter’s hand.

“Now, stand back ‘n’ watch a master at work.” Arthur uncorked the whiskey and took a long drink, much to the waiter’s horror and Angelo’s amusem*nt. “Good evenin’, gentlemen.” Arthur pushed by the waiter, gesturing to Maximus with his bottle wielding hand. “See ya later, Maxi.”

In hindsight, Arthur should have played this con a little more gracefully, but he was itching to get back to his roots. He didn’t much care how people looked at him as he took gulp after gulp of whiskey until he abandoned the half-drunk bottle in a bush.

His first conversation started off with him being as pleasant as he could be but quickly descended into barely covered uncomfortableness. The following conversations made Arthur zone out and focus on the treetops swaying in the humid wind. He met a feller who seemed interesting enough, talking about race horses and the breeding of them. Arthur was almost hooked on the subject until the man scoffed at Arthur’s exclamation that race horses were nothing compared to a horse who would charge into battle and not shy from gunshots.

“Of course, someone of your standings would think a mutt of a horse would be better than a lineage of pureblooded Thoroughbreds”

Arthur nearly punched the well-groomed man right in his stupid moustache. Excusing himself, Arthur stomped off to investigate the innards of the house. Technically they were off limits tonight, but no one told him they weren’t. Staggering with each step and nearly knocking over a potted plant, Arthur wandered the hallways of the commissioner’s manor.

Maybe he was drunker than what he thought but he swore the patterns on the floor moved under his feet making his stomach churn unhappily. Arthur quickly made his way out a side door to a patch of grass, feeling bile rise up into his throat before he swallowed it down and pressed his feverish forehead against the cool bricks of the building.

He hated it here. He longed for the open range where he couldn’t see a house for miles, just the sky and the dirt under his feet. Swiping a hand over his forehead Arthur righted himself and shuffled around the small alleyway back toward the garden. An open window with deep voices wisping out of it made Arthur pause in his trek.

The outlaw side of him pushed his body into motion, flattening himself against the wall and pressing his ear close to the window. The voices had the Lemoyne twang that made them hard to understand at times, but Arthur strained his swimming mind to catch every word that dripped from their tongues.

“-the department is more than capable to handle this situation.”

Arthur had to guess that it was Lambert talking, having only seen him once or twice.

“I don’t doubt the department, but you do know there are criminals crawling around recently. Have you seen the number of Pinkertons in the city lately?”

Arthur didn’t recognize the second voice, but the nod to the gang made his heart drop.

“Which makes it even more imperative that the governor is guarded at his press conference.

“But it leaves the bank open for attack doesn’t it? I heard those lowlifes nearby are known for their bank robbing skills. Also heard they’ve been chased all the way from the west. I have a feeling they will keep running until their toes are wet with the Atlantic Ocean.”

“I know what I’m doing. We’ve been patrolling the bank heavily the past week and there has been no signs of stake outs or unsolicited activity. Either they aren’t interested or they have bigger problems than worrying about a bank robbery. The bank will be fine for one day.”

“Hmm, I trust your opinion, Benjamin, I just worry about those scoundrels.”

“You don’t have to worry none about them. We have it under control, now please enjoy the party. I need to find Elyse for the toast.”

Footsteps left the room and Arthur was left with the sinking realization that the gang wasn’t as well hidden as he hoped. If some common bastard knew they were close by that didn’t leave long for the Pinkertons to turn up. They needed to get out of there, and get out of there soon .

But they needed money to get anywhere.

The bank.

Arthur felt a light go off in his mind, the drunkenness settled in his body lifted for a moment. The bank would be mostly unguarded on the day of the governor’s press conference. Minus the guards in the bank there would only be the tellers and the customers.

This could be Arthur’s ticket back into the gang. A peace offering to Dutch. A salvation.

But is that what he really wanted? One more score? To appease Dutch when the man hardly trusted him anymore?

Arthur slapped his hands over his face and pressed his palms into his eyelids until he saw white stars. Why was everything so hard now? Why did Angelo have to needle these doubts into his head? No, that was unfair. Angelo had helped clear up the muddy battlefield that littered his mind the past few months.

The sick feeling rose up into his throat again and he let the alcohol and bile burn his mouth as he keeled over and threw up over the blades of grass. He heaved until nothing was left in his stomach. He was miserable and wanted to go home.

Home… He never thought of a place as home. It was always a camp or ‘his tent’. But Angelo’s manor, his room, was becoming such a comfort that Arthur accepted it as a place of peace. A home.

Arthur pushed himself off the wall and trudged into the garden, his bleary eyes searching for Angelo’s sharp black tuxedo. He saw him conversing with an animated old man, but Arthur hardly cared who he was talking to.

Laying a hand on Angelo’s shoulder, Arthur leaned in and slurred into his ear. “Wanna go ‘ome, An’lo.”

Angelo stopped listening to the man’s rant about the scourge of the streets and turned fully to Arthur, probably taking in the disheveled hair, droopy eyes, and vomit lingering on his face. “Forgive me, Mr. Dupont, but I must continue this conversation another time.”

Mr. Dupont was left sputtering a farewell as Angelo supported part of Arthur’s weight and helped him to the street where their coach driver was waiting. Arthur couldn’t process anything, only that his head felt heavy and the street lamps as they passed made his eyes hurt. If Angelo talked to him, he didn’t know. He was fully focused on that bed with satin sheets and Angelo’s warm body next to his.

After being helped out of his clothes and his face washed off left over vomit, Arthur collapsed in bed, pulling a pillow down to sink his face into. Angelo wasn’t far behind him, shuffling around the room before the bed dipped beside him.

The ticking of a clock was the only sound Arthur listened to. Each hour, minute, second that ticked away from his mental deadline. He was going to be sick again.

“I honestly thought you would be the type of drunk to get on a table and start bellowing some trail song, not feeling sorry for yourself.” Angelo mused while tracing his knuckles down Arthur’s tanned back.

“Usually am.”

Angelo hummed softly, rapping his knuckles on his shoulder blade. “Something’s amiss. What’s wrong, caro ?”

Sinking further into his pillow Arthur muttered a reply, but it was muffled by the fabric. Angelo’s fingers carded through his hair making him turn his head and sigh. “I just… am I doin’ the right thing?”

“Getting drunk at the commissioner’s anniversary party probably was not the right thing, no.”

Arthur snorted and closed his eyes. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean, Arthur?”

Arthur felt emotions bubble in his gut. Things he repressed for so long had become a growth on his soul. Unable to be detached or removed for fear of being weak. For fear of crumbling and being carried away in the wind.

“I- I had a son once. When I was nineteen, I got this waitress, Eliza, pregnant. She weren’t more than a kid. We… she sent me a letter when he was born. Isaac.” His name hadn’t been spoken in years, and it clogged his throat. “I tried to be there for him. He was such a good kid.” Tears welled in his eyes, his fingers curling into the bed sheets. “ Such a good kid. But I couldn’t always be there. The gang moved, but I tried so damn hard to be better ‘n’ what my pa was. He… Isaac and Eliza were killed in a home robbery. All over ten f*ckin’ dollars.”

A trembling sob left Arthur’s throat before he reined it in. “Dutch told me bad stuff happens to good people, but if I had been there and not with the gang. They wouldn’t be dead. If I had listened to ‘Sea, they might be alive. Dutch has told me so much. Most of it, ‘m realizin’ weren’t true. This lie… of one more score. This lie of out runnin’ from the government.” Arthur laughed bitterly. “We ain’t ever gonna be free, but he tells us we are. And if I know deep down it's all a lie, then why do I feel so obligated to stay with him?”

Arthur looked hopefully up at Angelo, hot streaks of tears flowing down his face. Angelo thumbed away the tears and leaned down to press his forehead to Arthur’s.

“You’ve been manipulated all your life. Most people grow callous. Cruel. Bloodhtirsty. Mindless. But not you, Arthur. I didn’t understand how you would ever choose them over a life of luxury with me, but seeing you caring so much for other people, lesser fortunate people, I know why now.” Angelo slid a hand under Arthur’s body to press against his chest right over his heart. “You have such a big heart. A kind heart. You care about your family. Maybe it stemmed from being forced into the role of caretaker, but you embraced that role. You feel love for these people, your family. You feel loyal to them. You want them to be safe. That is why you feel so compelled to be there.”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and crawled forward to half lay his upper body on Angelo’s lap, pushing his face into Angelo’s stomach. “Thank ya.”

“There is no need for gratitude, Arthur. I’m only giving you what you deserve.”

Arthur clenched his jaw and wrapped his arms around Angelo’s slighter waist, holding him close. He wished Angelo wouldn’t say that because what he was about to do next would shatter any trust they had built up. A part of him, the abandoned child, craved to hear those words and feel the warmth of truth behind them.

“Night, Angelo.”

“ Buonanotte tesorino .”

o0O0o

A sickening feeling had grown in Arthur’s stomach as he had breakfast with Angelo. The plate of warm food and a bitter cup of coffee lay untouched as he listened to Angelo talk about his day and what awaited him. Arthur couldn’t look Angelo in his dark eyes. He knew if he looked he would dive head first into admitting all of his transgressions and flaws, and he needed to remain strong and see this through. He just hoped (if he survived that is) Angelo would take him back when it was all over.

“You’ve hardly touched your food, caro . Are you well?” Damn Angelo’s concerned tone.

“Naw, just a hangover’s all.” Arthur cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I-I was thinkin’, Angelo, if ya wouldn’t mind… I wanna take mah horse for a trip around. Stretch his legs some, it’s been awhile for ‘m.”

Angelo’s mouth twitched between a smile and a disappointed frown. “Of course, Arthur. You aren’t trapped here. You can go as you please.”

“I plan to go after breakfast.” Arthur sighed and picked up his fork attempting to quell the storm going on his gut before shoving a mouthful of eggs into his dry mouth.

Angelo sniffed and took a long sip of his morning wine. “I do hope you’ll come back shortly.”

Arthur laughed humorlessly and looked down at his lap. “I will.”

“You do have those alligators still to deal with.” Angelo gave a pointed look softened by a grin.

A true laugh left Arthur’s throat. “I ain’t gotten to that yet have I? Well, consider it a pact. I hafta come back then.”

They finished their meal in a peaceful silence. Arthur’s stomach was still upset, but he forced himself to eat and drink the cooling cup of coffee. After the table was cleared of their dishes, Arthur stood up, clutching the back of his chair as his knees grew weak. Angelo approached him, reaching to fix his neckerchief before patting his shoulders.

“Be safe, Arthur. That’s an order.”

“Ain’t been the best at takin’ orders,” Arthur breathlessly said before grabbing Angelo’s hands and squeezing them. There was so much he wanted to say that his throat became tied in an unmoving knot. Spurred by Angelo’s chocolate colored eyes, Arthur leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his lips.

Angelo let out a surprised noise but adapted quickly and cupped the back of Arthur’s neck to kiss him back. The connection was short but full of words unspoken. Arthur felt horrible pulling back his lips on fire with need.

“I’ll be seeing ya, Angelo Bronte.”

“Have a lovely ride, Arthur Morgan.”

Walking away from the Bronte manor was like getting stabbed in the lung. Each step a pain in Arthur’s body that left him breathless until he was in front of the livery. He paid the fines for boarding his Trotter and spent a considerable amount of time cooing to his stallion, feeding him treats and grooming him. The Trotter was full of energy as they burst out of the stable doors. Arthur let him have his head to canter out of the city, small bucks of bliss accenting his smooth stride.

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at his playful demeanor. “I know, boy, you’ve been crammed up in that stable for so long. ‘M sorry.” He ran a hand over his flexing neck as they rounded the fields of Caliga Hall, remembering the night with Sean that they burnt the Gray’s tobacco fields.

Leaving the smoggy city and being in a saddle made Arthur feel lighter, but upon trotting down the path to Shady Belle Arthur felt the scar in his shoulder ache along with all the other scars he obtained for the gang start to burn.

Javier was on guard duty, a frown plastered on his face and his fingers tightening on his rifle. Arthur tipped his hat to him but couldn’t will any greeting past his tongue. Dismounting his Trotter, he gave him a part on his flank before hesitantly walking toward the rundown manor. The girls spotted him instantly, screaming in joy at his return. He hardly had time to brace before Karen barreled into him followed by Tilly and Mary-Beth, squealing in varying high pitches of “Oh Lord Arthur! We thought you were gone for good!”.

Arthur patted Karen’s back, smelling booze on her but decided not to comment. “Hey, girls.”

He was promptly punched in the side by Karen who slurred, “Don’t scare us like that again you dumbass!”

Arthur grinned and rubbed his side. Damn did Karen have a good right hook. “‘M sorry, alright? But have y’all seen Dutch?”

The three grew uncomfortable, looking everywhere but at him. It was Tilly who finally spoke up, bless her heart. “He’s in the house planning with Hosea… I think. Arthur, please just be careful. He’s still…” Tilly looked at a loss for words.

Arthur cupped the side of her head and nodded. “I understand, sweetheart. I’ll be alright. Yer big brother has had mo’ ‘n one scrap with Dutch.”

“I know that’s what I’m worried about. I’ve seen most of them.” Tilly playfully slapped his bicep.

Arthur winked before turning away to face the manor. “Ya ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Miss Jackson.”

The factory smoke might have created an obsessive feeling, but the stares boring holes into him were worse. Pearson avoided eye contact, more worried about chopping vegetables. Miss Grimshaw had her arms crossed with a look crossed between disappointment but relief he was back. Bill and Micah sat by the main campfire, venom dripping from their mouths in hushed whispers.

Arthur leveled them with a glare before relaxing his shoulders and striding up to Shady Belle’s stairs. He opened the door only to be greeted with Jack rushing down the stairs with his momma in toe.

“Uncle Arthur!” Jack leapt at him, hugging him tightly around his neck when Arthur hauled him into his arms. “I made a wood carving like pa makes! I put it in your room! I was hoping you’d come back so you could see it.”

“Nawh, Jackie, thank ya. I’ll be sure to give it a peek after I talk to Uncle Dutch, okay?” Arthur gently swayed, mimicking how he held Jack as a baby and toddler.

Jack pressed his face into Arthur’s cheek. “I missed you.”

“I know, I missed ya too. Did ya eat yer chocolates?” Arthur whispered back before clearing his thought when Abigail crossed her arms at the bottom of the stairs.

“I should of know it was you who gave those to him.”

“Come on, Abi. It was just a li’l sugar.” Arthur smiled innocently making Abigail roll her eyes and walk up to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You didn’t hafta deal with the sugar rush, ya bastard.”

Chuckling softly, Arthur shrugged and slowly set Jack down letting him bolt off to the outside. “‘M sure ya handled it just fine- oof .” Arthur patted Abigail’ back when she hugged him briefly around the waist. “Everyone’s so touchy today.”

“We thought ya wouldn’t come back. We were all scared, well ‘cept that creep Micah and Bill. I think everyone realized how much sh*t doesn’t get done without ya, Mister Morgan.” Abigail winked before walking past him with a pat to his shoulder. “It’s good to have ya back.”

Arthur swallowed hard and braced himself against the wall. He honestly didn’t expect this kind of reunion. People showing they actually cared about him, actually missing him. Angelo’s opinion about faith versus loyalty started to make sense. With the facts in front of him, Arthur calmed his racing heart and stood up straight.

He marched upstairs and knocked on Dutch’s door, fixing his clothing briefly before Dutch mumbled a “Come in”. Pushing the door open, Arthur entered the lion’s den. Dutch was seated on his bed, Hosea standing in front of him, they must have been in deep conversation, but paused when Arthur entered.

“Arthur?” Hosea’s face broke in joy and he swiftly approached to give Arthur a firm hug and pat on the back. “It’s good to see ya found some sense!”

Arthur leaned into Hosea’s fatherly embrace before pulling back. “I definitely found somethin’.” He turned his gaze to Dutch, his face emotionless and jaw set. “Dutch.”

“Arthur.”

Approaching slowly his thumbs looped in his gun belt, Arthur bowed his head looking for the right words. His first instinct was to apologize, but he had nothing to apologize for so he cut to the important details.

“I went to a party while away. One of them fancy ones. The bank is going to be cop free on the day of the governor’s press conference. I guess they’ve been heavily patrolling the bank since we’ve been around. But they ain’t seen us snooping around so they think it’s safe to be less guarded on that day. Another thing, the Pinkertons know we are here. Maybe not exactly where, but they know we are close by. The city’s crawlin’ with them. I- I give this to ya as a peace offering.” Arthur paused chewing on his tongue for a moment. “‘M loyal to this gang, I always was and I always will be. Ya know deep down I am. I’ve been ‘ere since the start. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Dutch.”

Arthur waited anxiously for Dutch’s response, waited to be socked in the jaw again, waited to be yelled at. He tensed when Dutch stood up, going nose to nose with him, he was reminded that Dutch was just that much taller than him, it’s all it took to be the powerful man Arthur used to think he was.

“We’ll have to check if what you say is true, Arthur, but it’s-” Dutch laid his ring clad hands on Arthur’s shoulders, “-good to have you back, son.”

Arthur wanted to believe the look of affection between mentor and mentee was genuine, but Arthur had looked into Angelo’s eyes too much to know Dutch put on a façade. A façade that Arthur could finally see through like a vail had been lifted from his mind.

Nodding and putting on his own fake smile, Arthur clasped Dutch’s arms. “It’s good to be back.”

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

o0O0o

The rough edges of Jack’s wood carving scraped against Arthur’s thumb pad. He had to guess it was supposed to be a dog, but it could have been a horse as well. Four legs, all of varying lengths, a tail, and a lumpy head. Arthur set the carving on his bedside table, watching it teeter back and forth before balancing on three legs, the fourth leg suspended in the air. The moldy smell of his room was a comfort, but it was nothing like the cedarwood smell in Angelo’s room.

He kept telling himself he wouldn’t regret his decision, but he continued to have moments of longing to be back in the city. Which surprised him because he hated the city, but the person in the city was what drew him to it.

It had only been a couple hours since his return, full of greetings and sharp glares. Well, most people were happy to see him. Charles, Sadie, and Uncle all gave him warm welcomes and pats on the back when they found out he was back, but there was still tension from some people, like a diamond-back rattler coiling up and shaking its tail.

Micah had made it his job to approach him and remind him of his mishaps. About how just because Dutch accepted him back, did not mean he was on good terms with any of the guns. It ended with Arthur walking away, slamming his shoulder into Micah’s. There was no reasoning with a rat nosed jackass.

It pained him that Javier was avoiding him though. He expected Bill, an idiot who couldn’t think for himself, to be defensive, but he and Javier had known each other for a long time. Two unfortunate souls both nurtured under Dutch’s wings. That was the difference between them, he supposed. Javier was still blinded by Dutch’s golden promises, and Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at Javier because Arthur had been blinded as well.

Arthur tipped his head down to look at his weathered boots. He had half a mind to wear the boots Angelo had bought him when he left, but he knew that would only raise suspicions. A knock on his door pulled him from his musing.

“Ya know the door knob’s broken; come in.”

The door swung open and John’s ugly face peeked in. “Hello, brother.”

“Should of known you’d be crawlin’ around here somewhere. Like a mangy raccoon.” Arthur huffed and propped his boot up on his knee, leaning back against the wall.

John scowled, crossing his arms and co*cking his hip out to the side, like a child. “There ain’t no reason to be like that, Arthur. I just came to welcome you back.”

Arthur hid an eye roll under the brim of his hat. “Right. Gonna give yer big brother a hug too?” Stamping his boot on the floor with a scoff, John turned to leave, but Arthur sighed and stood up. “C’mon, I’m just messin’ with ya. Geez, ya can be worse than a woman on the rag.”

“Ya got a funny way of showin’ affection,” John grunted and turned back to lean on the doorframe, his greasy locks falling down to his shoulders.

“When have ya ever known me to show affection, Johnny boy?” Arthur tilted his head with an unamused frown.

“Yer not dense, Arthur.”

“No, I suppose ‘m not as dense as I’d like to believe I am.”

An awkward silence filled the space between them. It had been awhile since they had actually talked. Arthur still harbored feelings of distrust toward John, still expected him to turn tail and run from his boy and woman again, but Arthur also understood wanting to get away from this life now. That still didn’t make it right to leave his family behind though.

“Arthur-”

“-John.”

They shared a breathless laugh before Arthur waved at John to continue.

“How was yer time in Saint Denis?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Arthur cleared his throat. “It was alright… I learned some things while I was there.”

“Like how to be a spoiled brat?” John choked out, trying not to laugh as Arthur bared his teeth. He yelped when Arthur grabbed him by his suspenders and hauled him into his room, kicking his broken door shut.

“Now, listen here ya li’l sh*t ,” Arthur slammed him into the wall. John’s face twisted in mild fear as he grabbed at Arthur’s wrists. Arthur gritted his teeth together before sighing and loosening his grasp on John’s suspenders, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. “I don’t know what rumors ya heard, they might be true they might not be. I just- when the time comes John, ya need to choose between loyalty and faith. Be loyal to what matters, and don’t let faith get in the way of yer family.”

John’s brow quirked in confusion, making Arthur shake his head with a smile. “That don’t make sense, Arthur. Did Bronte hit ya over the head too many times?”

“I know it sounds crazy, and I know yer kind of stupid-” John slapped his shoulder with a huff, “-but please be ready to make that choice, John.”

“Fine, I will. sh*t, Morgan, yer worse than Hosea.”

“Better me to put sense into that empty skull than Hosea.”

Both men shuddered at the reminder of Hosea’s days of discipline and rage. Hosea had been a force to be reckoned with. He still was; he just couldn’t drag them by their ears anymore.

Arthur turned away, glancing at the wood carving Jack had made him. “Ya know, I think Jack is gonna be a better carver than you.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Now look, I’m being serious. Look at this detail,” Arthur snatched up the horse-dog and turned it around in his hand, “You could never.”

“Yer a real sh*t, Arthur.” John tossed him a less than appropriate gesture over his shoulder as he left his room.

Snickering to himself, Arthur gingerly set the horse-dog down and looked out his window at the surrounding swamp trees. He hoped everything would go to plan with this bank robbery, but he had a sinking feeling that things were about to shatter into a million pieces.

o0O0o

Arthur heard Dutch and Hosea bickering about the bank before he entered the kitchen. He greeted them with a nod and approached the table to look at the map laid over it. Dutch looked annoyed that Hosea was speaking against his original idea to hit the bank at night, his elbow propped up on the table and knuckles burrowed into his brow.

“Look, the bank…” Hosea gestured to the map, a red arrow and X marked on it, “Karen, Tilly, Abigail, I sent them all. They all say the same thing. There’s no more than one armed guard. And the police, well- It’s a city there are police, but with the information Arthur brought in- they won’t be patrolling this section of the street. They will be torn between the governor’s press conference and the diversion Abigail and I will set.”

Dutch pursed his lips before nodding and leaning back in his chair. He was silent before he turned to look at Arthur, and Arthur almost believed it was like old times, when Arthur was Dutch’s right hand man and he came to him for advice. But Arthur knew this was just an act to try and gain his trust again, or to perform in front of Hosea, Arthur didn’t know nor did he particularly care.

“What do you think, Arthur?”

“Well, I don’t see we have a lot of choice. We linger ‘round here we’re dead.” Arthur glanced out the window to watch Jack sprint by with Cain at his heels.

“Yeah, but the plan.” Dutch tapped his fingers against the table top with an exasperated sigh.

Shifting his weight to one leg, Arthur opened his arms wide. “We gotta decent bunch. We know how to fight. Those city cops, even if they were ‘round, they don’t seem tough. More talk than bite.” And under the mob’s control , he added internally. “As long as we move fast. I reckon doin’ it in the day, with a distraction.” Arthur solidified his point with a jab to the map. “If that’s what ‘Sea is sayin’? It’s a good a plan as any.”

Dutch pondered the explanation before nodding. “I-I think I agree.”

The stutter was new, Arthur noted. Dutch was always so sharp tongued, always knew what to say, almost never stuttered. Was he losing his grip on reality? Finally losing his touch? Realizing that everything was falling apart around him like Arthur had come to understand?

Hosea continued on about how attacking this in the daylight would benefit them. Dutch never used to question Hosea’s word either, and for Hosea to go into depth about the obvious cons made Arthur feel uneasy. Sure, Dutch had done plenty of wrong in his life, but he was Arthur’s mentor as much as Hosea was. He used to be the most clever and powerful man he knew, but now he was a husk of his former self. Still trying to live up to a name he forged all those years ago.

“Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly. Every problem we had was because we did not execute properly. Even Blackwater from my understanding.” Hosea leaned down, peering into Dutch’s eyes. Blackwater was a sore subject, but it had to be acknowledged. They had messed up severely, no, Dutch had messed up severely. Arthur couldn’t lay all the blame on just Dutch though, he went on a rampage induced by Micah’s silver tongue licking at his ear.

“You’re right.” He was almost shocked to hear those words come from Dutch’s mouth, but then he stood up and leveled both Hosea and Arthur with a glare, full of distrust. It was brief, but both Hosea and him saw it. “Let’s rob this bastard.” Began to leave the room, stomps echoing in the decrepit room. “Everyone, get ready. Look smart. Travel light.”

Arthur turned to Hosea, frowning in concern. “I don’t know about this Hosea.”

“We’ve robbed banks before, Arthur.” Hosea’s laugh was strained when he patted Arthur’s shoulder.

“That’s not what I mean, ‘Sea,” Arthur whispered harshly. “Dutch- he stuttered. He don’t do that.”

Hosea’s positive air faded and his face dropped, fingers curling in his blue shirt. “I know. Let’s just do this last job, and get the hell out of here.”

“We’re at the end of the line, Hosea. We aren’t gettin’ outta here. Not without losin’ someone.” Arthur hid his eyes under his hat.

“When we left the Grizzlies… I had hope I could get people to safety before I died…” Hosea’s grip shifted to cup Arthur’s solid wrist. “Arthur, I need you to make sure everyone makes it.”

Arthur shrugged off Hosea’s hand and clasped his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, Hosea. I ain’t a leader, ‘n’ ya still have life in ya.”

“Then hopefully it won’t come to that then.” Hosea’s lips couldn’t even force a smile as he patted Arthur’s chest. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He repeated in a whisper before pulling away to get dressed.

Arthur stood in the kitchen, staring at the spotty patterns of mold and decay on the ceiling. All the horrible things he had done in his life. The life and money he had taken unrightfully from others came crashing down on his shoulders. He didn’t deserve to be alive in that moment, but he was standing right there, the weight of his obligations and sins dragging him down on a course to Hell.

A laugh unexpectedly fell from his mouth as he shook his head. “sh*t…”

o0O0o

The vest Angelo bought him was snug around Arthur’s waist as he swung up into his Trotter’s saddle. All the guns plus Abigail were dressed up all pretty-like for the robbery. Hosea and Abigail and Bill and Charles drove off in wagons, followed quickly by Dutch, shouting for everyone to follow close to him. Arthur gave Shady Belle one last glance, gave Jack a wave and a firm nod to Sadie. Anything happens, watch the boy like he’s your own . He had whispered in passing to her.

Rolling his spurs against his stallion’s flanks, Arthur wheeled around to canter up to the lead of the pack, right up behind Dutch, just this one last time for old times’ sake. John and Dutch bickered almost the entire way, but Arthur could only focus on the scenery.

It was an odd thing. How many times had he ridden this trail and never noticed how the sun caught on the swirls of rainbow colored oil tainting the murky water along the roadside? How the basking alligators held their mouths open for birds to pick at bugs in their teeth? It was a serene thing, like the silence before the rumbling of a train over the tracks.

Even if this was his last ride, at least he had one Hell of a run. He just wished the situation was different. That he had met Angelo without being tied to the gang. That he could have given up his life to stay with Angelo. It was ridiculous to him how he had so easily fallen for the first person to show him love and affection with no strings attached.

Arthur zoned to hear Dutch explain the plan once more. Hosea and Abigail would create a diversion close to the Governor’s press conference, and while the lawmen were scrambling to protect their leader the rest of them would enter the bank. John and Lenny on the front door, Javier on the side exit, Bill, Micah, and Charles controlling the crowd, and Dutch and Arthur would be dealing with the bank manager.

The wagons pulled away from the riders, a series of good luck wishes being tossed around. Arthur tipped his hat to Hosea and Abigail as they departed quickly followed by Bill and Charles. The posse followed after the wagons, clomping across the bridge into Saint Denis. The smoke from the factories seemed darker today, like the black smog was trying to over take the pure white clouds hanging in the blue sky.

“This is it, cowboys! One more time!” Dutch shouted over his shoulder, getting a chorus of agreement.

Arthur glanced at John, sharing a short conversation with the slants of their eyebrows. “One more time…”

They slowed to a leisurely trot when they hit cobblestone. Discomfort constricted around Arthur’s collar. Who did they think they were? Marching into the city dressed in their Sunday best, looking more awkward than if they wore their riding clothes. They weren’t fooling anyone.

Discomfort turned to heartache as they passed by Angelo’s street. Sagging deeper into his seat, Arthur longingly stared down the street until it was out of view. What was Angelo doing in this moment? Did he miss Arthur as much as Arthur missed him? Was he at the press conference right now? In a meeting with Martelli and Condrone?

Dutch’s commanding tone cut through Arthur’s floating mind .“Nice and easy through town, boys. There’s Bill, let’s hitch up here.”

Arthur slid off of his Trotter and looped his reins through the orante hitching post that lined the street. Giving him one last peppermint Arthur pulled his carbine repeater and rolling back rifle from the sleeves of his saddle. Fifteen minutes, Hosea had said. Had it been fifteen minutes yet? Why was he so worried? He'd done this several times, but why did this time feel so wrong? He leaned against his hitching post to strike a match on his boot and light a cigarette.

He needed to calm the f*ck down. The first long draw of smoke was a welcomed high that channeled his trembling nerves to a more reserved state. An explosion racked the city, a flare of orange accompanied by smoke rose up over the tall buildings. Arthur let out a silent gasp hoping it wasn’t anywhere near where Angelo was. He couldn’t bear the thought of Angelo being hurt because of their actions.

“I love that Hosea! He’s a true artist!” Dutch pulled his checkered mask over his nose and unholstered his Schofields. Arthur sighed and covered his face, pulling his cattleman from his holster and following close after John and Lenny shouldered open the doors. “Gentlemen…Ladies. This is a hold up. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Arthur accented Dutch’s controlling voice with a bullet fired into the ceiling of the bank. The ladies present screamed, tears gathering in their eyes as they pressed themselves into the floor.

“Who do you think you are?!” The bank teller shouted and pointed a finger at Dutch, mustering up all the courage he could to stand up to the infiltrating gang. Arthur almost respected his bravery. Almost.

Dutch motioned to the teller with his gun. “Okay, now then, Arthur, would you please have senõr Bank Manager here open up the vault?”

Marching up to the teller, Arthur pistol-whipped him before grabbing his front and getting into his face. “Open the vault, come on!”

The teller wiped blood from his split lip, eyes wide like a doe hearing a twig break. Arthur glared at him until he shakily nodded and began to unlock the vault, having to restart once due to his quivering hands. Blood pumped in Arthur’s ears as he shoved the teller out of the way and stormed into the vault. His focus went immediately to the drawers and then the safes. Glancing back at Dutch for confirmation, Arthur went to one of the safes first.

“I need the combination for these safes!” Arthur shouted as he fell to his knees and pressed an ear to the door, listening closely to the locking mechanism.

A sickening slap of flesh echoed as Bill yelled at the teller for the number. Arthur rolled his eyes, hearing the click of the first number. “Got the first!”

“What’s the second number?” Another slap.

“Seventy-two!” The teller was sobbing at this point, slurring his words due to a swollen lip.

“Alright, just one more.”

“Last number, come on!”

“F-Fifty-four!”

“Did you get that Mr. M ? Fifty-four.” Arthur could have jabbed Bill in the throat for his snarky tone, but instead he pulled open the heavy door, shiny gold bars and stacks of green greeted him warmly.

He blinked in momentary surprise. That was… alot of money. A lot of money controlled by a few, hoarded while others suffered. His heart lurched knowing that Angelo, despite being a generous man to him , was one of the few hoarding the money. Arthur held his hand out for a set of saddlebags, Dutch giving him a smug look over his mask.

“What did I tell you, Arthur? Faith is all you need.”

Arthur quietly grumbled while shoving gold bars into the bottom of the bags before piling the paper money on top.

“Gotta get outta here!” Bill hollered before John’s voice cut through the chaos.

“We got trouble! Looks like the law!”

The law? But they should be occupied with the Governor and the fire. Not the bank. He feverishly closed the saddlebags and handed them back to Dutch and Bill to sling over their shoulders.

John’s panicked tone increased as Arthur and Dutch exited the vault. “Think we got a problem out here!”

Everyone held their weapons high as they approached the windows, hiding behind the protection of the solid walls. Arthur felt sweat drip down his brow, his breath making his face feel swampy under the mask.

Arthur’s vision flashed white and his stomach clenched violently as Andrew Milton manhandled Hosea forward, holding him by his suit collar like an unruly boy caught trying to pickpocket. “Come out! It’s over!” Hosea gave a defiant look over his shoulder before looking at the gang holed up in the bank, desperation flashing in his old eyes.

He couldn’t breathe, his lungs wouldn’t function. They had Hosea, and what of Abigail? Arthur tried to meet John’s eyes but his horrified attention was glued on Hosea.

“Dutch, get out here! Get out here now!” Andrew Milton, the man Arthur only saw as a rich man’s toy, suddenly held a power over all of them. He held Hosea’s life in his hands. Life felt so meaningless in that moment, so hopeless.

“Someone must have squealed…” Dutch whispered to no one before shouting, “Mr. Milton, let my friend go. Or folks are gonna get shot unnecessarily!”

Shut up, Dutch. Shut up . Arthur readjusted his grasp on his cattleman, the worn wood feeling heavy in his palm. It was getting harder to breathe under the mask, his body supported only by the marble wall holding him up. His eyes darted around to the multiple guns poking out from windows across the street, formulating the best course of action but only coming up with a static that made his head hurt.

“Come on, Milton!”

If he started shooting now he could take out Milton. He had an open shot at the acne-scarred bastard, but that might trigger everyone else to start shooting. No way would Hosea make it in the crossfire.

“It’s over. No more bargains. No more deals.”

They had to do something, and something quick. Arthur looked at Dutch, but only saw the panic he felt. All the sh*t Dutch had been pulling, it didn’t matter in that moment. He needed his mentor to get his head out of his stupid Miller book and do something . His heart raced in his chest, thumping loudly in his ears like a thundering herd of horses. Words blurred until all Arthur could hear was his own heart, funny how in the heat of the moment all he could hear was his own body.

Ba-Bump

“This is America-”

Ba-Bump

“-enough chances.”

CRACK

The wind got knocked from Arthur’s lungs like he had been the one shot, his legs crumbling under him as he pressed his slick forehead to the window. The glass fogged up instantly, but Arthur had seen it perfectly. Hosea withering on the ground, bony fingers clawing the cobble stone and legs kicking as red soaking through his suit jacket and vest. Tears gathered at Arthur’s eyes as a chorus of curses erupted, he swiped at the glass enough to see Hosea’s glassy eyes meet his own, a fire still burning behind them. He was still alive, but that might not last long.

A fire swallowed Arthur’s body, spurring him to slam his elbow into the corner of the window, shattering it with a clatter. He didn’t feel anything but rage, didn’t care his shirt was tattered and elbow bleeding. Yanking down his bandana so he could breathe, Arthur aimed out the window, targeting all the scum across the street with a calmness he only had when handling a firearm.

Six shots. Six men fell with sprays of blood.

Milton ducked behind cover as the gang recovered from shock, breaking windows and sending a volley back at the bastards. Arthur holstered his revolver and slung his repeater from his shoulder, co*cking the lever and crouching down beneath the window sill. For all the prestige of the Pinkerton Agency, they dropped like flies with each shot.

“Throw every goddamn bullet ya got at ‘em!” Arthur roared in between shots.

“Hosea!” Lenny’s voice cracked somewhere to Arthur’s side, “They killed Hosea!”

Arthur ducked down to reload his repeater, replying in a snarl. “He’s still alive, goddamn it!”

“Hold them back, I got an idea! Just keep shooting!”

Arthur rolled his eyes before popping back up to take down a few Pinkertons trying to run for new cover. What good would any of Dutch’s plans do now?

“I see a wagon coming in! Arthur, help me over here!” Charles called to him, looking down the street at a set of lawmen hauling in a gatling gun.

“sh*t-” Arthur pushed himself up from the floor, bullets whizzing over his back, before sliding in by Charles’ side. “Charles, Hosea’s still alive. We need to get him outta there he’s gonna bleed out.” Arthur peeked out to fire at the men trying to assemble the gun, making them duck down.

“Dutch seems to be having other plans, Arthur. What do we do.” Charles’ chocolate eyes stared into his soul, making Arthur freeze.

“I don’t kn-”

“Micah get over here!” Dutch called for the bastard dressed in white, before they disappeared behind the stone counter.

Arthur’s tongue filled his mouth, strangling any words that tried to escape. Dutch seemed to be trying to blow a hole in the wall to weasel out of the situation, but Hosea would surely die if they left him. John slid in beside Arthur, trembling with nerves and looking like a wild animal.

“There’s a goddamn army out there. Arthur, what if they have Abigail! What do we do?”

Arthur’s eyes darted between Charles and John then over to Micah setting explosives on the wall. Everyone ducked their heads down when the dynamite went off, debris flying all over the room making Arthur’s ears ring and nose fill with smoke. Through the smoky haze Dutch waved at everyone to go through the opening into the alley, Javier, Bill, and Micah went instantly, Lenny hesitated and looked back at Arthur with a fear of a boy too young to die before rushing after them.

Dutch stood in the rubble of the wall glaring at Arthur, John, and Charles. There was a moment of unspoken words passed between them. “I see you’ve chosen your loyalty, Arthur.” Dutch hissed, his lip twitched before he turned his back on them, long coat swishing with his movements.

“I was always loyal to the gang… All them goddamn years…” Arthur wheezed before clearing his throat. “Alright, the bastards are gonna be gunnin’ for Dutch when they see ‘m. That gives us a few minutes to hunker down. Charles I need ya to get out of here and get back to the gang. Ya should be able to sneak down the alleyways. They’ll be lookin’ for us not you. Ya need to move the gang somewhere safe.” Arthur clasped Charles’ shoulder with a nod before looking at John.

“Why can’t I go instead?” John rasped, yelping when a bullet clipped the stone windowsill by his head.

Arthur popped up to fire a few potshots. “You can’t do stealth for sh*t, John. You and me are gonna stay ‘ere and hold the Pinkertons back. With them split between Dutch and us, Charles will have an easier time gettin’ outta here. Do ya understand?”

Both John and Charles nodded.

“Alright, John, on my count start givin’ them everythin’ ya got, and Charles you go out the hole in the bank and head down the alleyway. One…” Arthur reloaded his repeater with practiced ease, “Two… Three!”

Arthur and John worked in sync to fire at the curious heads peeking out from cover, while Charles hunched down and slinked for the opening Dutch had made. When John ran out of bullets, Arthur covered him to reload, their actions linked like they were cut from the same fibers. Fury and desperation drove them until the number of men began to overpower them.

Arthur was in the middle of reloading when some lucky bastards discovered the crumbling hole in the bank wall. They were pinned between the fight on the street and the intruders to their side. Time froze and the two brothers shared a look of defeat, before Arthur glanced to Hosea. He was still breathing, shallowly and blood still leaked from his side, but he was alive.

Sighing heavily, Arthur dropped his repeater and fell onto his ass, hands held up. John opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur shook his head. There was no point dying right there. They had to be alive to finish this through, and if that meant going to prison then so be it.

With a snarl, John dropped his gun and raised his hands. The two Pinkertons who got the drop on them shouted to the people on the street that they got “two of the f*ckers”. They approached cautiously, their repeater barrels trembling either from adrenaline or fear, Arthur didn’t know.

Boots crunching over glass drew Arthur’s and John’s attention to the doorway, where Milton strode in, not even a scratch on his sharp black suit.

“Ah, Morgan and Marston. Not the one I wanted, but not unwanted either. Take them into custody, and be careful they’re slippery.” Milton smirked as his men knocked them both to their fronts and cuffed them. “I’m sure the people of Saint Denis would love to see a hanging.”

Arthur spit as he was hauled up, hair falling over his eyes. “Hosea needs a doctor.” When the man holding him tried to push him forward he dug his heels in and leveled Milton with an icy glare. He felt a hot barrel shove into his back, but he remained stony still.

“And why would I help a petty thief like Mr. Matthews?” Milton put his gloved hands on his hips and tilted his head.

John struggled in his captor’s grasp beside him as Arthur glanced at the once polished stone floor. “Like ya said, people would love to see a hangin’. Can’t hang someone who’s bleedin’ out.”

Milton’s eyes shone with sad*stic glee and his thin lips pursed. “We would have been great partners, Mr. Morgan.” He motioned for them to follow him outside, shouting to the nearest Pinkerton agent, “Get Mr. Matthews to a doctor. We’ll see if he pulls through to be publicly executed. And get these two to our operative building for questioning. The rest of you, keep searching for Van der Linde. He couldn’t have gotten far!”

Arthur heaved a breathe of relief and hung his head as they were marched into the blazing sun, the aches of his body starting to set in. The Pinkerton holding his arms took great pleasure in pushing his gun into his neck like he hadn’t just been shaking like a boy about to piss himself. Hopefully Charles made it out of the city without being spotted. If anyone could do it, it was Charles Smith. Hosea cried out as he was lifted unkindly into a wagon, but at least he had a chance at life until Arthur figured out a goddamn plan.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

o0O0o

Angelo had been in a meeting with Matteo when a loud explosion racked the city. They cut their meeting short and went into lockdown, the Bronte manor locked up tighter than many banks in the country. Pinkertons hoarded the streets of Saint Denis toward the bank, and Angelo had a sinking feeling this was Arthur and his gang’s doing.

He waited anxiously for information on what the hell was going on, not even able to drink the calming tea Luca had made him. Some of his informants told him that the Van der Linde gang had robbed the bank and one of them was dead while three were in government custody. No more information was available until a week later that Luca came into his sitting room with a newspaper. His face was stricken and he looked a little pale as he handed Angelo the paper.

“He made headlines,” Luca said in a hushed tone like it was blasphemous to say.

Angelo’s eyes skimmed over the front page, his jaw tightening and fingers wrinkling the paper.

Saint Denis Robbers Still on the Run

MONEY COULD BE BURIED

DEAD STILL UNCLAIMED.

SHERIFFS SEARCHING FOR BOODLE.

The funeral flowers have wilted. The widows long since forgotten. But none will forget the audacious robbery of the Lemoyne National Bank a week ago. It not only ended the lives of those shot defending justice. It ruined many lives of those who saved their money for months and years, only to have it taken by a murderous band of thieves. The Van der Linde gang woke that morning thinking they were to have an easy target of the bank, until they were surprised by Pinkerton Agents who put up a good fight, killing one member of the gang.

Nineteen year old Lenny Summers was reportedly killed but the body was never found in the cleanup, which took a number of days. Hosea Matthews, approximately 55, and thirty-six year old Arthur Morgan were apprehended by Pinkerton agents. Mr. Matthews and Mr. Morgan were wanted men in at least six different states. Mr. Matthews was severely wounded in the shoot-out and remains in intensive care. Mr. Morgan and a further gang member await trial. The rest of the gang escaped and remain at large. Some think they may have fled the country.

“Merda…” Angelo tossed the paper onto the coffee table and leapt up to his feet, beginning to pace around the room. “Of all the stunts he could have pulled!” He threw his arms up with a snarl and paused in front of the bay window overlooking his fenced yard.

Luca worried his gloved hands together and walked forward to smooth out the crinkled paper. “Perhaps you would care for a glass of wine, signore?”

“I don’t want f*cking wine right now, Luca!” Angelo rubbed a and down his face before turning back around and snatching the paper from Luca’s hands. “This dumb IDIOTA!” Shoving the paper into Luca’s chest with enough force to make the slighter man stumble, Angelo ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the pomade.

His dumb little cowboy had really done it hadn’t he? Angelo had known something was up with Arthur when he showed up on his doorstep covered in muck. Arthur was a crook and a gunslinging outlaw, but he was a sh*t liar. His eyes darted to the side and his hands jumped from his belt buckle to his holster as if he didn’t know where to put them.

It was subtle things, but Angelo was a crook himself and picked up on it instantly. He let him play it out and lie between his teeth, but Angelo made sure to keep anything truly sensitive from Arthur’s ears. Maybe there was a moment in their time together that Angelo thought he could draw Arthur into his family. To make him cut ties with his gang, but deep down he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.

Part of him wanted to be mad that Arthur had tried to use him, had stolen his money from the bank. But he couldn’t be mad at that goofy half smile and western drawl. Matteo and Guido would surely be pissed that they were down a few thousand dollars, but they had stashes of money outside the bank too.

Angelo planted his hands on his hips, staring up at the ceiling and trying to quell the rising tears. He would not start crying, he was a goddamn man. Composing himself enough to look at Luca, who was cowering with the newspaper clutched to his chest, Angelo pointed a trembling finger at him.

“Porta subito Matteo qui!” A bit softer Angelo added, “I’m going to go change.” He didn’t stay to see if Luca did his bidding, turning on his heels and marching to his staircase. He hadn’t put on a fresh shirt in three days, and it was honestly truly pathetic of him to neglect his hygiene like this.

Arthur and another of his gang were in Sisika most likely. Waiting to be hanged or shot by a firing squad. The thought of Arthur’s limp body hanging by a broken neck made his stomach churn unhappily. He knew he had to get him out of the penitentiary, but he couldn’t be as wreckless to not do it without consulting Matteo.

He took a bath to refresh himself, scrubbing at his skin until it felt raw, and when dressing in a simple suit he saw something laying on the floor just under his bed. Confusion furrowed his brow as he kneeled down to pick up the item. It was a worn down pencil, the end chewed on and lead sharpened jaggedly with a knife. Arthur must have dropped it in one of their tussles in bed while he was sketching in his journal.

Angelo chuckled softly, anger soothing over as he thumbed over the wooden surface before straightening and opening his suit jacket to tuck the pencil in his inner pocket. Angelo could only imagine that Arthur was missing his journal, he tended to need something to do with his hands and being locked in a prison cell must be driving him mad.

“Signor Bronte, il signor Condrone è qui…” Luca had appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, posture closed off and uncertain.

The poor boy was scared sh*tless. Of course, he had every right to be, but Luca hadn’t been the one to ensue his frustration. “Grazie, Luca. I’ll be down soon.”

Luca nodded and swiftly went downstairs while Angelo smoothed back his hair and brushed the wrinkles out of his jacket. He had come to terms with his attraction for Arthur. Maybe the cowboy didn’t quite share the same feelings, but Angelo was ready to admit he cared for him. Love seemed like a foreign concept for Angelo, and he wasn’t sure it was love. It was definite affection though.

With one last look in his washroom mirror, Angelo headed downstairs where he saw Matteo sipping a cup of tea. Matteo’s graying hair was slicked back and weathered face looked relaxed. At least someone was at ease with the situation at hand.

“Matteo.” Angelo greeted coldly and approached the older man.

“Ah, Angelo.” They shared a round of cheek kisses before Angelo sat down on the couch next to his advisor. “Why have you called on me today?”

Angelo’s teeth gritted together as he motioned for Luca to pour him a cup of tea. “Well, if you didn’t notice there was a bank robbery last week.” He hastily took a sip of tea to wet his mouth, but only proceeded in scorching it, making him growl and put the cup down with a force that had tea spilling over the lip.

“Hmm, yes, that is unfortunate business. We lost significant money that won’t be replaced easily. Guido is pissed about the whole situation. He really does not like that country boy you took a liking to.” Matteo chuckled and crossed his ankles, eyes scanning Angelo’s face.

“I realize that…” Angelo said flatly and chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Matteo rolled his eyes and motioned for Angelo to continue. “Something is on your mind. I’ve known you long enough, stop holding your tongue.”

With a heavy sigh, Angelo grabbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Arthur Morgan.”

“You are truly enamored with him. That’s dangerous business, Angelo-”

“I do not fear public opinion on my fancies of gender.” Angelo snapped, anger bubbling in his gut. “I will personally cut the heads off of anyone that dare insult me.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve gone mad, Angelo. Calm down. I do not care what human you find attractive. I have met many people in my day, and the only thing I care about is how they benefit me. How would a deviant, old world crime outlaw serve me? The family? He knows nothing about how organized crime works.”

Jumping to his feet, Angelo stood in front of Matteo, leaning down to get in his face. “Mad?! I’m not insane!” He straightened and threw his arms out wide. “I love that man like my own, Matteo! I do not care what he can offer to the family, I want him by my side not rotting in some god forsaken prison!” His mouth shriveled like he had just bitten into a sour citrus fruit.

Matteo was quiet, considering, with a hand cupped over his jaw. “Well, that does complicate things.”

Out of breath and unsure what to do with his hands, Angelo rested them on his hips, staring into Matteo’s hazel eyes. “I will do whatever I need to get him free. The question is if you are going to advise me or remain silent.”

Matteo tilted his head, observing Angelo’s disheveled appearance. “I do not pick sides, Angelo. I choose the best option for the family.”

“Then I will act out on my own-”

“And clearly, this signor Morgan, is important to you. Therefore I will look into how we can get him out of prison.”

The tension that had been roiling around the room dissipated, and Angelo fixed his jacket before relaxing and taking a seat next to Matteo once again. “I apologize for my outburst, Matteo.” Angelo quenched his parched lips with a sip of mildly cooler tea.

Matteo chuckled and patted Angelo’s shoulder. “I’ve known you longer than a day. You have a temper, but it does not scare me. But poor signor Napoli might need a change of slacks.”

True to his word, Luca was standing in the corner, eyes wide but mouth wisely shut. “Luca, why don’t you leave us for a moment.” Luca bowed, stammering his gratitude before rushing out of the room.

Angelo covered his mouth in thought before glancing at Matteo. “How do you suggest I go about this?”

Matteo licked his bottom lip and gave a mischievous smile. “I’ve done some research on our little rag-tag group of reprobates. It turns out they robbed a train owned by one, Leviticus Cornwall. Cornwall hired the Pinkertons to go after Van der Linde. So I suggest if you want signor Morgan free, you speak with Cornwall about the terms and conditions associated with the Pinkertons he hired. From there it should be easy enough to talk to the warden at Sisika.”

“What would I do without you, Matteo?” Angelo shook his head and leaned his elbows onto his knees.

“Listen to Guido.”

They shared a laugh before Angelo cringed, “Guido will throw a fit if he finds out about this.”

“He fears he will be replaced as heir to the Bronte empire.” Matteo rolled his hand in a circular motion. “Which keeps him in place most of the time. Now, explain to me again why you fell for some rugged cowboy and not a baroness… er or baron.”

“You are cruel, Matteo. Very cruel…” Angelo took a sip of his cooled tea and slapped his hands on his knees to tell Matteo of Arthur’s quirks that made him special.

o0O0o

Angelo checked over the components of his Mauser pistol before slipping it in the back of his waistband. The carriage he was riding in rocked roughly with the cobblestone of the road, but it was a small price to pay. Matteo was sitting across from him, also checking a Mauser pistol. If things got hairy at this meeting with Cornwall, at least they had some protection. Plus the ten armed men riding either on horseback or hitching a ride on the carriage.

Angelo wasn’t sure how Matteo managed it, but he got a meeting with the oil Baron up in some hick, mining town called Annesburg. Cornwall was doing some business with the coal mining up there, probably trying to buy out the owner of the mine for his own profits.

He could respect a man invested in money, as he was one himself, but something about the man disgusted him. They both used people for profit, both did stuff under the law’s nose, both paid off the law to get their way, but Angelo tried to be fair when the situation called for it. Helped and nurtured people, for a debt of course, when they were desperate.

Cornwall sucked the life out of any place he set foot on like a disease. Soil so saturated with oil it looked black, and the water swirled with a rainbow of pollution.

Angelo scowled out the window of his carriage, viewing the heavy forest around them. It was nothing like the cypress trees in the Lemoyne swamps. Arthur would love this scenery. He hated the swamp and the sticky heat. Come to think of it, he hated the city. If things worked out, Angelo would have to buy some vacation house in New Hanover to appease his wild appetite.

They pulled into Annesburg at three in the afternoon, by judge of his silver and gold pocket watch. Cornwall had a luxury boat that they would be meeting at. Angelo hated the idea of being in a confined space with no protection, but he had to be amiable if this was to work.

The air was thick with a sulfur smell as he exited the carriage. It was similar yet different from Saint Denis. The same smell, but without the suffocating murky air it seemed lighter somehow. There were guards everywhere, whether they were Cornwall’s men or the mine’s guards, Angelo didn’t care who they were, they were enemies as far as he could tell.

“Statemi vicino, ragazzi.” Angelo fixed his suit jacket and sauntered toward the dock yard, followed closely by Matteo and his guards.

A man, unarmed and dressed in a simple vest and dress slacks, greeted them at the dock saying Cornwall was waiting for them on his boat. Angelo gestured for him to show them the way, a fake smile on his face. As they stalked down the dock, prowling like a pack of wolves, two of his men stayed guard at the bridge between dock and land while the others followed up to the boat. Four stationed themselves at the end of the dock, butting heads with Cornwall’s guards.

Intimidation would be key, but too much could cause hostility. The guide opened a door into the boat, holding it open for Angelo and Matteo. Angelo rolled his shoulders as he stepped up the gangplank onto the boat. Two of his men ambled on the boat’s deck while the last two pressed in close to Matteo and Angelo, feigning casual intent, but these four were some of Angelo’s most well trained soldiers. They knew what they were doing especially in these hostile situations.

Angelo glanced back at Matteo with an arched eyebrow. Worry.

Matteo gave him a firm nod. Assurance.

The interior of the boat was more spacious than he first thought, and the windows lining the room made it seem open and bigger. Angelo first observed three bodyguards hovering over Cornwall’s desk. And there he was, the oil Baron of the East, dressed up like a holiday dinner with a gold watch chain attached to a silk vest and spotless suit jacket. Angelo had to guess he was in his late fifties, early sixties, his hair fading and black staining under his wrinkled eyes.

Stamping down his disgust, Angelo opened his arms wide in a theatric way, showing them to be empty. “Signor Cornwall! So we finally meet!”

Matteo snorted in amusem*nt as Angelo strode toward Cornwall’s desk. Cornwall’s men tightened their hold on their shotguns but calmed when Cornwall sat up from his work and flicked his fingers.

“Mr. Bronte. I’m a busy man, so I’d like to keep this short.” Passive aggressive? Angelo could work with that.

“Oh, I believe you can make time for me.” Angelo clasped his hands behind his back and wandered over to one of the windows to look out at the Lannahechee River and the land that lay across it.

“I will not play your games. You are nothing but a piece of scum that wears a suit.” Cornwall’s voice echoed around the room.

Angelo’s men tensed, ready to fill the boisterous man full of lead. “Calmati. You are a funny man, signor Cornwall.” He turned around and walked back to the front of Cornwall’s desk, staring him right into his eyes. “That you think we are any different. We are both in it for the money, I don’t see how my business is different than yours.”

“My business dealings are of the legal variety. Unlike yours.” Cornwall stood up, leaning on his desk to get in Angelo’s face.

“Oh don’t lie to me, Leviticus. We all do underhand things for money and power.” Angelo leaned closer to Cornwall, their faces inches apart. “And it would add to your health if you did not speak to me in such a tone. Before I silence you with a piece of lead between your eyes.”

“Are you threatening me?” Tension rose in the room, the clicking of metal as the men readied their weapons.

“I did not come here to threaten you, signor Cornwall.” Angelo leaned back, looking down his nose at Cornwall. “But do not think I will passively let you insult me. I will make sure if you ever step foot in Lemoyne, business or pleasure related, you will be met with a knife in your back. You may be the oil baron of the East, but you are not invincible. So I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

Cornwall’s face flushed red from his receding hairline down to his puff tie. Angelo ignored the motion of guns being pointed around the room as Cornwall fumbled for an answer. He was struggling with his pride, but Angelo would not back down.

Finally, Cornwall stood up straight before falling back into his office chair with a grunt. He hunched his shoulders and waved at his men to lower their weapons. Angelo smirked and glanced at Matteo for a moment before relaxing his body posture to look less threatening.

“Mr. Bronte, how can I be of service to you today?” Cornwall’s tone was still snarky, but Angelo knew he had won.

“I’m glad we came to an agreement. Now,” Angelo motioned for one of his boys to pull out a chair from a side table with a globe on it for him, “about this business with the Van der Linde gang.”

“A f*cking thorn in my side for the past three months, and the agents I hired to take them out are useless,” Cornwall hissed, slapping his hand flat on his desk making a pen roll dangerously close to the edge.

“They have been… a thorn in my side as well.” If you called f*cking their lead enforcer a inconvenience. “That bank robbery that happened a week ago, they stole a significant amount of money from me.”

Cornwall quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head suspiciously. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Bronte.”

Angelo chuckled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and motioning for Matteo to approach his side. “Oh, I’m not suggesting anything. But there is something I would like to ask of you.”

Looking distrustfully at the pair of Italians, Cornwall laced his fingers together and leaned his elbows on his desk. “And what would that be?”

“You continue your little cat and mouse game with Van der Linde, but tell your hounds to leave Arthur Morgan be. That seems pretty simple. What do you think, Matteo?”

“Sì. I believe it would be in signor Cornwall’s interest to allow that. Seeing as Morgan is already in government custody that shouldn’t be a problem.” Matteo placed a hand on the back of Angelo’s chair and leaned forward a bit.

“Is that all you want? For me to tell my hired investigators to leave a man already in government custody alone?”

Angelo shrugged with a nonchalant hum. “A simple task, like I said.”

Cornwall narrowed his beady eyes and pursed his lips like he was trying to figure out what game Angelo was playing. “It sounds like you have a plan that would disrupt my motives.”

Before Angelo could answer, Matteo shook his head and replied. “You can still have Van der Linde all to yourself. Any of his little soldiers too. We just ask Arthur Morgan to no longer be associated with the name Van der Linde in your terms and conditions with your hired help.”

“If having Van der Linde’s lead enforcer in our grasp helps track the menace down, then I won’t be giving that up.” There was that hot-headed business tycoon attitude again.

Matteo sighed and came around to stand closer to Cornwall’s desk, Angelo had to admire his patience because he could feel his eye twitching with frustration again. “The bank robbery was chaos. No one knows where Van der Linde ran off to. Signor Morgan got separated in the chaos and has been in custody for a week. What information would he have that he hasn’t already given or is no longer useful?”

Cornwall was silent for a moment, eyes blank as he processed what Matteo said. Matteo always had a way with his tongue that Angelo hoped to achieve one day.

“What motive do I have to grant this request?” Ah, the money talk.

Angelo barked a laugh and uncrossed his legs. “Two thousand.”

“Morgan’s bounty was at least five thousand.”

“Two and a half then. All the work has been done for capturing him, I won’t pay his entire bounty.”

“He cost me a lot of money-”

“And you still have Van der Linde out running around.”

Cornwall snarled, his upper lip curling as he threw his hands up. “Two and a half then. I expect that in gold.”

“It’s been a pleasure, signor Cornwall.” Angelo stood and held his hand out for Cornwall to shake. There was hesitation, hatred flashing in his eyes, before Cornwall took Angelo’s hand. “Matteo will keep in touch with you, and your gold will be delivered by the end of the week.”

As Angelo, Matteo, and his two armed guards left the room, Cornwall muttered about “blasted Europeans ruining good American business”.

o0O0o

Sisika State Penitentiary was a dreadful clump of islands, just as humid and hot as the mainland without the cobblestone roads to keep Angelo's shoes from being muddy. The warden, Heston Jameson, had met him personally at the dockyard and accompanied him to the prison. The prison itself reminded Angelo more of a stronghold like the ones in Europe he remembered from his childhood, with farmland located across a bridge on the other island.

He spent several days paying off the warden to allow this meeting, and he was sure he would have to pay another large sum to get Arthur off the island with him. This boy was becoming a lot more of a hassle than Angelo was used to.

Jameson had not stopped talking Angelo’s ear off since he stepped off the gangplank. Even as their footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the penitentiary he continued to talk about how secure the prison was and how honored he was to be in his presence. The two guards he had brought with him for this meeting muttered in Italian about what a maledetto sciocco the warden was, making Angelo crack a smile.

When they reached the interrogation room Arthur was in, Angelo’s heart leapt into his throat making it hard to breathe. What would he look like? Would he be broken and emotionless? Would he be angry? He didn’t have time to dwell on his doubts because the warden unlocked the steel door and motioned for Angelo to enter.

“Thank you, signor Jameson.” He nodded his head in gratitude before looking at his soldiers. “Stai in guardia.” They both nodded and took up positions on either side of the door, stances firm.

Angelo took a breath before entering the room and shutting the door behind him. Chains clanked together as Arthur sat up to attention, eyes going wide at Angelo’s presence. Arthur looked… worse for wear. His hair touched his shoulders and a beard was grown thickly over his jaw. A black eye was healing in an ugly mural of purples, blues, greens, and yellows. His wrists were rubbed raw from the shackles, but worst of all there was guilt and shame pulling at the wrinkles in his forehead and crow's-feet.

“Arthur.”

“Angelo… I-I didn’t think I’d see ya again.” Arthur said stiffly, eyes dropping to the table he was chained too, greasy locks falling over his face.

Angelo cleared his throat and took a seat in the rickety chair opposite of Arthur. He didn’t rightfully know what to say. Surely, Arthur felt guilt for his supposed betrayal to Angelo and stealing his money, or maybe he was distraught over failing his gang. “I couldn’t leave you in here. It’s quite a glum place.”

“I should rot in ‘ere for what I did, or better yet I should get strung up in front of a big crowd... Ya shouldn’t be ‘ere.” Arthur picked at a scab on one of his knuckles. His hands were weathered and cracked from work detail.

“Arthur. Look at me.” Angelo reached out to grab the hand scratching at the wound. Arthur sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before daring to look up at Angelo. “There are those pretty blue eyes.”

Arthur clenched his jaw before pulling his hand free, only to have the chains go taut. Anger meant to scare Angelo away flared up like a cobra waiting to strike. “Why’re ya here? I stole from ya!? I-I used ya! Ya should be cursin’ me, damnin’ me to Hell!”

Angelo brought his hands together, looking over Arthur’s battered face before softly chuckling. “I should be, but I’m not, caro. I knew you were up to something. You’re a sh*t liar for an outlaw.” Angelo sighed and looked up at the unattractive brick ceiling. “I thought maybe I could steal you away from your gang, and that’s on me for thinking that. They are your family, but apparently they turned their back on you. And I won’t let you suffer for something you put your soul and heart into.”

Arthur’s body sagged in his chair, and a helpless noise left his throat. He was lost looking for directions in the swirling mess of self-doubt and anxiety. Angelo could relate to that hopeless feeling of falling into a dark abyss. It was easy to fall, but it was the climbing out of the pit that was truly difficult.

“You did not betray me. This is not your fault, Arthur.”

“Not everyone turned their back on me. Dutch… he did, but the others. They’re in trouble. I dunno if…” Arthur made a grabbing motion with his hands like he was trying to grab onto the quickly unraveling yarn ball.

“Well, I can tell you they don’t know where Van der Linde is. Or your gang for that matter. They think they may have left the country,” Angelo provided with a reassuring nod.

“Charles must of gotten ‘em outta our hidin’ spot.” Arthur sighed in relief, a stone’s weight leaving his posture. “Do ya know if… anyone died?” Arthur’s voice cracked as he blinked away watery tears.

Angelo frowned and rubbed his palm over his forearm. “Lenny Summers, I’m sorry, Arthur.”

An agonized sob left Arthur as he hung his head. “He was just a damn kid. f*ckin’ sh*t.”

“His body… was not recovered. I assume your gang buried him where he would have liked.”

The comfort was lost as Arthur choked on a keen and rubbed his knuckles into his forehead. Angelo hated seeing Arthur so broken down. He didn’t quite understand the connection Arthur had to his gang, but he had a feeling it would be like if Guido died. Guido was his protégé and the closest thing he had to a son, if he died Angelo would be shattered.

Arthur, as far as Angelo could tell, was the big brother figure. He was the rock that provided comfort and support, but when that rock cracked into smaller pieces no one noted until it was nothing but dust.

When Arthur controlled his tears he looked at Angelo again, seeking comfort and stability. “Is… what about, H-Hosea?”

“He is alive as far as I know. Holed up at the doctor. A shot to the gut never does well, but he is alive.” Angelo tentatively reached out to take Arthur’s hand in his own. This time Arthur grabbed onto it like it was his only life line.

“Why did ya come? Just to talk to me?” Arthur rasped, his calloused fingers rubbing gently at Angelo’s softer skin.

Humming in amusem*nt, Angelo shrugged and squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Don’t know. Missed what you looked like I guess.”

That made Arthur give a huff of laughter. “What a sorry sight it is, eh?”

“I think if we give you a bath, a haircut, and a new pair of clothes, you’ll be looking just as good as you did before you went and robbed a maledetta bank.” Angelo winked as Arthur’s ears flushed red. “But I actually came to take you home.”

Surprise colored Arthur’s face speechless. “Why?”

“I don’t rightfully know. You are something special that I have never seen in my life before. As much as you deny it. And I don’t want you to stay locked up here.” Angelo swiped his thumb over Arthur’s hairy knuckles.

“Well, I-I aint leavin’ without, John.” Arthur puffed his chest out and hardened his face.

Deflating a little, Angelo scoffed. “Do you know how much I’ve spent to set just you free?”

Arthur stuck his lower lip out minutely, a small cut splitting the middle of it, “I can make it worth yer while.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Angelo sighed heavily. “Fine, non posso dirti di no. You and John will be seeing the mainland again.” A smile cracked through the broken exterior of Arthur’s face like the sun filtering through the clouds after a thunderstorm. “But you have to tell me how many guards you actually fought while in here.”

“Well…”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

o0O0o

“And here is the guest bedroom, signor Marston.” Angelo held his arm out, introducing the two-bed room to John. John was less than impressed with the means they had gotten off of Sisika, sulking with a sour expression the entire journey to Angelo’s home.

The tattered remains of the outfit Angelo had bought him clung to his sweaty skin, but he was just relieved to be out of the itchy prison uniform even if the dense Saint Denis air was still as unpleasant as it always was.

Arthur knew John was going to chew his ear off when they were alone, but honestly, Arthur was bone tired and ready to collapse in a bed he didn’t have to worry about there being mites in. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Angelo, as much as he would love to crawl into his satin sheets, he still couldn’t believe Angelo did all of this just for whatever affection he held for him. He gained nothing from helping him (and John), and it puzzled him.

The second bed in the room would have to do for now.

“Why, thank you, mister Bronte. I appreciate it sooo much,” John snarked and slunk into the room, trying to hide his awe under a scowl. Arthur was sure he looked much the same way when he saw Angelo’s bedroom for the first time.

Angelo pursed his lips and gave Arthur an unamused look that made Arthur shrug with a chuckle. His face softened, and he gingerly rested his hand on Arthur’s forearm. The tender look he saw in the interrogation room on Sisika returned, warming Angelo’s eyes and wrinkles.

“I’m sure you two have some things to discuss, but you are… welcome to join me in my bedroom when you are finished,” Angelo said in a hushed tone.

Arthur tipped his head with a blush, forgetting he didn’t have his hat to hide under, “Alright, thank ya, Angelo.”

Patting his arm, Angelo walked into the hallway, murmuring something to Luca before disappearing into his room. Arthur swallowed hard and entered the guest bedroom, shutting the door with a click. John sat down on one of the beds, bouncing on it to test the springs.

“Fancy place. Ya think Bronte kept Jack in here?” John’s accusing glare fell on Arthur making Arthur sag his shoulders and lean back against the doorframe.

“I dunno, John.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and soothed over the bags under his eyes, hearing John huff and flop back onto the quilt.

“I just don’t get it. How can ya be so affectionate with that man? He took Jack! Or did you forget that?”

Arthur gritted his jaw crossing the room to point a finger at his brother. “Oh NOW ya care ‘bout the kid! If you remember correctly, them Braithwaite kin-f*ckers took Jack.”

John sat up baring his teeth like a rabid dog. “And Bronte accepted him as some kinda gift!”

Throwing his arms up with an eye roll that made his tired mind swim, Arthur sat heavily on the other bed. He hung his head for a moment, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at his scuffed riding boots.

“John… I know. I know, okay? He ain’t a good man, but neither are we. We’ve killed so many men who’ll never see their wives or kids again. We was, well,” he carded a hand through his hair, shaking some dandruff out, “We was raised to be killers, John. It weren’t our fault, but it’s the truth. Dutch manipulated us and turned us into this. All ‘m sayin’ is we can’t be hypocritical. Angelo didn’t hurt Jack.” I made sure of it .

John’s tensed posture fell and he mimicked the slumped position Arthur was in. “I know. I’m sorry, just stressed. I dunno where Abigail or Jack are right now. If Hosea is alive. Where Dutch is. What we are gonna do. I’m lost, Arthur.”

Against his wishes, Arthur let out a chuckle that racked his body. John frowned, about to tell him off before Arthur held up a hand. “Sorry, sorry, ‘m just exhausted right now. John, we’re plum in the middle of a f*ckin’ sh*tshow.” His laugh died out and a sad smile replaced it. “But we gotta…gotta look at the facts. Hosea’s alive. He’s at the doctor’s, but he’s guarded by Pinkertons. Abigail ‘n’ Jack are out there somewhere, Charles had to of gotten them outta Shady Belle otherwise the Pinkertons would be flaunting their winnings. As for Dutch...”

They shared a shiver of distaste. Dutch’s furious glare before he disappeared to the rooftops was seared into Arthur’s mind.

“He might be outta the States at this point. He turned his back on us, so we just focus on us for now. After a long nap ‘n’ some good food, we start lookin’ for the gang. Okay? Stop worrying that pretty li’l head o’ yers.”

John snorted and lazily kicked Arthur’s boots. “Shuddup.”

“Now, I’m serious. Ya think Abigail liked ya for your brains? Naw, it was for yer body.” Arthur smiled crookedly before pulling himself to his feet with a groan. “There’s a bathroom in that door ya can use. Ya need a bath. Smell worse ‘n Uncle.”

“Not like you smell much better, you sour faced bastard.” John grumbled while peeling off his suit jacket. He paused with one arm out of its sleeve. “Arthur?”

Arthur’s hand stopped on the doorknob, turning to John with an arched eyebrow.

“You don’t think Bronte… sold us out, do you?” John whispered like he would be shot for even muttering the words.

His first reaction was denial and anger, but his open mouth snapped shut as the thought crossed his mind. Would Angelo do that to him? He wanted to say ‘no’, wanted to believe it was no, but he wasn’t sure. “I-... I don’t think he’d do that, John.”

John pursed his lips, his scars pulling tight as he worked his tongue against his cheek. “Alright, Arthur.” He continued to undress, waving a hand at him. “Go talk to your lover boy already, I need a long ass nap.”

Solemnly nodding, Arthur left the room, closing the door behind him. He felt like the floor had opened up under him and waited to swallow him as he stood suspended in the air. What was he supposed to believe? It was obvious someone talked. How else had the Pinkertons found out about it? Angelo wouldn’t betray him though, would he? Hell, he had every reason to betray him. Arthur grabbed at his too-long hair and pulled on the locks to ground himself. He was nothing but a dirty little plaything for Angelo, he didn’t care about him. He would be thrown aside just like Mary had done… just like Dutch had done.

“Arthur?”

Arthur snapped out of his trance, realizing he had been hyperventilating and tugging bits of his own hair out. Angelo stood in his doorframe, head tilted and eyes quizzical. Swallowing hard, Arthur straightened and shakily smoothed out his smudged Paisley vest.

“Y-yeah?” God, he was a fool. A downright stupid fool.

“I drew a bath for you. Come, let me clean you.” Angelo held out a hand to him, a life line that Arthur could use to pull himself from the sinking feeling in his gut.

Arthur gazed deeply into Angelo’s eyes, trying to decipher his doubts before he sighed in defeat and let his hand fall into Angelo’s.

“A bath? All for me? Gonna make me blush, Angelo.” Arthur quipped, but Angelo frowned and gently tugged him into his room and further into the washroom.

Angelo’s frown deepened as he helped Arthur out of his torn up outfit, a button or two missing, untreatable smudges, and tears all along the fine fabric. Arthur opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing left his throat as Angelo smoothed a palm over his chest, thumb grazing the scar to his shoulder.

There wasn’t disgust on Angelo’s face, a little anger but no disgust. His thumb pressed gently on the scar tissue over the pale pink mark before tracing down to an old stab wound right under his lowest rib.

“You gave him everything, and yet he turned on you.” Angelo mumbled, fingertips walking down to another scar above his hip. A bar fight gone wrong and ended with Arthur stabbed with a broken glass bottle.

“I-maybe I deserved it.” Arthur whispered, body sagging with the heaviness he felt in his mind.

Angelo narrowed his eyes instantly, hand shooting up to grab his jaw firmly. “You have done many things in your life, Arthur. But being betrayed was not something you deserved.” The eye contact was too much for Arthur, who pulled his jaw free to turn away. Angelo sighed and gestured to the bathtub. “Please, let me spoil you tonight.”

Arthur moved slowly to step over the lip of the basin, hot water stringing his shin before he lowered himself into the foaming surface. The hot water envoleped his aching body, sucking away some of the dark thoughts clinging to his mind like tar. An audibly moan left his chapped lips as he leaned his head back and sunk down until the bubbles reached his stubble. This was ten times better than any bath taken in Valentine’s chipped and moldy tub.

Angelo’s chuckle made Arthur crack an eye open, “Hmm?”

“Nothing, nothing at all, caro ,” Angelo said while carding a hand through his honey hair and kneeling beside the tub, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Just relax.”

Arthur hummed and closed his eye again, letting the tension in his body melt away. A bottle was uncorked, the scent of chamomile and lavender hitting his nose, and then Angelo’s soft hands soothed over his chest, rubbing some kind of oil or soap into the skin. The grime fell away with ease under Angelo’s delicate hands, working up his collarbone to his neck and then down to his ribs.

“Angelo, ‘m sorry.” Arthur slurred as his hands dipped down to his navel, twirling a finger around his happy trail. “We- I stole from ya. At the bank.”

Angelo huffed, palm flat over his stomach. “Yes, well, obviously I didn’t mind if I bought your freedom from Cornwall. That man is insufferable.”

Snorting softly, Arthur shifted to raise a limp arm to wet his face. “I know. Most rich bastards are- err, yer an exception?”

“I’m sure most people don’t think that, Arthur.” Angelo’s hand moved further down, fingertips brushing the base of Arthur’s co*ck.

“Whatchu up to-” Arthur’s eyes flew open with a choked gasp as Angelo wrapped his hand fully around his shaft and gave a delicious squeeze. “Jesus Christ, Angelo.”

Angelo smirked, leaning over the edge to press a kiss to Arthur’s cheek. “I told you I wanted to spoil you.”

Covering his face with his hands, Arthur spread his thighs as Angelo’s oil slick hand glided up his quickly hardening dick. “This ain’t what I expected.”

“Hmm, do you want me to stop?” Angelo unclasped his hand, making Arthur jump and water splash over the lip of the tub.

“Naw, naw, I don’t want ya to stop.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, hush, and let me continue, tesorino .”

Arthur sighed and let himself sink back into the water, thighs flexing when Angelo enveloped his dick again. Pleasure tingled in his stomach as his soft hand moved leisurely up and down the shaft, thumb rubbing the head with care on each upstroke. A moan escaped his lips, nearly inaudible over the lapping of water against the tub.

Angelo’s lips grazed his ear, hot breath musing the hairs laying over it. “I missed you, you know Arthur? Which isn’t something I’ve felt for a long while.” His hand tightened at the base, making Arthur gasp and buck his hips.

Heat flooded Arthur’s face, chest heaving to supply oxygen to the blood thumping in his ears. Angelo missed him? This was all too overwhelming, the pressure on his dick, the racing of his heart, the thick accent whispering to him.

“Angelo, I-” Arthur groaned, head thudding against the porcelain when Angelo twisted his hand and sped up, pushing globs of precum to the tip before wiping them away with his thumb pad.

“Sh sh sh, it’s going to be okay now, just let go.” Angelo cradled Arthur’s head with his other hand.

Arthur’s body was floating, the ever present heaviness lifted from his chest as bliss coiled in his gut. His dick was throbbing, pulsing for release. His hands latched onto the sides of the tub, back arching and feet knocking against the basin bottom. Like a shotgun going off, Arthur’s vision went white and his stomach released the built up pressure.

He moaned in short gasps as Angelo stroked him off through his org*sm, ribbons of white floating in the water. Angelo pet over his hair, humming softly to him. When his flagging co*ck began to grow sensitive to the touch, his hips canted backward and Angelo pulled his hand back, flicking water off his fingertips.

“There, feeling a bit more relaxed?” Angelo pecked Arthur’s cheek and tapped his nose.

Arthur mumbled something, his lips and tongue too sluggish to pronounce it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Angelo chuckled and pulled himself to his feet, “Take as long as you need. We plan to have dinner in a few hours, I have some guests coming over. But I’m sure you and your brother can behave for that.”

Arthur waved his hand lazily in understanding, smacking his lips and giving a short yawn. Angelo hummed in amusem*nt and left the room, closing the velvet curtains behind him. Arthur laid motionless in the tub until the water began to go cold, and he forced himself to sit up and scrub his hair. Washing away the prison grime made him truly feel refreshed.

He left the washroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel around his waist and feet leaving wet footprints along the wooden floor and rug. He was unsure what he was going to wear, his entire wardrobe was somewhere with the gang and he was not going to put on the tattered remains of his vest and dress shirt. Laying on the foot of the bed was a set of clothes, dark grey pants, a plain dull green button up, and a pair of leather suspenders.

Arthur shook his head in fondness. Angelo was really going out of his way to provide for him and it made his heart flutter and stomach churn in a pleasant way. He picked up the cotton shirt before another yawn racked his body. Angelo said they had a few hours before dinner, maybe a small nap wasn’t uncalled for.

Arthur let his towel drop to his ankles before throwing open the comforter and collapsing into the inviting bed. The smell of Angelo filled his nostrils, blanketing him in peace and comfort as he burrowed his still damp head into a pillow and let the satin sheets wrap around his naked body.

o0O0o

I see you’ve chosen your loyalty, Arthur .

Arthur, I need you to make sure everyone makes it.

Thank you, Uncle Arthur!

I’m lost, Arthur.

There is no need for gratitude, Arthur. I’m only giving you what you deserve.

“Arthur.”

Jerking up from his heavy sleep full of fragmented memories, Arthur grabbed at the hand on his shoulder, eyes wild until he saw Angelo’s face. He sighed and released Angelo’s wrist falling back into the sheets and pulling a pillow over his face.

“Fitful nap, I see. I hated to wake you, but dinner is ready now.” Angelo sat down on the edge of the bed as Arthur groaned and tossed the pillow to the side.

“I feel even mo’ tired.” Arthur snorted and sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

Angelo reached out to cup Arthur’s cheek, scratch at his stubble. “I’m sure you do. When I walked in you had the most pained expression on your face.”

“Bunch o’ memories s’all. Now, what’s this ‘bout dinner? ‘M sick of that sh*t they called food at Sisika.” Arthur grinned lopsidedly and leaned forward to hesitantly nuzzle into Angelo’s shoulder.

Angelo wove a hand through his hair, teasing the chapped, sunburnt skin at Arthur’s neck. “We’re having tortellini stuffed with pork and parmigiano cheese and tiramisu as dessert.”

“I dunno what any of that means, but sounds good. And who all will be here?”

“Who are already here, you mean.” Angelo chuckled and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “They don’t know I’ve been waiting for you and your brother to wake from your naps. There is Matteo and Guido, you know them. And I have three of my capos here tonight, Tommaso Lapis, Valentino Scalzi, and Luigi Bassi. I believe Guido also brought Rocco.”

“Great, the kid’s gonna talk my damn ear off. I ever told ya, y’all Italians love yer O’s? Guido, Matteo, Tommaso, Valentino, Angelo . It’s ridiculous.”

Angelo huffed and pinched Arthur’s chest. “Right and you maledetto inglese think you are so high and mighty with names like John and George. Now, that is ridiculous, Arthur .”

“Don’t quote me, but I believe Arthur was a king.”

“A piece of folklore, he was never real, caro .”

Arthur blinked a few times before bursting into a fit of laughter. “Well, sh*t, alright.”

Angelo smiled warmly and touched his forehead to Arthur’s. “Now, King Arthur, why don’t you get dressed and join us downstairs.”

“Speaking of John, is that lazy sonovabitch up?” Arthur asked while reaching forward to grab the shirt laid out for him, refusing to leave the bed just yet.

“Luca had a conversation with him a few moments ago. He was none too happy to be woken up, and poor Luca had to face what he called a,” Angelo held up his fingers to make quotation marks, “‘ procione rabbioso ’, which translates to rabid raccoon.”

Arthur paused in buttoning his shirt, grinning like a madman. “A rabid raccoon, huh? I ain’t gonna let ‘m live that down. I’ll go talk to him before I head down.”

Angelo hummed before brushing an unkempt lock of Arthur’s hair out of his face. “Don’t take too long, amore . I’ll be waiting.”

Arthur waved him off as he left the room, letting Arthur slowly get out of bed and finish getting dressed. After scrounging in the washroom for hair pomade, Arthur slicked back his hair, grudgingly looking in the mirror as he did so. He desperately needed a haircut and a shave, he was starting to look like John with this length of hair.

Arthur knocked on John’s door, but with no answer he barged in to see John passed onto, a line pool of drool making part of his hair stick to the side of his face. With a sigh, Arthur walked up to the bed and lifted the mattress enough that John tumbled out with a squawk. Arthur grinned as he gently set the mattress back on the frame and watched John scramble to his feet with a scowl.

“What the hell, Morgan!” John swiped his hair out of his face and wiped the drool from his mouth.

“Ya gave poor Luca a fright earlier, so I said I’d wake ya. Come on get yer ass dressed, dinner’s ready.” Arthur spotted a folded pile of clothes on a bedside table and tossed them to John.

John groused about as he stripped off his union suit for a fresh one and began to pull on the clothes. They seemed baggy on his slender frame, probably one of the guard’s old clothes or Luca was feeling sassy in his dislike for John. Either way, John had to roll the sleeves up to his elbow and cinch up the suspenders to look somewhat presentable.

“Alright, this is kinda a big dinner. Angelo’s most trusted men are ‘ere, so try to be a li’l respectful.” Arthur announced as they both started downstairs.

John snorted and rolled his eyes, “Psh, bunch of rich snobs, no thank you.”

“John…” Arthur looked over his shoulder with a glare that made the younger man grumble and go quiet.

Loud boisterous laughter came from the dining room, accompanied by quick spurts of a language neither Arthur nor John spoke. Arthur would be lying if he said his stomach didn’t churn unhappily at the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of better people than he.

Luca perked up at seeing them, approaching with a wide smile. “Oh, hello Arthur! It’s been awhile since I saw your face! The house has been empty without you.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Naw, well, I ain’t so sure ‘bout that.”

“Nonsense!” Luca leaned in to stage-whisper, “ Signor Bronte was especially lonesome and irritable without you.”

John’s coughing pulled Arthur from his flustered blush making him laugh and rub over his jaw. “Yes, uhm, you’ve met John, right Luca?”

Luca’s smile dropped and he crossed his arms; John put his hands on his hips with a similar frown. “Unfortunately.” They said in sync which made them both bristle like stray cats about to fight.

Arthur couldn’t help the chuckle that left his mouth as he stepped between them. “Okay, okay, no fightin’. Luca could ya show us to our places?”

Luca rolled his eyes the barest amount before gesturing for Arthur to follow him. “Of course, Arthur.”

The room went quiet as they entered. Arthur made brief eye contact with Angelo, a cry for help, in which Angelo smiled back in support. Condrone gave a similar warm smile, but Martelli’s nose scrunched up like he had just bitten into a sour lemon.

“Well, I see you got your guard dog back, Angelo. And an addition of a mangy mutt.” Martelli jabbed much to the amusem*nt of the capos.

Arthur gave a forced smile as he took his seat to Angelo’s left, across from Condrone, John sitting down next to him. “And I see yer still very much a lap dog like one of them poodles,” Arthur quipped back.

There was a tense silence, the capos ready to lunge at the intruding cowboys and John clenching his fingers around a steak knife. Arthur’s eyes bored into Maretelli’s before Martelli cracked a genuine smile. “It would appear your time in Sisika did not dull your silver tongue, Morgan.”

Arthur shook his head with a chuckle, waving his hand under the table for John to cool it. A brief glance to Angelo showed approval, and Arthur turned his attention to the other four family members in the room. A slender, nearly skeletal man, with sunken cheeks and a shock of red auburn hair sat to Guido’s right and was dressed in a grey suit. Across from him and next to John, was a larger man with acne scars on his ruddy face, and at the end of the table, a posh man with round glasses and a rat looking face sat across from, last but not least, Rocco. The kid was gazing at Arthur, the chandelier casting stars in his dark eyes. Arthur nodded to Rocco who grinned all bright crooked teeth and squinted eyes.

Angelo clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Now that my guests have arrived, I welcome you all for coming tonight. This is a get together to celebrate the Bronte family, from old ties to new alliances.” Angelo raised his wine glass, the deep purple liquid swirling. “ Alla lealtà e alla famiglia .”

Everyone, minus Arthur and John, repeated back in Italian, raising their own glasses high and cheering. John looked to Arthur for guidance, who shrugged and picked up his glass to add to the toast. After the toast, Luca, the cook, and an unfamiliar servant began to bring in platters which they gracefully sat in front of everyone.

“Tommaso, Valentino, Luigi,” Angelo said, making the three new people lift their eyes to him, “let me introduce you to my guests. Arthur Morgan and John Marston.” he gestured accordingly to the outlaws. He next pointed to the skeletal man, “ signor Valentino Scalzi,” the large rosy faced man, “ signor Tommaso Lapis,” the rat faced man, “and signor Luigi Bassi.”

“It’s mine and my brother’s pleasure, gents.” Arthur nodded politely, but all three of them gave him a look of varying degrees of distrust.

John snorted and stabbed his fork in the direction of Scalzi. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Sighing heavily, Arthur rubbed down his face with one hand while grabbing John’s wrist with the other. “I apologize, he ain’t used to social settings.” John side-eyed Arthur before huffing and yanking his arm out of Arthur’s grasp to investigate the food set out in front of them.

Arthur and John became forgotten as the Italian immigrants began to eat their food and converse in their native tongue. The pasta, whatever Angelo said it was, was mouth watering good. Arthur found himself rushing to shovel in more pasta before the last mouthful was completely chewed, and John was in a similar position. They had never had food this good, and for the past week or so all they had gotten was stale, moldy bread.

Angelo’s shoe gently tapped Arthur’s under the table, an amused quirk to his lips. He mouthed the words ‘slow down’ making Arthur face flush with embarrassment. He set his fork down to wipe his mouth with a cloth napkin, meeting Scalzi’s sunken, dead eyes. Arthur tried to glance at John, who was hunched down over his bowl inhaling the pasta, but to no avail.

“ Mangiano anche come cani .” Scalzi said loud enough for everyone to hear above the dinging of bowls.

Arthur had no clue what he said, but the slant of his thin mouth lit a fire in his stomach. He dropped his napkin and leaned forward. John paused mid-chew, gaze darting between Arthur and Scalzi as laughter picked up. “Whatchu say to me, ya piece of-”

“Valentino,” Angelo cut in, voice sharp as a knife. “ Hai il coraggio di parlare così ai miei ospiti? ”

Scalzi licked his lips before sitting up straight. “ Mi dispiace Angelo. Ma non hanno posto qui. Non hanno una famiglia. ”

A thrill went down Arthur’s back when Angelo’s eyes narrowed, and he set down his utensils to interlock his fingers together. He switched to English, most likely for Arthur and John’s sake. “I invite whom I want into my home. Whether or not you approve is not your concern. Arthur and signor Marston may not be family but they are my guests.”

Scalzi scoffed, throwing his arms out in a grand gesture of disgust. “Is it because you are f*cking the big brute one? This has never been a policy before, Angelo!”

The room went deadly silent, no more was there laughter and smiles. Even Bassi and Lapis, who agreed on their dislike for the outlaws, gave Scalzi a glare for speaking to the Bronte crime boss in that tone.

Angelo poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before standing, leaning on the table for effect. “I respect you, Valentino, but I will not hesitate to have you killed. Choose your next words very carefully, and if you can not do that, then leave.” In that moment, Angelo was beautiful in a deadly way. Like the diamond-back rattlers out west, posed and ready to strike. Arthur felt the butterflies in his stomach again. The overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort that Angelo induced on him sat warmly in his body.

Scalzi’s nostrils flared, his gaze dropping from Angelo to his food once again. “My apologies… signor Morgan and Marston.”

Arthur blinked to break the attention he had on Angelo’s sharp features. “Oh, uh, that’s quite alright.”

John looked like he wanted to bite Scalzi’s nose off, but held his tongue and shrugged before returning to his dinner.

Angelo sat back down with a huff, set his napkin back in his lap before starting to eat again. Slowly picking up his fork again, Arthur brushed his boot against Angelo’s shoe in gratitude. The rest of their dinner was decidedly calmer, the room lifted of the oppressive feeling Arthur felt upon entering it. Bassi and Lapis tried to make conversation with Arthur and John, even Guido seemed to start accepting Arthur, in his unique display of banter and bickering.

Condrone, who had been quiet for most of the dinner, spoke to Angelo in hushed whispers under the conversations flowing around the table. Arthur strained to listen, but most times it was in Italian, and Rocco had been nagging his ear for the last hour.

The dessert was just as good as the pasta had been, leaving Arthur full and pleasantly sated. When the servants began to clear the table, signaling the end of the dinner, Scalzi left immediately while everyone else finished their wine and said their goodbyes.

Martelli made it a point to shake Arthur’s hand before leaving. “How do you cowboys say it? Good luck on the trail, partner?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, poking fun at the first time they met, and rubbed his hand off on his shirt like Martelli had some kind of disease. “Somethin’ like that.”

Martelli snorted in laughter and snapped his fingers for Rocco to follow him. Rocco gave a pouting face as he trudged after Martelli, waving longingly at Arthur. Arthur shook his head and bid Condrone a goodnight, with a firm handshake. John, Angelo, and he moved to the sitting room to discuss their next moves.

John was practically dead to the world, belly full and eyes half open. Arthur felt much the same, but they had work to do.

“Alright, John, I need ya to go back to Shady Belle. See if there’s any clues to where everyone went to. The darkness will give ya good cover. If ya find their trail, follow it ‘fore comin’ back to me.”

John nodded solemnly, sweeping his hair out of his face. “I can do that. Gonna need a horse though.”

“I can have one of the guards tack one up.” Angelo crossed his legs and leaned into the couch.

“Right… and what ‘bout you, Arthur?” John pushed himself to his feet, an ambitious flame flicking in his eyes. As much as John gripped about Abigail and Jack, Arthur knew he loved them and was worried about them.

“I have to talk to Hosea, get a sense of what the hell I’m supposed to do.” John looked like he wanted to argue. Hosea was as much a father to John as he was to Arthur, but it was not John who Hosea blessed with trying to get people safe. “If ya don’t come back here in four days time, I will set out to find the gang.” Arthur worked his jaw and bowed his head. “If ya find Dutch, John, I- I’d shoot first rather than question ‘m.”

“I don’t think I can do that…”

“Me neither, John.” Arthur sighed and stood up, clasping both of John’s shoulders and staring him in the eye. “But if it comes down to you ‘n’ yer family or Dutch. Please choose you.” John’s throat bobbed with a gulp before he nodded. “Good, now, ya best get goin’.”

“Alright, don’t get shot while ‘m gone.” John stepped back, jabbing a finger into Arthur’s sternum. John nodded firmly again, before looking at Angelo who was speaking to one of his guards. “I guess, I should thank you, Mr. Bronte.”

Angelo rose an eyebrow and gave John a smug smirk. “Well, truth be told, if you did not mean so much to Arthur. I would have left you to rot.”

“Angelo!” Arthur put his hands on his hips and leveled him with a glare.

“I’m joking, caro . I’m joking.” The malicious glee in Angelo’s eyes said otherwise.

“I don’t think ya are, but it don’t matter. Go on and get, John. I’ll see you soon.” Arthur crookedly smiled at his brother.

John did a two finger salute to Arthur before he and the guard Angelo was speaking too left the house. Arthur worried his lower lip and paced around the rug, rubbing mindlessly at his shirt buttons.

“Arthur, sit down. He will be fine.”

“But what if he ain’t gonna be?” Arthur defeatedly sighed and plopped down next to Angelo.

Angelo’s hand soothed over the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. “You can’t worry about something that is not yet done.”

Arthur relished in the gentle touch before sitting back to rest his cheek on Angelo’s shoulder. “This is a f*ckin’ mess.”

“That it is.” Angelo pressed his cheek into Arthur’s crown. “But not an unsolvable one.”

“Here’s hopin’.” Arthur closed his eyes, and just for a moment imagined that he did not have anymore responsibilities and could sit there with Angelo for as long as he wanted.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Arthur hissed and pressed himself flat against the brick wall of the alley, the shadow hiding his frame from the street lantern as a Saint Denis lawman whistled by. Arthur sucked in a breath and held it when the lawman paused and glanced into the dark alley. He might have been free from Sisika and from Cornwall, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have a five thousand dollar (or more) bounty on his head after robbing the Lemoyne State Bank.

The lawman hummed before shrugging and continuing on his way into the quiet streets. Arthur exhaled heavily, peeking around the corner before slinking across the cobblestone road to the next darkened alley. He had never been great at being stealthy, his body too heavy and feet too uncoordinated, but the overbearing weight of his obligations made it just that more imperative he succeed to the physician’s.

Angelo had laid out a route that would keep most eyes off of him, but the winding streets with buildings that all looked the same made him get turned around easily. What would have taken maybe twenty minutes of crouching around alleys was pushing on forty minutes.

Finally, the doctor’s office came into view, the only problem were the two Pinkerton guards stationed in front of the door and two more wandering around the sidewalk. It seemed Agent Milton wasn’t taking chances of Hosea being rescued. Arthur sagged with a muttered curse, eyes scanning the area for another way in. The roof had several protruding windows, even if they weren’t unlocked it wouldn’t take much to break the flimsy wooden frames and panes of glass. The church south of the building would give good enough cover to sneak behind into the courtyards.

Arthur crept back into the rank alley littered with old newspapers and slime passing by a drunkard slumped in the gutter. The drunkard glanced up at him, a glazed over look of hope flickering in his eyes. Swallowing hard, Arthur patted his pockets showing them to be empty before looping through the maze like alleyways.

Darting across the street to the church’s walled borders, Arthur slinked in the shadows until he saw Doyle’s Tavern and the archway to the alleys just behind the doctor’s. With a soft exhale to clear his burning lungs (when had he gotten so old?) he briskly walked through the archway. Abandoned furniture and trash littered the unlit area with an occasional plant to cover the depressing atmosphere. Arthur thought it kind of ridiculous that these city folk would abandon good furniture, leaving it to rot, then put a plant not three feet away.

Arthur snorted in humorless amusem*nt approaching the side door to the doctor’s office. Just as he grabbed the handle to push on the locked door, he heard the clip of footsteps walking toward the alley. He swiftly moved from the narrow alley and ducked through another archway to hide behind one of the ridiculous plants.

The footsteps went by his hiding spot, and when Arthur peeked out he saw the black suit of a Pinkerton agent walking away. Calming his racing heart, Arthur slipped from behind the plant that had obscured his body, apparently they were good for something. Beside the locked door, was a rusted ladder that led up to the building neighbor to the doctor’s. A short jump and he could be on the roof.

Absently Arthur cursed Hosea as he climbed up the ladder, the bars clicking under the soles of his boots, desperately hoping he wasn’t being too loud. Arthur crouched on the roof, waiting to hear of any commotion from below that he had been found out. When all was quiet, he eased over the roof, slipping once then twice as the leather of his boots tried to grip the clay tiles. He hauled himself onto the highest point of the building, stifling the urge to sneeze as puffs of smoke emerged from the chimney.

“Alright, Morgan, don’t f*ck this up…”

Arthur gave himself a half-stride running start before launching himself onto the doctor’s roof. He clenched his jaw to keep the sharp hiss of fright quiet as his chest slammed into the tiles and his boots scrambled on nothing. His nails clawed into the tiles, leaving gouges, and his boots fought for purchase on the brick wall.

Once on the slanted roof, Arthur panted to settle the jittering trembles of adrenaline. If he had fallen from this height his legs wouldn’t be the only broken thing. Catching his breath, Arthur half crawled to one of the protruding windows. He pushed gingerly on the glass, wishing to whatever godly entity was watching him that the window would be unlocked. The first one was latched shut, but the second one swung open with a gentle pressure.

Sweat poured down his forehead as Arthur carefully edged over the gutter and into the building. He was in an attic of some kind, dust, cobwebs, and various home décor filled the skeletal room. He found a hatch with little trouble and climbed down into what Arthur believed to be someone's living quarters. He could hear soft snoring coming from one of the closed doors, and as delicately as he could, Arthur crept through the living room to the front door.

He wandered the next floor down, but when his search was fruitless, he ventured to the staircase. Coming down the stairs, he heard mumbled conversation. Pressing against the wall, awkwardly standing between two sets of stairs, Arthur angled his ear to listen to the two voices.

“I don’t see why this old bastard is so important. We should be going after Van der Linde.”

“You know what Milton said, Matthews is one of his most trusted friends, if he’s out there he’ll come back for him.”

“I guess you’re right… You hear about Morgan?”

“No, I thought he was in Sisika?”

“Well, he was, but I overheard Milton talking to Ross. He was downright pissed, but said Morgan was off limits now. Dunno why.”

“Huh, when has Milton ever followed orders though?”

“Ha-ha-ha, you got a point. You wanna go see what Brown and Wilson are doing out front?”

“I dunno, if Milton found out-”

“Milton ain’t going to find out sh*t, come on. No one’s coming for this old guy.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as one of the Pinkertons walked right by the staircase, carbine repeater angled at Arthur. The man continued walking, soon followed by his grumbling partner. Patting his thumping heart, Arthur descended the right of the stairs, whipping his head around for more guards before approaching the oak door.

Arthur’s mouth was dry as he grabbed the brass doorknob. He had no clue how Hosea was going to look, and it sickened him. Exhaling heavily, Arthur opened the door and slipped in before he could worry himself more.

“Arthur?”

Hosea looked like a corpse. His already pale skin was ghostly white, cheekbones pronounced with his sunken in face and black marks marring the area around his eyes. His collarbone seemed to be disjointed from his body, and his gaunt torso was wrapped in bandages that led under the sheet that settled over his lower half.

“Hosea…” Arthur whispered before approaching him, holding out a hand for Hosea’s weak spindly hand to grasp. He feared that if he squeezed too hard Hosea’s hand would shatter under his palm.

“I didn’t expect you to turn up,” Hosea rasped, chapped pink lips barely moving.

“Ya look like sh*t,” Arthur said jokingly, but his voice broke as he kneeled next to Hosea’s bed.

Hosea closed his eyes with a wheezing breath, hand twitching in Arthur’s grasp. “Gut wounds… don’t do well.”

“I know…” Arthur pressed his cheek into the rough cotton bedding gazing up at his father-figure, “I know.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Arthur. This is what they want.”

Arthur chuckled solemnly, “I know that too, but I… I needed help. Guidance. I dunno… what am I supposed to do? Dutch has disappeared. Been in Sisika for the past couple weeks. The gang is gone. I sent John to look fo’ ‘em at Shady Belle, but I- Dutch thinks ‘m a traitor. What if they think ‘m a traitor too?”

Hosea cracked an eye open to look down at him, humming softly. “I love Dutch, and I know you love him too. But thing’s are changed. He changed, or… maybe he was always like that. I was blinded by his goddamn silver tongue just as much as you were. What matters now is the gang, Arthur, all them women… Jackie…John. You have to get them somewhere safe, away from this sh*t. With or without Dutch.”

“Hosea, I can’t do that. I ain’t no leader-”

“Arthur, they trust you. They have relied on you for years, and even if you weren’t the leader, you were one they looked up to just as much as they did Dutch. Give them the option, to stay with you or to leave on their own path. Things are done, and if they…” Hosea paused to cough something fierce, blood landing on his chin. Arthur reached up to use the sheet to pat the blood away. “If they… question you. Tell them I blessed you with leadership. It might be the Van der Linde gang, but before them it was just Dutch and I. Susan will help you.”

“Susan loved… loves Dutch, Hosea, I don’t think she’ll leave him like that. Hell, she never left ‘m even after he found Annabelle.”

Hosea laughed softly, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “If you think that, then you haven’t seen the doubt in her eyes at everything Dutch has been spitting recently.” As an afterthought, Hosea added, “Dutch never told me where he hid the stash at Shady Belle, I think Micah is to blame for that, but the one at Clemens Point-” He rubbed at his wrinkled brow with his free hand. “We hid it about four feet down in the remains of that house as you come out of the west trail.”

“How much is in there?”

“A good chunk, at least three thousand. Back when y’all did that bank job in Valentine, Dutch and I went out there and added some to the stash. Enough to move somewhere safe.”

“Dutch always said we needed mo’ though… How can I get ‘em somewhere safe with only three thousand?”

“I’d go north. Canada way, buy a plot of land up there. Trelawney, if he sticks around, should have a clear idea on how to forge new papers and identities for you all.”

“He has always been good at being a weasel…” Arthur bit his lower lip, chewing on it with slumped shoulders. “What ‘bout ya?”

“Oh, Arthur, I’ll be okay.” They both knew that was a lie. Hosea was dying. “Don’t worry about me right now, son… I know you’ve always been insecure about your abilities… Maybe that’s partly my fault, we raised you to be a criminal. You could have been an artist, but here you are worrying about the lives of twenty people while running from the law.”

Arthur smiled sadly and shook his head. “I wouldn’t trade meetin’ ya fo’ the world.”

“The true tragedy. You thinking I’m anything more than a con artist.” Hosea crookedly smiled and tilted his head back into his pillow. “I have faith in you, Arthur.”

“Now, where have I heard those words before?”

“If I weren’t currently suffering from a bullet wound to my stomach I would pull you by your ear.”

“I know ya would… I have to get goin’, but I’ll be back fo’ ya, ‘Sea. Being hanged ain’t no way fo’ ya to go. Don’t have that pizzazz.” Arthur stood up, looking over Hosea’s gaunt body and thin arms.

Hosea hummed tiredly in acknowledgement, letting his hand fall from Arthur’s with a dull thud on the bedding.

“Ya hang in there, old man. That’s a threat.” Arthur pointed a finger at him while swallowing down the bile in his throat.

“Were always good at making those.” Hosea flicked his hand in a two-finger salute before becoming one with his bed.

Arthur saluted back his body wanting to stay with Hosea, but his mind knew he had other duties to attend to. “I’ll be back.”

A clock tower struck thrice as Arthur backtracked his steps to the upper floors (locking the poor sod’s front door before going) and back through the alleyways. His mind was a haze, the edges of his vision blurred and his surroundings vibrating unsteadily. The street lanterns seemed to glow more gold as he passed them. It was like the dreams of the stag he had been having at Clemens Point. Before the stag he had seen a mangy coyote, but after meeting Angelo the dreams faded all together.

What did they mean, he didn’t know, nor did he particularly care at the moment. He wandered through the park (a little piece of heaven inside of the monster’s maw that was Saint Denis) right across from the Bronte Manor. How he could ever willingly walk through the iron gate that fenced off the Manor from the street, Arthur would never know. With a shake of his head, he approached the gate.

The roaming guard paused and readied his shotgun before he recognized Arthur. “Oh, Buongiorno, signor Morgan.”

Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgement as he unlocked the gate and let the gunslinger in. Arthur was ready to collapse in bed with Angelo, his feet dragging as he walked into the house. All was quiet, the only noise being the ticking of the grandfather clock in the sitting room. Groggily, Arthur climbed the stairs to Angelo’s room before trying to gingerly open the door.

Angelo instantly sat up his hand around a Mauser pistol when Arthur swung the door open. Arthur held his arms up in surrender as Angelo grumbled and put the gun back in its hiding spot.

“Ti ci è voluto molto tempo. Mi sei mancato tesoro,” Angelo mumbled and opened the blankets for Arthur to join him.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Arthur shook his head and kicked the door shut. “Yer speakin’ Italian. I dunno what yer sayin’.” He hobbled as he ripped his boots off, his pants following suit.

Angelo waved his hand dismissively. “Impara l'italiano allora.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Arthur grunted as he flopped onto his side of the bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Rolling over, Angelo threw an arm over Arthur’s chest and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “How was it?”

Arthur sighed, turning his head to nuzzle Angelo’s unkempt bedhead. “I’ll tell ya tomorrow, ‘m tired.”

Angelo huffed not responding as he entangled their legs to his liking and let his breathing slow. Arthur tried to make out Angelo’s features in the darkness, but gave up and let his eyes fall closed, his arm sandwiched under Angelo’s head and fingers drawing patterns in his back.

o0O0o

A tickling sensation on Arthur’s neck made him grunt awake. Angelo’s body was a comfortable weight on top of his, his nose pressed against his throat. Arthur chuffed and turned to press a lazy kiss to Angelo’s wrinkled brow, inhaling the cedar and lavender smell from his hair.

Angelo yawned, humid air brushing his skin and making goosebumps form. “Buongiorno amore mio.”

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Arthur mumbled against Angelo’s olive tanned skin.

“Hmm, that’s a first.”

“What’s a first?”

“Darling.”

Arthur blushed and leaned back into the goose-down pillow. “Oh my bad, yer highness. Would ya prefer that?”

Angelo chuckled, propping himself onto his elbows and looking down at Arthur. “No, I quite like how you said that in your morning grumble.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur cupped the side of Angelo’s face, running a calloused thumb over his cheek. “Oh really?”

Angelo smirked that grin that would put the Devil’s to shame and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s palm then down to his wrist. “You are affectionate this morning.”

Arthur didn’t respond, only leaning up to connect their lips in a short kiss. “I had a long night. Lemme enjoy myself.”

“How did it go?” Angelo shook his head, carding his hand through Arthur’s hair and grazing his nails over his scalp.

Groaning softly, Arthur arched his neck trying to process what Hosea told him while battling his growing arousal. “Well, enough, I suppose. Hosea-” Angelo leaned down to tickle kisses over his exposed neck, “Hosea told me that he believes in me and that, sh*t Angelo.”

“And what, Arthur? Hmm?” Arthur could feel Angelo’s sh*t-eating grin against his neck as his hand trailed down his rib cage to the dip of his hip.

Arthur snorted getting payback by snaking his arm under the blanket to grab a handful of Angelo’s ass. “I gotta find the gang and get ‘em somewhere safe. Before Dutch finds them first. Hosea gave me… he wants me to lead them.”

Angelo pulled himself out of Arthur’s neck and gave him a small frown. “I know you love them, but why does it have to be you? Why not… your brother? You could leave them, stay here with me.”

Arthur smiled sadly, rubbing his hand in small circles at Angelo’s lower back. “John’s a piss-poor choice fo’ that… Ya know, after Mary and… and Eliza and Isaac, I never thought I’d love again, but I guess the world has a funny way of workin’. I… I want to stay with ya, Angelo, but I got… the gang was my first love. I ain’t leavin’ ya, I’m… it’s temporary. As much as I hate this city, I’ll return. For you.”

Angelo seemed unsure if he should believe Arthur. He looked hurt that still Arthur chose the gang over him, but then a genuine smile crossed his mischievous face. “Are you saying you love me, Arthur Morgan?”

Blinking a few times, Arthur cleared his throat trying to sit up but Angelo pinned him with a palm flat on his sternum. “I- ha ha ha, I dunno if it’s love but it’s strong attraction? Affection?”

Angelo shook his head slowly and pressed their foreheads together. “Well, I also hold a ‘strong attraction’ to you. Potrei anche chiamarlo amore.”

“What does that mean? What did ya say?”

Angelo only tilted his head and fiercely kissed him, teeth pulling at Arthur’s lower lip. Arthur closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Angelo’s torso, their erections both pressed flush. He didn’t realize that he would miss having sex. Before Angelo he hadn’t had sex in several years, never feeling the gush of arousal that couldn’t be sated with his hand. After failing as a father his sex drive was crushed, but with Angelo it was so easy to be swept away by the waves of bliss.

Peppered kisses rained down his neck, ending in a sharp bite that made Arthur jerk up. Angelo smoothed his hands down Arthur’s hairy chest, fingers tweaking his nipples. Arthur lamely ran his fingertips up Angelo’s spine, feeling weighed down and unable to reciprocate the pleasure Angelo was inducing on him.

“An-Angelo, I can-” Arthur panted, sweat already starting to taint his brow.

Angelo paused his thumb in its circling of his right nipple, an eyebrow arched. “I don’t mind seeing your pleasure. I love it, seeing you so helpless.” His brow creased in thought before he made a ‘roll over’ motion with his hand, “Why don’t you lay on your stomach?”

Arthur’s mouth went dry, looking from Angelo’s smirking face to the thumb starting to push on his teat again. “Al-alright.”

Angelo pulled back allowing Arthur to flop onto his stomach, suddenly feeling vulnerable with his back exposed to Angelo. A pillow slipped under his hips, making his dick jump at the pleasant cushion of silk pressed against the head. Hands caressed his ribcage, dipping down the ladder of bones to his soft midsection. Arthur grabbed a second pillow and hugged it, his chin sinking into the plushness.

“This should be a given, but just relax, Arthur.” Angelo hummed, palming his ass and massaging his outer thighs.

Snorting softly, Arthur rolled his shoulders. “Easy fo’ ya to say-” He grunted when Angelo’s hand turned harsh and gave his flank a slap.

Arthur’s back curved when a spit slick digit pressed against his puckered entrance, rubbing it until he relaxed. Mumbled Italian soothed over the trembling in Arthur’s spine, Angelo’s warm hands cupping his ass before he leaned back.

“One moment, caro.” Arthur let out an annoyed groan and lifted his head to look over his shoulder, only for Angelo to grab his nape and push him back down. “Keep your eyes on the pillow.”

Arthur grumbled incoherently into the pillow, his hips swaying back and forth to keep the feeling in his knees. The bed shifted as Angelo got off the mattresses and padded around the room. He returned to his position behind Arthur, cupping his hip.

“Tilt your head up.”

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Arthur picked his head up, letting Angelo slip a piece of silky fabric around his throat. Arthur blinked in confusion as Angelo tied the bandana snuggly at his nape, the two tails tickling his shoulder blades.

“Wha’s this?” Arthur swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the soft material.

“I missed you the past few weeks, and impulsively I bought this. I hoped I’d get to see you in it at least once. Blue really brings out your eyes.” Angelo gently tugged on the tails of the bandana, creating a flash of confusing arousal at the constricting feeling on his throat.

Being choked was something that Arthur didn’t enjoy, too many nooses on his neck and brawls that ended up with him on the floor with someone’s palms on his throat. But part of him wanted Angelo to do it again.

Angelo leaned down to whisper in his ear, his body blanketing Arthur’s, “If you want me to stop at all, just say so.”

“Stop? Why would I want that?”

Angelo pecked the shell of his ear and straightened. “No reason, just giving you some control.” Frowning, Arthur glanced back at Angelo with his brows pulled together. “Don’t worry, tesorino. Just relax.”

Cold pomade smeared down the cleft of his ass, making Arthur shiver and grasp the pillow tighter. Teasing fingers dipped down to encircle his balls, squeezing before going back up to apply pressure to his entrance. Breathing through his nose, Arthur tried to release the tension from his lower half. This was always the hard part, trying to relax before things were truly pleasurable.

“You’re doing so well, cucciolo,” Angelo said in a hushed tone, his other hand petting up and down his locked up spine.

Arthur was about to retort about how he most certainly was not doing well, but only gasped when Angelo’s finger penetrated him. Clenching his jaw shut and closing his eyes, Arthur focused on the motion of his lungs as he breathed, his dick flagging against the satin pillow. Angelo praised him in mixed English and Italian as he thrusted his finger, soon adding a second.

Explosions of pleasure cascaded through Arthur’s body as those fingers finally curled and attacked that special spot. Arthur forgot about the burning stretch and the full feeling, succumbing to the quivering radiating through his legs. He knew he was drooling onto the pillow, but he didn’t really care as he arched his back into the sensation, spreading his knees a little more as Angelo scooted between them.

“Sei bellissima amore mio,” Angelo said in a breathless laugh, fingers pumping in and out until the room was filled with mixes of Arthur’s groaning and wet plopping noises. He suddenly paused and withdrew his fingers, swiping over Arthur’s winking hole. “Do you want my co*ck, Arthur?”

Arthur worked his mouth, saliva sticking to his facial hair. “I- sh*t, naw I just make it a habit to sound like a two cent whor*, ya bastard.”

“As always, your most redeeming quality is your smart mouth. You are lucky you are pretty, caro.” Angelo chuckled, not doing anything but to continue pressing feather light touches to Arthur’s hole.

“Goddamnit, alright yeah, I want yer co*ck.” Arthur chuffed, rocking his hips backward.

Angelo’s searing dick dragged up Arthur’s thigh, smearing precum. “Well, here it is, Arthur.”
Arthur slumped with a frustrated growl. “Angelo, come on…” When nothing happened, Arthur continued with a sigh, “I want yer co*ck inside of me, please.”

“We need to work on your manners, but I’ll let it slide this time.” Angelo slapped Arthur’s cheek in retaliation before rubbing the head of his co*ck against Arthur’s entrance.

Arthur bit his lower lip trying to hold back the moan of satisfaction as Angelo’s head carved a path through him. It was a slow and smooth slide that had tingles dancing along Arthur’s spine. When Angelo’s thighs pressed firmly to Arthur’s, he hummed and gave Arthur’s love-handles a squeeze.

“You look so beautiful stretched out like that, tesoro.” Angelo rubbed his thumbs over Arthur’s flexed ass, tugging on the taut skin.

Arthur swiped a lock of hair off his sweaty brow and glanced back at Angelo. “All ya can see is my back.”

Angelo snorted and slid a palm down Arthur’s spine, tracing chiseled muscle in his shoulder blades. “And what a handsome back it is.”

“As much as I ‘ppreciate the compliment, could ya get a move on before I fall as- NGH!” Arthur choked on a groan when Angelo snapped his hips in a rolling motion.

“Così impaziente, lo giuro.” Angelo grunted, while pushing his dick in as far as he could go with each thrust of his hips.

Arthur buried his face in the pillow, obscene noises pouring from his mouth not unlike a common whor*. He felt like his insides were getting split apart and his stomach was being pushed into his lungs. Sweat coated his skin, making him stick to the satin covers, and his flagging dick sprang to life, smearing precum against his naval hairs.

Pressure on his neck made Arthur lift his face out of the pillow. Angelo tugged onto the tails of the bandana until Arthur was pulled to his hands and his back curved almost uncomfortably. At the angle Angelo’s deep thrusts hit his prostate with each inward motion.

“I don’t appreciate you hiding your noises from me, cucciolo,” Angelo said in a strained tone.

Arthur wheezed through his constricted throat as high pitched moans were punched out of his lungs. He could feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as his dick slapped wetly against his stomach. Angelo was starting to thrust faster, the veiny shaft dragging along his insides with too much and not enough roughness.

“Angelo! Gah! f*ck-” Arthur reached back with one hand to cup Angelo’s knee for support as he was jostled with more aggression.

Angelo’s breaths were ragged and heavy, his body trembling behind Arthur. Pleasure was pooling in Arthur’s stomach like the bitter molten coffee he would had for breakfast. He squeezed his eyes shut focusing on the slap of Angelo’s sweaty body against his, the tight pressure on his neck and the heat of his blushing face.

Arthur came with an explosion of shockwaves traveling through his insides. His arms folded and he collapsed face down in the pillows, his dick pulsing and legs spasming uncontrollably. Angelo let go of the bandana and hunched over Arthur, his forearms wrapped around his midsection to hold him as he finished off his jerking thrusts.

Arthur would not admit to the whimper that left his throat as Angelo sat up and pulled back from him. He felt empty as his legs shifted to lower his hips to the bed. Angelo left the bed for a moment and returned with a wet cloth, wiping gently at Arthur’s sensitive dick and ass. Arthur hummed softly, eyes closed peacefully and dozing off to a half sleeping state.

Angelo’s warm hand slid over his back soothingly as he laid down next to him, heavy breathes still leaving his chest. Lazily turning his head, Arthur peeked an eye open to look at Angelo’s sweaty face.

“Take it outta ya old man?” Arthur slurred with a lopsided smile.

Angelo frowned and tugged the hair at Arthur’s nape in retaliation. “You’re a little sh*t, you know, caro.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Arthur chuckled and leaned forward to kiss Angelo’s lips before nuzzling into his neck. The smell of salty sweat and that soap Angelo used filling his nose.

“I’m sure you have.”

The two laid tangled in the bed sheets until late morning, the city outside grew louder with shouts and horses and the swamp behind the manor filled with croaks of frogs and bellows of gators. Arthur could get lost in the commotion of wilderness mixing with civilization, thinking of how a hundred years ago fifteen foot gators wandered in swamps that were now clad in cobblestone and birds could fly overhead without being choked by smog.

Angelo spent the time reading an Italian book, seeming ready to laze the day away. When Arthur asked about his duties as a crime boss, Angelo shrugged and said he was entitled to a day off here and there. Arthur had a feeling he had worn himself out that morning and couldn’t find the will to move from bed.

Luca came in once and offered them breakfast of cheese, breads, and different jam spreads, in which they had devoured. The second time he came to the door though he had a sour look on his face.

“Signor Bronte, signor Morgan, buon pomeriggio. Arthur has a guest waiting downstairs for him.” Luca bowed politely before leaving them to get dressed.

Arthur’s heart leapt to his throat as he scrambled out of bed, throwing on his shirt and tugging on his pants. He misbuttoned his shirt in his hast, cursing softly as he forced himself to slow down and rebutton it. Angelo took his time getting wrapped in lounge slacks and a robe, a look of amusem*nt clouded by sorrow on his face. Angelo helped button Arthur’s shirt, ending with a peck to his cheek that Arthur smiled at.

“Calm down, Arthur. Things are going to be fine,” Angelo whispered while putting his cap on that hid his bedhead.

“I sure hope so-” Arthur heaved a sigh before nodding and rushing downstairs with heavy stomps. John was in the sitting room, dark marks under his eyes and his hair slicked to his head with oils from his scalp. “John.”

John perked up his scars straining with a relieved smile. Without thinking Arthur embraced his little brother, giving him a squeeze.

“Hello, to you too, Arthur.” John rasped as they broke apart. “Hang on, I got something for ya.” John turned to the coffee table and picked up a black hat, still tattered and beat up.

Arthur grinned as he took his hat, fingering the leather tassels before pushing on his head where it belonged. “You found them?”

“I did. Ain’t slept since I left here last night. Charles and Sadie moved everyone to an abandoned place called Lakay, just across the swamp from Lagras.” John scratched at his head with a warm smile. “Jack and Abigail are safe, so is everyone else. They’re scared, but safe”

Arthur rubbed his palm over his stubble covered jaw, smiling uncontrollably. “That’s… great news indeed.”

“And Hosea, how is he?” John’s eyes widened as he played with his hands nervously.

“Ah… he ain’t doing good. Got shot in the gut, but he’s alive for now.” John sagged, cupping his arm and looking at the floor. “But, he gave me a plan to get everyone out. There’s a stash of money, by Clemens Point, we can use it to get people to Canada.”

“Canada? How the hell are we going to get to Canada? How much is in that stash?”

“About three thousand…is Trelawney still with the gang? Hosea said he could forge us new papers.” John nodded, looking unsure. “We’ll be okay… you ain’t seen Dutch have ya?”

“Nah, but I don’t know how long that will last. We need to move fast, but we can’t leave Hosea here, Arthur! He’ll get hanged.”

“I believe I can help with that.” Angelo entered the room, looking like royalty in his crimson red robe.

John jumped in before Arthur could reply. “Why would ya help us? What do ya want out of it.” John’s tone was hostile, teeth bared and ready to fight.

“John…” Arthur put a hand on John’s chest, a warning look in his eye.

Angelo put his hands up in mock surrender. “No, it’s okay, Arthur. I understand, Mister Marston might hold some ill feelings for me. The business with his son and whatnot. But really, Marston, you have no reason to be mad at me. The boy was not harmed, and he was returned to you without… problem. Let’s put this behind us.”

John growled hands clenched into fists as he pushed against Arthur’s hand. “You talk like it was no big deal! That was my goddamn son.”

“If you let anger control your actions, you won’t be getting very far.” Angelo smiled smugly and shrugged. “It is your choice.”

Arthur gave Angelo a desperate look to stop antagonizing John, his cheeks heated with a blush at remembering their first time. “Alright, John, calm down. Angelo wants to help.”

John snorted, standing upright with crossed arms. “Fine, but I dunno why we should trust this snake.”

“Thank you, now, Angelo, please explain yerself.” Arthur rubbed his forehead, a growing headache pounding behind his eyes.

“I can get your dear Hosea out of custody, but you Arthur have to promise to come back. For good,” Angelo said simply, walking to one of the couches to sit down.

“I already said I’d come back.” Arthur laughed in surprise, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m saying you will return to me, and stay here with me. Become part of the Bronte family.” Angelo restated, his eyes purposefully boring into Arthur’s.

Arthur swallowed hard, breaking eye contact with the brim of his hat. John let out an indignant squawk.

“Arthur, ain’t doin-”

“Alright, it’s a deal.”

“Arthur! What about the gang!”

Arthur turned to John, putting his hands on his shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. “Things with the gang are pretty much done. It’s time to move on. Live honestly. When we get to Canada, things’ll be better, easier. I ain’t not gonna see or talk to ya no more, I’ll still keep in contact. I just… won’t be there no more.”

John’s face was stricken and pale. “But how we gonna do this without you?”

“Ya ain’t doin’ it without me. I ain’t coming back until I know y’all are settled. Okay? I ain’t abandoning ya, John.”

John finally nodded in understanding, pushing away from Arthur to glare at Angelo. “You better take care of Hosea AND him, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Angelo crossed his legs at the knee and tilted his head. “I’ll hold you to that, Mister Marston.”

“John, why don’t ya go outside, I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Sure, this place stinks like sh*t anyway.” John grumbled, marching to the door, but paused. “Oh, there’s someone waitin’ for ya outside too, Arthur.”

Arthur perked up with a grin, he had been missing his amber champagne Trotter. Giving John a two finger salute, Arthur approached Angelo and sat down next to him.

“Thank you, I dunno what I was gonna do,” Arthur mumbled, and reached over to cup Angelo’s hand.

Angelo turned his hand to interlock their fingers. “It’s the least I can do, really. Just don’t stab me in the back. I don’t take too kindly to betrayal.” Arthur couldn’t decipher if Angelo’s tone was teasing or serious.

“I know.” Arthur licked his lower lip before leaning down to kiss Angelo, his hat creating a bubble of privacy. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

“I know. You are loyal like that, mio amore.”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

o0O0o

Arthur’s shirt was soaked with sweat before John and he had even left the city limits of Saint Denis, the blistering sun amplified as it shone through the muggy air. When the road changed from cobblestone to dirt, Arthur gave John one teasing look before squeezing his legs and letting his stallion shoot off down the road.

“Hey, that ain’t fair! Come on, Old Boy!” John squawked from somewhere behind Arthur.

Arthur gave his stallion his head, letting his body rock with the smooth gait as the wind whipped over his face threatening to make his hat fly off. The stallion had recognized Arthur the moment he stepped out of the Bronte Manor, nickering and bobbing his head, but he was restless from disuse and a little unpredictable in his movements.

“Oh, come on, Johnny boy, don’t tell me ya can’t ride a horse no mo’!” Arthur called over his shoulder, leaning with his horse as they turned onto a side road that would take them north to Lakay.

“Old Boy ain’t no f*ckin’ racehorse, Arthur!”

Arthur laughed deep in his belly, head tipped toward the sky. “That ain’t no excuse!”

The road quickly turned from solid packed dirt to muck as the swamp grew thicker. Arthur let John catch up, not too keen on traveling alone in the wretched place even if it was midday. Old Boy wheezed and snorted loudly next to Arthur’s stallion, as if he was grumbling about being made to sprint in this heat.

“Lakay’s up this way ain’t it?” Arthur asked with a nod toward the trail ahead.

“Yeah.” John chewed on his lip before sagging. “I dunno how people’ll react. Charles told them what happened and some of ‘em didn’t seem too thrilled about us abandoning Dutch.”

Arthur gritted his teeth and clenched his fists around his leather reins. “Dutch turned his back on us, not the other way around.”

“Well, I know that. But not everyone has the same… perspective on what happened.”

Arthur snorted before gesturing ahead of them at the two poles decorated with skulls standing guard outside of Lakay. “Ain’t that a welcoming sight.”

John shivered and pointedly looked away from the skulls. “Yeah, there’s a shack in there with some kind of voodoo shrine thing goin’ on. Abi thinks the Nightfolk used to live here.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” Arthur pushed his stallion into a trot. “Let’s see if I get lynched.”

Reverend Swanson was guard duty, looking out of place with a carbine repeater in his hands, but his clothes weren’t in their usual disheveled appearance and his hair was combed back. Arthur felt a smile tugging on his lips. “Reverend. Ya look well.”

Reverend gasped at seeing Arthur before turning and shouting his presence to the rest of the camp. “Mister Morgan! We thought you were dead!” A chorus of ‘Arthur’ rose up from the sagging shacks, soon followed by the women rushing out.

“Well, I ain’t yet, obviously.” Arthur chuckled and dismounted to clasp Reverend on his back.

Arthur hardly had time to observe everyone’s face before he was being attacked with hugs. Tilly clung to his arm, Abigail to his other arm, and Jack to one of his legs. “Alright, alright, I missed y’all too.” Arthur patted both Abigail’s and Tilly’s arm before they broke away with face splitting grins. Scooping Jack up from his leg, Arthur positioned him on his hip and nuzzled his soft boyish hair.

There was a semicircle of people around him, all with varying levels of relief and stress. Pearson’s round face had a few more wrinkles, Josiah’s usually waxed moustache was sagging, Sadie and Charles were smiling but looked like they hadn’t slept, Mary-Beth was holding a drunken Karen upright with a blind Kieran holding onto her shoulder, Uncle didn’t look as drunk or sleepy as he usually did, and Molly was nowhere to be seen. Standing a few yards away was Susan and Herr Strauss, Susan looking in disapproval but it was a façade for the worry buried deep under her face and Herr Strauss looking about the same.

All eyes were on him.

Suddenly he had no clue how he was supposed to talk to this desperate band of wanted criminals. Arthur worked his throat a few times, trying to will some kind of speech to form. How the hell Dutch ever did this was beyond him. Jack pressed his small hand against his chest, his wide eyes still full of hope that his Uncle Arthur would get him out of this mess. Arthur looked back at John and Reverend for strength before exhaling heavily.

“I know, y’all prolly have a few questions. Some of ‘em I-I don’t have the answer to. I dunno where Dutch is… or Javier, Bill, and Micah. As ya know, we got separated during the bank heist. Hosea got shot, but I visited ‘m last night. There is some distrust between me and y’all, things with Dutch went south, and I understand if y’all hate my guts. But I just wanna get y’all safe and out of this sh*tshow. Dutch always spoke of money and Tahiti and Australia, but I don’t think he ever intended on gettin’ anywhere. He was livin’ a fantasy, and he drug us down with ‘m.” Arthur paused to set Jack down, tipping his head down to hide under his hat.

“Hosea, he told me to talk y’all to Canada. To one of them plain territories up there, start that ranch Dutch and him always talked ‘bout. I know Canada ain’t no Australia, but it’s the best course of action, I think. Well, Hosea thought so.” Gazing out at all the faces, Arthur saw confusion, fear, but most of all faith in him. “But I ain’t forcin’ no one to come with me on this risky venture. If ya think ya can strike out on yer own and make a living better than what I can offer ya, then ya can leave. Ya won’t catch a bullet for it. This thing’s just about over. But if ya trust me, I will get y’all to Canada. We’re gonna leave in three days, so y’all have three days to decide.”

Silence settled over the gang, unsure of what to say to Arthur's proposition. Arthur licked his lower lip before nodding and awkwardly shifting his weight. John came up behind him and cupped his shoulder.

“How’s about we get some dinner goin’, and let this all sink in?” John said while making a shooing motion with his hand. People slowly went back to what they were doing after greeting Arthur properly. Arthur could feel exhaustion tugging on his body already, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting much rest the next few weeks.

“Sadie, Charles.” Arthur greeted them with a tired smile, clasping them both on the shoulder when they approached.

“Glad to see you’re still alive, big man,” Sadie said with a lopsided grin while punching his shoulder.

“Not without several attempts on my life, that’s for damn sure.” Arthur chuckled and nodded to Charles. “I think I got a lot to start planning.”

“You are set up in the bigger shack. I can grab some maps.” Charles gestured to the rundown shack before hurrying off.

Arthur sighed heavily to combat the growing headache he felt pounding behind his eyes. “It’s gonna be a long night…”

Sadie gave him a tense smile and patted his shoulder in reassurance. “You’ll figure it out, Arthur.”

“God, I hope so.”

o0O0o

Frogs croaking throughout the swamp created a buzzing in Arthur’s ears that was slowly driving him insane. He had been staring at a map of New Hanover, Lemoyne, Ambarino, and the wilderness of Canada for countless hours trying to create a route the gang could escape without being chased. The yellowed, dog-eared edges of the maps were worn thin between his worrying finger tips. If it was just him he could easily take some half carved paths, but wagons would never make it without a cleared road.

Arthur threw down the pencil he was using to trace the main roads, scrubbing his face and leaning back in his chair causing a loud creak of wood to echo in the shack. The bags under his eyes felt heavier as he glanced into the dancing flame of his lantern. How the hell did Hosea and Dutch ever plan this sh*t?

It seemed like every path that Arthur traced would lead to some kind of road block, starting the whole process over again. The only progress he had made was finding a decent enough claim in Manitoba, that is if it was still available. From what little knowledge he had of Canada, he knew Manitoba had prairie land somewhere near the Red River Valley. Whether or not that land would be fruitful in farming, he did not know. The list of unknowns just kept growing.

He had only been to Canada once. They had been driven northward, past the Canadian border, by some lawmen way back, but they had only stayed for a day. It wasn’t that much different than when he lived in Michigan with his ma and pa all those years ago. Of course, he had only seen a glance of Canada. What threats and dangers lie in waiting like a rattlesnake in the grass?

At least Charles and Sadie made sure he got a bowl of stew to nibble at, even though he was not that hungry. Stress and humidity ate away any notes of hunger growing in his belly. Both Sadie and Charles agreed to help move people that wanted a new life in Canada, something Arthur was eternally grateful for. He knew for sure John, Abigail, and Jack would be joining them, but no one else had decided yet.

A knock on the door broke Arthur’s trance with the lantern, hands jumping to his reacquainted holsters. Grimshaw’s streak of white hair glowed in the dark as she entered the shanty.

“Ah, Miss Grimshaw,” Arthur said dumbly, sitting upright and brushing a hand down his shirt to smooth the wrinkles.

“Mister Morgan.” Her rough tone was lessened by the worried darting of her eyes and wringing of her hands.

Awkward silence stretched between them, both looking for the right words to encompass this sh*tshow.

“Susan, I- God, this is such a mess.” Arthur left his stiff posture slump. “I dunno what ‘m doin’.”

“It seems you're the boss of the Van der Linde Gang now, or should we call ourselves the Morgan's, now?” She hissed, the betrayal heavy in her dark eyes.

Arthur stood up and raised his hands in surrender, trying to keep some of the fragile peace. “Now, that ain’t fair, and ya know it. I ain’t want none of this!” He gestured wildly to the direction of the other folks. “I didn’t want Hosea to get shot, I didn’t want… Lenny to get buried at the ripe age of nineteen, but that’s what happened. I just wanna get people safe, Susan, this ain’t ‘bout betrayal.”

Grimshaw pursed her lips, crossing her arms tightly over her bosom and pointedly looking away from him. Arthur ran a hand through his hair that would surely start falling out at this rate. It was a wonder Dutch still had a full head of hair at forty-four.

“You know Charles took him back to Clemens Point and buried him by Sean. He said he wanted to be buried with friends… it’s the best we could do. We had a small ceremony after we got settled.” Grimshaw sighed, her arms dropping to her sides.

“I wish I could of been there.” Arthur rasped, approaching Grimshaw in short steps until his shadow engulfed her.

They took one look into each other’s eyes before wrapping each other in a tight hug. Arthur dipped his head down to rest on her shoulder while patting her spine a few times. Hosea and Dutch might have taught him to read, ride a horse, and shoot a gun, but Grimshaw had taught him how to be a decent gentleman throughout the years. They stayed wrapped together for a few moments before pulling back, clearing their throats and straightening their clothes again.

“Dutch… isn’t who he once was. I know that. I just didn’t want to believe it,” Grimshaw said with a deep frown.

“I know, Susan. I was blinded too, but Angelo helped me see some things I was missin’.” Arthur tried to smother the smile breaking over his face, but Grimshaw saw it before he could squash it.

“Gah, first Mary, now this Angelo Bronte. You really know how to pick them, Arthur Morgan.” Grimshaw shook her head, her usually tight bun loose and bouncing from side to side.

“Alright, enough ‘bout my life choices. Are ya… comin’ with us to Canada? I could use… some help. I can’t do this alone.”

Waving her hand around dismissively, Grimshaw walked past him to the scribbled maps sprawled over the table. “I always said I would die before I ever thought about leaving. Now is no different. And it looks like we have a lot of work to do if we are to leave in three days.” She picked up the half eaten bowl of stew and set it aside with a disturbed sneer. “Starting off with you getting some rest.”

“I can’t rest, not now,” Arthur said firmly and picked up the pencil he had thrown, “Not until I have a plan.”

“Oh, you will rest because there ain’t no way you can lead us when you are dead on your feet. When the sun comes up, you can keep fooling around with these maps.” Planting her hands on her hips, Grimshaw raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her.

Arthur gritted his teeth before huffing and dropping his pencil again. “Fine, but someone better wake me at sunrise in…” He checked a stolen pocket watch from the depths of his satchel. “Three hours.”

“If that is what you wish. Now, off to bed with you.” Grimshaw shooed him to a makeshift cot in the corner of the room.

Arthur, much too indoctrinated to Grimshaw’s mean backhand, surrendered and sat on the cot. “Alright, alright. Goodnight, Miss Grimshaw.”

Grimshaw nodded once before turning to the lantern and snuffing the flame and shrouding the room in darkness.

o0O0o

“So…” John drawled while thrusting a shovel into the patch of grass they had decided held the stash of money Hosea and Dutch had hidden.

Arthur groaned and sagged backward against the crumbling remains of the old homestead. The sun was mercilessly pounding down on both of them, sweat collecting on their exposed collarbones and drenching their shirts.

Arthur had risen at six that morning and drank a bitter cup of coffee. While overlooking the swamp from his shack’s deck, wondering how many gators were in just this section of water, Strauss had approached him. He said he would be joining them to Canada, adding that he didn’t trust anyone to keep the finances in order. Arthur chuckled and clasped his shoulder, welcoming him onboard just as long as there wasn’t any more money loaning involved. After his coffee he woke John, telling him to get on his horse to head to Clemens Point. The maps sat untouched on the table in his room, but the haunting thoughts of which way to take the gang still floated around his mind. They were almost more oppressive than the muggy heat surrounding them.

“What you want, John?” Arthur shouldered off his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt all the way, letting it hang open and flow in the lazy breeze.

John stabbed his shovel into the red earth and leaned on it, looking Arthur up and down. “I never pegged ya for an invert. What’s that ‘bout?”

Arthur could tell the question had been eating at his younger brother for ages now. Scowling, Arthur shook his head and pushed his shovel head into the ground with his boot, ripping up a chunk of dirt and tossing it to the growing pile by a rotting support beam.

“Shuddup and keep diggin’, Marston.”

John rolled his eyes with a scoff, continuing on his side of the hole. “It was just a simple question. I just thought ya liked women. Seein’ as ya were so stuck on Mary.”

Choosing to ignore John, Arthur dug furiously at the ground like it personally insulted him, sweat cascading down his spine as his muscles flexed with each thrust of his shovel. He didn’t know he liked men either. This was all new to him too, and like hell he was going to try to explain that to Marston of all people. When the dirt started to turn from red to a more rich muddy brown color, Arthur got tired of John’s eyes constantly darting to him as if he was some kind of disfigured animal at a traveling freak show.

“Listen, John,” Arthur huffed as he plopped a shovelful of dirt onto the pile, “I don’t know how it happened, it just did, okay? Is that enough answer for ya?”

John mulled it over, his jaw shifting to and fro and eyes squinting. “Sure… how’s the sex though? How is it different, I mean. Are ya the woman?”

“Jesus Christ, John! If yer so interested in it why don’t ya go find an attractive feller and f*ck ‘em!” Arthur roared, dropping his shovel and opening his arms wide.

“I don’t find fellers attractive, Arthur! I ain’t a freak! Why are we even out here! We don’t know if the stash is ‘ere or not!” John clenched his fists around his shovel handle like he was tempted to whack Arthur over the head with it. “It’s f*ckin’ hot, and I’m starvin’!”

“Ya don’t think I’m hot and sick of this bullsh*t situation too?! Yer a child, John. A child with a skull so thick a bullet wouldn’t even scratch yer brain!” Arthur stumbled into the hole they were digging as he lunged at John, grabbing his shirt and yanking him into the hole as well. “Ya think everythin’ is ‘bout you! Well, it ain’t, Johnny Boy!”

“I ain’t a kid anymore, Arthur!” John shoved at Arthur’s chest with one hand, the other still wielding the shovel. “I can handle my own problems. I don’t need ya breathin’ down my neck anymo’!”

John drove his shovel into the ground in frustration while smacking Arthur in the jaw with his closed fist. Arthur's head snapped to the side, rage bubbling in his stomach. He tightened his fists on John’s shirt, ready to give him a thrashing he’d remember, but John brought his shovel up and tapped it into the ground again, a muffled metal tink sounding like music to both of their ears.

Blinking, Arthur let go of John and grabbed his shovel from John’s hand, giving the ground at their feet a tap with the shovel head. Another tink echoed. Arthur’s heat induced anger evaporated as he grinned and scrambled out of the hole to grab his own shovel. John took his shovel from Arthur and together they scraped the last layer of dirt off the rusting, medium-sized lockbox.

John brushed his hands off and sat on the edge of the hole while Arthur pulled the once blue-steel colored lockbox from the ground and cleaned the clay out of the lock. He dug around in his satchel for a lockpick before hopping up to sit next to John and starting to fiddle with the lock. John’s hands bounced in his lap, wanting to take the lockbox and open it himself, but he restrained himself.

With a small struggle, Arthur unlocked the metal box and looked up at the vivid blue sky for strength before flipping open the lid. Two stacks of green greeted him, both at least two inches tall. John whistled as he peeked over Arthur’s shoulder at the stash.

“Looks like Hosea wasn’t lyin’.” John mumbled as Arthur thumbed through the stacks, staining the paper with red clay.

“At least three thousand, like he said too.” Arthur bumped shoulders with John and took both stacks of money in his hand, letting the lockbox fall back into the hole. “Here, take half of it and head back to Lakay. Just in case we get bushwhacked. Make sure ya ain’t followed and give it to Strauss when ya get there. Oh,” Arthur dug around in his satchel and pulled out a can of salted offal. “Since yer so hungry too, here ya go.”

John’s nose scrunched up as he took the can and the money. “Thanks… it's what I always wanted. Money and canned intestines.”

“Yer welcome, Johnny Boy,” Arthur said with a lopsided grin, pulling himself up and dusting off his pants as best he could.

“Right, and you’ll be right behind me?” John stood up beside him, watching as Arthur tucked his shirt back in and put his suspenders on his shoulders.

Stuffing his half of the money in his satchel, Arthur kicked the dirt off the bottom of his boots on the still standing chimney. “Yeah, I just… gotta make a quick stop on the way.”

“Not to see yer lover, right?” John gave him a serious look from under the brim of his gray hat.

“Naw, naw, I- I’m gonna pay my respects to… Mister Summers.” Arthur worked his jaw before deciding he didn’t want to say anymore.

John nodded solemnly, looking down at his handful of cash. “Alright, I’ll see ya shortly then.” He whistled for Old Boy, who was grazing by Arthur’s Trotter in the shade of some oak trees.

Arthur’s stallion chuffed and lifted his head following Old Boy to their two masters. Arthur tipped his hat to John as he mounted Old Boy and took off down the road.

“Hey, boy.” Arthur whispered while stroking down the stallion’s pink snout. “Let’s go visit some old friends.”

After attaching his shovel to his saddle, the pair ambled down the trail to a patch of trees that overlooked the Flat Iron Lake. Peeking out from the trees, Sean’s cross and mound of rocks and a new patch of upturned dirt encircled with stones came into view. Arthur’s heart wretched, and his hands tightened on his reins.

“One moment, boy.” Arthur patted his stallion’s side and slid off his saddle. He held the horn for support, leaning heavily on his steed to gain some composure. The stallion sighed, making his saddle creak, before his tail swatted away a fly and pulled Arthur from his moment of peace.

His body felt weightless with grief as he faced Sean’s and now Lenny’s grave. Neither one deserved this. Arthur should be the one in the ground not them. The breeze coming off the lake filtered through the rustling trees cooling Arthur’s over-heated body as he approached gingerly through the grass. Lenny Summers was carved onto a plank of wood and buried into the ground at his head. How did someone so bright and intelligent amount to a plank of wood and a circle of stones?

“Hey, fellers, been awhile.”

Arthur rasped, settling himself on the ground amidst the swaying grass in front of his little brothers. He sighed and rubbed his hand down his face, smearing clay over his sweat streaked wrinkles.

“Goddamnit. ‘M so sorry, Lenny. I should of… I don’t even know. I should of done somethin’.” Arthur’s throat was tight and scratchy as he looked up at the leaves above. “Oh, Lenny. Sean…”

A black bird with a golden belly swooped into his field of vision, twisting around the two graves before landing on a low hanging branch. Arthur recognized it to be an oriole, but he didn’t know what kind. Its beady eyes bore into him as it tilted its head before lifting a wing to preen under it. Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat as he shakily opened his satchel to grab his journal. It had been untouched since before the bank robbery, and the leather creaked when he opened up the page that held his drawing pencil.

His nose tickled with a suppressed wave of tears as he sketched the oriole that remained posing on the branch. Sniffling softly, he added in the curve of Lenny’s grave marker and the apex of Sean's cross. When Arthur looked up from his page the branch was left empty and a chattering of a squirrel echoed behind him. A red squirrel clambered up a tree trunk, its bushy tail flicking wildly before it looked right at Arthur and scurried up to the nearest branch. It disappeared behind the tree before peeking out the other side in almost a playful way.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked up in a smile, dropping the pencil in the cleft of his journal’s pages and gently shutting it. “Hey there, li’l buddy.”

The oriole returned with a graceful swoop, spinning around the tree the squirrel was dancing up and down on. Arthur put his journal away and watched the two critters play around the tree until the sun started to shimmer over the Flat Iron’s surface. He still had quite a ride back to Lakay, and he’d prefer not to ride through the swamps at night.

He stood with a soft groan as his old bones creaked together, looking over both graves one last time. He tipped his hat to both boys and turned to the oriole that had landed on the same branch the squirrel was perched on.

“Everyone’s safe. ‘M makin’ sure of it.”

With that the squirrel bounded off to another tree and the oriole fluttered off into the treetops.

o0O0o

The next day was a flurry of planning that made Arthur’s head spin. With Grimshaw’s, Sadie’s and Charles’ help, Arthur came up with a solid route to take them to Manitoba’s Red River Valley. They would leave Lemoyne heading north and cross the Kamassa River at MacLean’s House, head westward over the Heartlands and take a northward turn before Cornwall’s Kerosene and Tar, go straight north past Fort Wallace and Bacchus Bridge and cross the Dakota River. It would then be a rugged path into North Dakota through the flat Great Plains and following the Red River into Canada.

It sounded easy on paper, but Arthur knew it wouldn’t be so easy. They were still wanted men and avoiding the law would be top priority among a plethora of other things.

Strauss had calculated the money to be spent on perishables and supplies for the journey up but still leaving enough money for a sizable down payment on a piece of property. With the things they had presently, they would make it to Emerald Ranch just fine, but they would have to stop by Emerald Ranch and barter for some horse meal and any other food they had available.

Overall, things seemed to be working out a bit better than they were two days ago. Tomorrow morning they would pack up and haul out, and the thought of it made Arthur’s stomach churn unhappily. He never had to worry about leading the pack somewhere. Sure, he would ride ahead for places to stop, but he was never at the helm of the ship, and it genuinely scared him. He wasn’t made for leadership like this.

Sitting on the dock of his shack overlooking the swamp, Arthur rubbed his temples roughly, his elbows resting on his knees. He wondered if Dutch would be sitting in the same chair he was right now, planning their next big score. Groaning softly, Arthur sat up and kicked one of his boots up onto the wooden railings, settling his hands over his upset stomach. Maybe if he tried to act like Dutch he would stop feeling like he was about to collapse and be swallowed into the mud.

He lit a cigarette, a poor substitute for a cigar, and held it between his knuckles, puffing his chest out and furrowing his brow in thought. Chess, yes, Dutch would be muttering about chess.

“Ehm, Arthur, can I talk to you?”

Arthur jerked upright, his boot falling back to the deck and his cigarette falling between the planks of wood into the swamp muck below. “sh*t-” He turned to look over shoulder as Till and Mary-Beth. “Oh uh, hey, ladies. What can I do fo’ ya?”

Mary-Beth looked at Tilly for guidance before Tilly rolled her eyes and smoothed a hand down her yellow dress. “We just wanted ta say we’re comin’ with ya. Me ‘n’ Mary-Beth, oh, and of course, Kieran said he couldn’t exactly say no if Mary-Beth was comin’ along. And Karen, well, we don’t wanna leave her in the state she’s in. She can’t hardly comprehend simple conversations right now…”

Arthur stood up and approached the two ladies, an uncontrollable smile crossing his lips. “I’d gladly take ya along.” He was relieved that he would have them in his sights for a little bit longer. He couldn’t bare the weight of them going off on their own and getting hurt because of it. “We’re leavin’ tomorrow, bright-”

“Bright and early, yes, Arthur. I know. I’ve been a part of the routine for neigh on a decade.” Tilly co*cked her hip and planted her hand on it.

Arthur shook his head and threw his arms up in surrender. “Ah yes, how could I possibly forget.” Tilly retaliated with a not so gentle punch to his already upset stomach. “And still have a deadly right hook.” Arthur wheezed while rubbing his stomach.

Mary-Beth giggled behind her hand as Tilly grinned and turned away with a flutter of her dress. “I’ll have Kieran and Karen ready in the mornin’, Arthur.” She said before following after Tilly.

Arthur sighed and straightened out his shirt, he should be packing up as well. He entered his shack, the heat seeming to increase tenfold without any breeze circulating through the room. Grimshaw had been kind enough to have all the things from his room in Shady Belle laid out on the canvas he used as a tent in the corner. His weapon’s chest sat next to the canvas with his folded up cot leaning against it.

Inside his weapon’s chest was a semi-auto shotgun, a revolver he snagged off of Emmet Granger, a Lancaster repeater, and a sawed off shotgun. He used to have more weaponry, but between the failed robbery and the frantic move to Lakay he was happy to have what was in the chest.

He grabbed an old crate and folded the tent canvas before placing it in the bottom to cushion his belongings. Gingerly he set the desert flower he had gathered from New Austin at the bottom of the crate. So much for dreams out west. They were further east than they had ever been, but part of him just couldn’t let go of the final strings connected to his dreams.

He smiled at his mother’s framed picture. Still lovely as the day he last laid eyes on her. She was laid down next to the desert flower, close to his heart and past dreams.

Warm fondness settled in Arthur’s chest at Copper’s memory. What a dumb dog he was, but always so willing to please and follow commands. He got tucked in his mother’s frame to keep from folding.

Lyle Morgan’s sneer was next. Arthur stared into his dead eyes, his fingers rubbing the print with hatred. He kept the photograph as a reminder to not become his father. He might kill and steal but he would never become him, but Arthur never did become him. Angelo had been sure to drill that into his head. He had a kind heart as much as he wanted to deny it. Arthur dropped Lyle on the floor beside the crate.

Mary Gillis. God, how foolish Arthur had been giving her up all those years ago. How stubborn he had been, only to get stabbed in the back by the person he couldn’t leave for her. She seemed like a distance memory, now that Angelo was so close to his heart he couldn’t hold on to her. He always did fall in love too fast and too hard. She was laid next to Lyle.

The last picture made Arthur’s hands tremble. Hosea, Dutch and he, all dressed up and posing for the camera. How far they had fallen… Dutch didn’t hold the same insane, fiery look in his eyes like he did now. He was cool, collected, thoughtful in the picture, but still full of hopes and dreams. Arthur cursed softly under his breath and looked away from the photo at the moldy, rotting floorboards.

Moving to Canada? What the hell was he doing? What was he trying to accomplish?

Hosea’s sunken face came back to him, as did Jack’s, Tilly’s, Mary-Beth’s, Abigail’s, and John’s. That’s what he was doing. Doing what Dutch should have done all them years ago. Arthur unsheathed his hunting knife and carefully sliced the top half of the photo off, leaving Hosea and he, and a headless Dutch.

He laid the cut photo on top of Copper and gathered the photos of Dutch, Lyle, and Mary into his hands. With one final look at Dutch’s charismatic smirk, Lyle’s demonic glare, and Mary’s sweet smile, Arthur tossed them into the swamp. Mary’s photo splashed and promptly sunk into the murky water. Dutch and Lyle hung in the air before fluttering onto the surface, absorbing black water before the ink began to swirl away from their faces, blurring them.

He wouldn’t let the past rule him anymore, there was only the present and the future. Bold words coming from a man wanted in three states with a bounty big enough to buy any high class horse in Lemoyne.

Arthur leaned against the guard rail, watching the photos be cared off into the center of the marsh away from sight. Hanging his head, Arthur sniffed and stomped his boot once on the deck before returning to his packing.

In the midst of deciding what he was keeping and what he was discarding, Josiah Trelawney came in and said he was going to see his family in Saint Denis, and that he was taking a break from thieving and robbing. Arthur shook his hand and bid him luck, saying he might see him around Saint Denis some time. With a tip of his hat, Trelawney slipped away like he usually did.

Reverend knocked next on his door. Arthur was still a little off put by just how sober and coherent he was. He said he felt God was calling him to do His work now that the morphine hold was finally released. Arthur had never been a religious man, but he let Reverend say a quick prayer to protect them and give Arthur guidance.

Lastly, and the most surprising for Arthur, Pearson came to see him, and said he wanted to strike out on his own. He had been tied down too much in his life. To his mother, to the navy, to the gang. He was ready to just be Simon Pearson now. Arthur respected that and wished Pearson all the luck he could afford.

That left twelve lives under Arthur’s care. There was still a giant mountain to climb, but they would make it. Arthur was going to make sure of that.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

The mud squished under the horses’ hooves as an alligator bellowed just off the trail Arthur and Charles were trotting down. The gator lifted its massive body and slipped down into the murky swamp water, it’s scales disappearing one by one. The sun was just starting to crest the horizon bathing the marshland in pale yellows that would almost make the landscape look pretty if Arthur didn’t hold a dislike for the black gunk that seemed to stick to everything he owned. Charles and Arthur had set out early that morning to Emerald Ranch to buy their next load of supplies before they arrived and to scout out a campsite for that night.

“That place by the Overflow should be nice for the night.” Arthur drawled while tipping his hat down to block the sun from his eyes.

Charles hummed and nodded, his braid swishing along his back with the movement of Taima’s gait. Arthur noticed the day he came back that Charles had shaved his head. Arthur didn’t know much about Charles’ culture, but Lenny’s death and the grief assossicated with the destructive course the gang had to be possible reasons.

“I hope everyone is packed and ready. Didn’t plan to be gone that long.”

“I’m sure Grimshaw and Sadie have made sure everything is in order, Arthur. You aren’t doing this alone.” Charles smiled that supportive tilt of his lips which always put Arthur at ease. Charles might have only been riding with them for a few months, but in that time Arthur knew he could rely on the stoic man.

Arthur nodded and let out a breath which made his shoulders fall from their tensed posture, letting his body rock with his Trotter’s smooth gait. “I know, just… things have been a bit wild lately. I appreciate y’all.” Arthur vaguely gestured with his hand to the shimmering surface of the marshland that lay by the train tracks.

Charles patted Taima’s neck and looked purposefully into Arthur’s eyes. “We’ve lost a lot. No one should have to fix all the pieces alone.”

Sighing softly, Arthur tapped his spurs into his stallion’s flanks. “I don’t wanna end up like Dutch.”

“You aren’t Dutch, Arthur,” Charles said firmly, matching Arthur’s faster pace as they rounded southward toward Lakay.

“I don’t have Dutch’s fashion sense anyway.” Arthur chuckled lightheartedly only to squint down the trail. “That rider’s in a hurry.”

Someone astride a seal brown Dutch Warmblood tore down the trail, clad in a black suit. An odd choice for going out in this environment. Arthur’s heart dropped into his stomach when the rider turned down the only path into Lakay.

“sh*t.” Arthur squeezed his legs and leaned forward in his saddle, pushing his stallion into a sprint. “Come on, Charles!”

Taima and Charles were close behind as Arthur and his Trotter closed the gap between them and the rider pushing deeper into the swamp.

“Hey!” Arthur roared, pulling his revolver from his holster, more willing to shoot first and ask questions later, especially if this rider was about to endanger his family.

The rider whipped around, pulling his horse to a stop in the middle of the trail, Lakay’s human skull welcome décor visible. Arthur skidded to a halt a few feet from the rider, revolver raised at the man’s head.

“Signor Morgan!” The rider squeaked and dropped the reins to raise his hands to the sky.

Arthur blinked and lowered his revolver. “Luca? The hell are ya doin’ here? How did ya get here?”

Luca grabbed at his chest, sweat pooling on his brow and trickling down to the collar of his button up shirt. “Please-” He took a moment to swallow and loosen the collar of his shirt, clearly uncomfortable in the swamp humidity. “ Mio Dio , Signor Bronte sent me to collect you.”

“Why?” Arthur holstered his gun, holding a hand up to signal Charles to approach without violence. “I told ‘m I’d come back when I-”

“It’s Signor Matthews.” Luca rushed out, slicking his hair back. “We have to hurry!”

“Luca ya ain’t makin’ any sense. How’d ya know to look here for me? What’s wrong with Hosea?” Arthur walked his horse closer, leaning toward Luca with a defensive frown. What was Angelo playing at?

“Signor Bronte knows everything that goes on in his city. He knew you were hiding in Lakay, I don’t know how, just that he did. Signor Matthews is dying, Signor Morgan.” Luca desperately reached out to grab Arthur’s hand and shake it vigorously. “You must come with me.”

Arthur’s throat closed up and heart quivered in his chest. “No… I-” He looked back at Charles with frantic eyes. “I have to go, Charles. Can ya-”

Charles walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do what you have to, and meet us back at the Overflow. Sadie, Grimshaw, and I will handle this.”

“But-”

“Go, Arthur.”

Arthur pursed his lips before nodding and flicking his reins to wheel his horse around. “Come on, Luca.”

Speeding back out of the swamp, Arthur and Luca headed back to Saint Denis, their horses eating up the ground with sharp jabs into the mud. A sickness fell over him as the factory smog rose up over the horizon, his heart racing in his chest and blood pounding in his ears.

“I didn't know ya could ride a horse, Luca.” Arthur shouted over the thunder of hooves.

“I am many things, Signor Morgan! Being a butler does not describe everything.”

A half smile graced Arthur’s lips, the squishing of mud turning to clopping on cobblestone. “How did Angelo get Hosea?”

“Same way he got you, I suppose. Signor Bronte holds more power and money than what you understand.”

Arthur gulped and clenched his hands around the leather of his reins. He had been ignoring who Angelo truly was for too long. He blamed it on his old world crime thought process. He was so used to getting his way through shooting, but control a city and you can do anything without violence. It didn’t matter at this moment, Arthur could unpack that after he came back from Canada. He had to get to Hosea first.

Pedestrians seemed to sense the urgency in the air and the panting of their horses and gave Arthur and Luca a wide berth as they cantered down the street toward the Bronte Manor. The green tinted house with maroon trim rose up over the fence, a guard in a yellow vest standing by the gate with a pump action shotgun. Arthur jumped off his horse before he came to a full stop, marching up to the gate with a stricken face.

“Where’s Hosea?” He pleaded as the guard jumped to unlock the iron gate and letting Arthur in.

“Inside, Signor Bronte will meet you.” The guard gestured with a gloved hand to the double oak doors.

Arthur jogged up the path, his spurs jingling noisily and breaths coming out hot and heavy. He shouldered the door open, eyes darting around the entry, but seeing no one in sight.

“Angelo!” He called, walking down the hallway and peeking into the sitting room, which lay empty as well. “Angelo!”

“Arthur, there’s no need to yell.” Footsteps came down the stairs before Angelo emerged, his white button up shirt rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his slacks.

Relief flooded Arthur’s body as he approached Angelo, clasping his shoulders to keep himself upright. He didn’t know what to say. Thank you? I missed you? Why did you to do this?

Angelo’s soft hands cupped his cheeks, taking some of the weight off of Arthur’s mind. “I didn’t expect to see you for another three months, caro .”

Arthur choked a laugh and nuzzled Angelo’s palm, closing his eyes to take in the cedar and lavender smell of his soap. “Me neither, Darlin’.” He gulped and pulled away looking up the stairwell at the stained glass window. “Where’s Hosea?”

Angelo frowned and pulled away gesturing to the stairs. “In the same bedroom, your brother used during his stay. I have to warn you, he is not well.”

Clenching his jaw, Arthur nodded and started up the stairs. Each step closer to Hosea’s room set another chain of dread coiling around his body, dragging him down until his hand touched the brass door handle. He opened the door to see a doctor leaning over Hosea’s bed, whispering to him before standing up straight.

“You must be Mister Morgan. I’m Doctor Rossi. I work for Signor Bronte.” Rossi held his hand out for Arthur to shake, but Arthur’s focus was solely on Hosea’s sunken in white face. Rossi rubbed the outstretched hand down his vest and frowned. “I’ll give you two some time.”

Arthur felt like he had been gutted and his body plastered to the spot on the floor. Hosea looked worse than he had a week prior. His face was void of any color and sucked of fat, the bags under his eyes being the only thing holding any flesh. His hair was thin and slick with a sheen of sweat, despite the oppressing heat, he looked cold underneath the handmade quilt.

“‘Sea?” Arthur’s voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

Hosea’s thin lips moved minutely and eyes cracked open enough to glance at him before closing again. Arthur shuffled his heavy feet to his bedside before collapsing to his knees next to him. He reached out to lay a hand on Hosea’s chest, scared any pressure would shatter the brittle bones.

“Hosea.”

“-Thur.”

Arthur cleared his throat and rubbed his hand down his face. “Yer dyin’.”

“Was… gonna happen at some point.” Hosea rasped, his chest heaving with effort.

Goosebumps ran up Arthur’s arms and legs as he clenched his hand into the quilt to keep from letting the boiling emotions out. “Ya didn’t deserve this.”

“Then you’re more of a fool than I thought.” It was supposed to be in a humorous tone, but only ended with Hosea hacking until blood dotted his lips.

Arthur wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his shirt, cupping Hosea’s cheek and looking over the face of someone who used to stand like a boulder, now reduced to a pebble.

“I don’t want… to be buried in this city.”

“Hosea, I-”

“Arthur, please.”

Arthur’s nose burned with an onslaught of tears before he stood up and paced in a tight circle. He took his hat off, setting it on Hosea’s bed, and carded through his hair working his jaw to keep the tears down. “Alright, alright. Let me talk to Angelo.”

Arthur’s stomach roiled with sickness as he stepped out of the room. Rossi was talking to Angelo in a hushed tone right outside the door but stopped when Arthur pointed to Angelo. His mouth wouldn’t work, he felt like the room was rotating and shaking under his feet.

“ Dottor, would you give us a moment? Please, talk to Luca, he’ll get you whatever you wish to drink.” Angelo patted Rossi’s back before turning to Arthur and grabbing his hand to steady him. “Come let’s sit down.”

Arthur followed Angelo into his bedroom, allowing him to be pushed onto the bed. Arthur held his head in his hands and waited for the room to stop spinning before looking up at Angelo who stood in front of him with a worried crease to his brow.

“Angelo… I- He don’t wanna be buried here. I gotta take him out west. I know a spot… He’ll like it.” Arthur sniffed and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs to soothe away the jitters clawing at his body.

Angelo nodded, gingerly cupping Arthur’s face and forcing him to make eye contact with him. “It is okay to cry, Arthur.”

“I ain’t gotta cry!” Arthur shouted even as wetness gathered at the corners of his eyes.

Angelo smiled crookedly and scratched Arthur’s stubble with his thumbs. “It ain’t crying. It’s just… hmm dust in your eyes, tesoro .”

A sob bubbled out of his throat before he could quell it, tears streamed down his cheeks soon after. Arthur leaned his forehead onto Angelo’s chest, letting the crime lord pet up and down his quivering spine. Salty tears tinged his tongue as his hands grabbed at Angelo’s forearms. The crushing responsibilities of the past month melted away like the tears from his eyes into Angelo’s cotton shirt.

He was unsure how long he let himself be weak for, but when he pulled his head from Angelo’s chest he was greeted with a smile and a handkerchief. He felt lighter and worse at the same time. A man shouldn’t cry, let alone in front of another man.

“There, let's get you cleaned up.” Angelo wiped Arthur’s snotty nose and swollen eyes for him before grabbing his jaw and tilting his head back. “You are as handsome as the day I met you.”

Arthur laughed wetly and pulled his jaw free from Angelo’s palm. “I look like a mess.”

“A handsome mess.” Angelo placed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s forehead and stepped back to allow Arthur room to stand.

Arthur shook his head and rolled his shoulders, standing a little taller than before. “I wish I could stay longer, but the circ*mstances…”

Angelo waved his hand dismissively. “As long as you return to me when your Famiglia is settled, we will have plenty of time to get reacquainted.”

Arthur’s tongue poked around the inside of his mouth, “Angelo, I can’t… thank ya enough.”

“Well,” a smirk played at Angelo’s lips as he shrugged his shoulders, “There are a few ways I can think of you to repay me, but you need to go. I’m sure you can’t spare much time.”

A laugh abruptly spit itself from Arthur’s mouth before he cupped Angelo’s face and kissed him square on the lips. Angelo chuffed in surprise but recovered quickly and ran his hand through Arthur’s honey-colored locks and teased his growing stubble. Their lips remained interlocked for a moment before Arthur broke away and peered into Angelo’s dark chocolate eyes.

“I’ll be back.”

“I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulled back before he could be drawn back in for another embrace. Angelo remained still making it easier for Arthur to leave and return to Hosea. Hosea’s eyes were open and his bony fingers played with the tassel of his father’s hat. Arthur swallowed thickly and approached his bed side.

“Let’s get ya outta this bed.” Arthur whispered while gently taking his hat from Hosea’s hands and placing it on Hosea’s crown to keep him safe from the sun.

Wheezing softly, Hosea nodded but did not make any movement. Arthur carefully tucked the quilt around Hosea’s frail body before slipping his arms under his thighs and back. Hosea let his head fall limply against Arthur’s shoulder as the gunslinger easily lifted him from the mattress. Hosea had always been thin and lithe, but the ease at which Arthur carried Hosea scared him. Arthur’s knees grew weak from sickness, making it difficult to clop down the stairs to the front door.

A guard opened the door for him, not making eye contact as he did so. Arthur clenched his jaw and held Hosea closer, feeling his weak pants against his sweaty neck. The guards usually patrolling the yard stood at a standstill, watching Arthur walk down the path to the front gate where Luca was waiting with the Dutch Warmblood and Arthur’s Missouri Foxtrotter.

Luca moved to help Arthur get Hosea on the horse, but Arthur defensively turned his shoulder to Luca. “I got ‘m, but I- I need a shovel, please.”

With a hesitant nod, Luca rushed away, leaving Arthur to hold Hosea in the morning sun peeking over the building’s square roofs. Hosea coughed before Arthur gained the mental strength to heft Hosea up into the saddle of his Trotter. The quilt fell awkwardly around Hosea’s front as he slumped forward, unable to keep himself fully upright. Arthur adjusted the quilt to rest over his shoulders, patting his horse’s flank in praise for being patient.

Luca returned with a shovel and held it shyly out to Arthur. The steel blade gleamed menacingly in the morning rays as Arthur took the wooden handle. “Thank ya, Luca.”

“No problem, Signor Morgan. Be careful, and I wish you luck.” Luce stepped back, holding the reins to his steed as Arthur nodded and clambered onto his Trotter, right behind the cantle.

It wasn’t the most comfortable position for Arthur, but it allowed Hosea to lean backward more comfortably. Arthur made sure the quilt was neatly tucked around Hosea's body before looking up at the second story balcony. Angelo stood in the window, arms clasped behind his back. With a two finger salute, Arthur rolled his spurs against his Trotter’s flank and they began their journey westward, Hosea’s limp body growing weaker and weaker with each sway of the stallion's gait.

o0O0o

The Whiskey Tree bottles clicked together in the gentle wind that settled over the Heartlands, their browns and greens reflecting the waning sun like twinkling stars. Hosea wheezed and slumped over the saddle, his hands clasped tightly to the horn to keep himself upright as if the breeze would scoop his skeletal body off the horse.

Arthur looked away from Hosea, unable to see his father-figure so shriveled with sickness and huddled in a quilt in this heat. He leaned the shovel Luca gave him against the tree and squeezed his eyes shut until stars burst in his vision. Turning back to Hosea, he held a hand out to him.

“Here, let me help ya down.”

A rough cough that ended in blood racked its way out of Hosea’s mouth before he grabbed Arthur’s calloused hand with his thin one. Clumsily, Hosea slid out of the Trotter’s saddle and collapsed against Arthur’s chest wincing in pain.

Arthur clenched his jaw, hooking his arms under Hosea’s armpits and dragged him to the Whiskey Tree’s trunk, situating his blanket over his bandaged torso. Hosea was fragile and one false move would shatter him. “Let’s set ya down…”

Hosea closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk, soaking in the rays of sunshine. Flat Iron Lake glimmered with oranges and golds in the distance, the grasses of the Heartlands swaying like a rich green sea down the hill leading into the woodlands. Arthur grabbed his holster buckle and stood beside Hosea, watching evening birds swoop in the air to catch bugs and dance with each other.

It was beautiful.

“You have… a drink?” Hosea rasped, his lips barely moving to get the words past them.

“All I got’s some bourbon, old man.” Arthur laughed humorlessly, but went to his grazing Trotter’s side to grab the bottle from his saddlebags.

“Sit with me.”

Arthur didn’t want to. To do so would be admitting Hosea wouldn’t be leaving this hill. He sat down next to Hosea against the tree trunk anyway. Arthur opened the cork and took a sip before handing it to Hosea.

Hosea held the bottle in his lap, his dull eyes staring down at the glass like he did all those years ago when Bessie first died. Arthur licked his lips rubbing the tattered knees of his riding jeans, not sure what to say that could encompass all he wanted to in the short time he had left.

Hosea took a sip of the whiskey, a drizzle of brown liquid cascading down his slender neck to his red neckerchief. He handed the bottle back to Arthur, the warmth of Hosea’s mouth still lingered on the lip as Arthur took a gulp.

“Remember that time Copper ruined the banquet we set out… after that big stagecoach heist in Utah?” Hosea tipped his head to rest against Arthur’s solid shoulder.

Arthur shook his head with a fond laugh. “Yeah, Dutch gave me an earful to get ‘m under control after that. Remember that huge bull elk we tracked for three days before that heist?”

Huffing softly, Hosea gave a slight nod. “I was nervous to let ya take the shot, but ya didn’t disappoint me… Oh Arthur. You never disappointed me, well, except when I told you to leave with that Mary gal, and you said you couldn’t leave Dutch.”

“I should have… I know that now.” Arthur’s heart ached at what could have been, but never was.

Hosea hummed, reaching for the bourbon bottle again. A puffy cloud scuttled across the sky, the edges highlighted with amber from the sun.

“You’re a good man, Arthur. I ain’t said that enough. Better than… Dutch… and I… ‘m so... proud.” Hosea’s voice was losing volume, the chiming of the bottles overhead nearly drowning him out.

Arthur licked his lips, staring up at the deep blue sky and getting lost in its vastness. He worked his jaw trying to speak. Hosea panted in short huffs, one of his hands falling off the bottle to land next to Arthur’s thigh on the ground.

“I- I love ya, H-Hosea. I-”

Hosea murmured between his numb lips, something incoherent. Arthur leaned his head down to listen to his whisper, only catching the word “love”.

A tremble ran through Arthur’s legs up to his chest, constricting his heart until he couldn’t breathe. Arthur shakily took the bottle from Hosea’s limp hand, taking a gulp that burned all the way to the pit of his stomach.

“R-remember when Dutch said he’d g-get us to Australia?” Arthur chuckled through a sob, sniffling and rubbing his face. “Or Tahiti? God, we should of bought that ranch out West when we had the chance. We’d have so much cattle and crops by now. I just hope this place in Canada… I hope it can be everythin’ you would want it to be.”

A mourning dove cooed in the distance, and the bottles hanging in the tree rang together in a melody played by the wind. A pair of dark ears perked up from the tall grass followed by a sleek, shiny silver coat and a bushy black tail. Gold eyes brighter than the setting sun stared at him. The fox’s tail swayed in the wind and its head lifted up high.

It barked once, loud and proud, before turning and hopping into the plush grass. Arthur smiled as the fox frolicked through the grass before disappearing into the woods below with another yip. The whiskey went down his throat like a thistle weed, scratching and clawing until the last drop hit his tongue. Setting the Old Blood Eyes bourbon down in Hosea’s lap, Arthur shifted his body back against the tree and slowly stood up.

He grabbed the shovel and went a pace away from the tree before stabbing the blade into the ground and heaving the dirt to the side. Sweat and tears dripped from his cheeks as he put every ounce of frustration and sorrow into digging Hosea’s grave. The sun dipped below the horizon shrouding them in deep reds and purples, the pit Arthur dug a portal to never ending darkness.

Throwing his shovel down, Arthur wiped his dirty hands onto his pants and walked to the bundle of quilt. Gingerly, he untied Hosea’s neckerchief and placed it to the side next to the empty bourbon bottle and his hat. Arthur placed a flap of the blanket over Hosea’s slack face and one last time picked him up. As carefully as he could, Arthur laid him at the bottom of the hole. He stood over the hole, wishing Grimshaw was here to say some words instead of him.

“Hosea Matthews… where do I begin? Ya… hated mah guts when Dutch first brought me in, but it was you who… taught me to read and write. Taught me how to steal and con too.” Arthur laughed and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I would be dead if ya hadn’t… took me in. Thank you.” Sniffing and wrinkling his nose, Arthur grabbed the shovel and started to fill the dirt on top of Hosea, sealing him in the ground forever.

Arthur grunted with each shovelful that fell into the hole, filling it until a mound was formed. He picked up the bottle and Hosea’s neckerchief, tying the red silk around the neck of the bottle before reaching up to tie it to the low hanging branch of the tree. The square bottle spun freely when Arthur let go of it, the wind catching it and making it clink against another bottle.

The chime soothed the nausea that had built up in his gut. He smiled once more at the mound of dirt before whistling for his stallion. It was time to go.

Arthur and his Trotter rode hard through the night to make it to the Overflow just north of Emerald Ranch. A single fire glowed dimly in the distance as they approached the agreed on campsite. Uncle was on guard duty, though he looked to be half asleep as it was. Arthur trotted close enough to spook Uncle but held up his hands in surrender.

“Hey, it’s just me. Though ‘tween you and me, maybe ya should be payin’ more attention.”

Uncle huffed, slinging the repeater over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, you try being on guard duty sometime.”

“Naw, come now. I ain’t been on guard duty for at least eight years now. I’d be rusty.” Arthur winked and continued into the camp, nodding in approval at Grimshaw, Sadie, and Charles’ organization. Most were asleep already, but John was sitting by the fire, poking at it with a stick tiredly.

Arthur dismounted his Trotter next to Silver Dollar, untacking him and letting him graze. After patting Silver Dollar’s neck in apology, Arthur walked over to the fire to stand over John.

“Ya should be asleep, Johnny.” Arthur mumbled while stepping over the log and sitting next to him.

John shrugged, hardly sparing him a glance. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Arthur nodded and leaned forward on his knees, staring into the dancing flares still engulfing the coals. “I ain’t gonna get much sleep either.”

“Hosea… is he…?”

“Buried by that Bottle Tree in the Heartlands.”

John nodded, the crackling of the fire mixing with the chirping of crickets.

Tossing his smoldering stick away, John wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur hooked his arm around John’s upper back and leaned his head against John’s. They both stared into the fire until the coals had gone out and the sun began to rise up over the Overflow.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

It took them a month and a half to reach the Red River Valley in Manitoba, and two months more to get a loan to build a rudimentary homestead.

They left the Heartland Overflow early the morning after Arthur laid Hosea to rest. Tilly and Abigail approached Arthur and both gave knowing sorrowful smiles and hugged him. Tilly had been twelve when Dutch took her in. She’d been raised by Hosea just like John and he had and losing a father all over again stung like venom around their hearts. Hosea had been there for Abigail and Jack when John left. Maybe even more so than Arthur had been. The wagon train was quiet, aside from the creaking of wooden wheels and snorting horses.

Cornwall Kerosene and Tar rose up in the distance, the smoke stacks cutting into the clouds like daggers emitting dark smog. It reminded Arthur of Saint Denis. He sincerely hoped Angelo was fairing better than he was at the moment. They took a northward turn toward Camondy Dell to avoid any of the guards recognizing Arthur from his wanted posters and the time he stole an oil wagon.

They set up camp in Cumberland Forest, Fort Wallace’s glowing guard towers visible between the trees. Arthur dozed off by the fire a few times, but sleep was a fleeting thing. In the darkness of his closed eyes he saw silver fur until it morphed into Dutch’s crazed dark eyes. Dutch was out there somewhere, and when he found out about their betrayal he would gun them down in a rain of bullets. The urgency to get to Canada before Dutch’s ugly head resurfaced was only more pressing.

Continuing north into Ambarino, the company traveled alongside the ravine with the Dakota River flowing with white rapids below. Donner Falls came into view soon after passing by Bacchus Bridge. Arthur spotted a few people from the Wapiti Indian Reservation observing them from the trees, their sick, hungry eyes peering through them like ghosts haunting the forest. Arthur’s heart panged in sympathy for them.

When he returned to Saint Denis he would do everything in his power to help them if they survived that long. What the government was doing, the treatment they were receiving, it was damn sickening. As much as Arthur wanted to cast off Dutch’s teachings, he had to admit he was right in some ways. The government was crushing people underfoot for their own greed.

Arthur and Charles led the wagon train across the bridge shimmering with water so clear Arthur could lose himself at the bottom of the lake. The eyes in the trees followed them as they continued up to Calumet Ravine, but no harm fell them when they set up camp off just off the road.

They rested at that camp for two days to save up on resources and energy before entering North Dakota. Jack’s fifth birthday occurred on the second day. They couldn’t celebrate exactly like they normally would, but Charles managed to bag a healthy stag to cook for dinner that night. In a gesture of peace, he donated the antlers and pelt to the Wapiti People, which they gladly accepted. They were still wary, but the constant sense of danger Arthur felt faded after the action. Arthur offered to take Jack fishing for his birthday, but in a surprising change, Jack said he wanted to go for a ride with his dad for his birthday.

Arthur settled his hands on his hips with a smile as he watched John awkwardly lift Jack onto Old Boy’s back, casting nervous looks at Arthur before riding down the trail toward Cotorra Springs. Arthur relaxed that evening by the fire with Mary-Beth, Karen, Kieran, Abigail, Tilly, and Uncle, at ease for the first time in a long while. At least something was going right.

John and Jack arrived back at camp not long after the sun started to touch the horizon. Jack was buzzing with excitement about the steaming hot springs and the huge elk they had seen. John had a warm smile across his scarred face as he held Jack close to his torso. That night they gorged on seared venison and roasted carrots that were on the verge of going bad.

They packed up and waved to the eyes in the trees the following day. They continued northward into North Dakota, taking a path through the flatter Red River Valley in the east than the rocky Badlands in the west of the state.

A mild sickness passed over them throughout North Dakota, leaving two or three people at a time on bedrest in the wagons as they traveled. Arthur continued to ride point even when his body was racked with trembles and his nose and eyes dripped constantly. Charles, Sadie, and Grimshaw demanded he rest, but Arthur couldn’t rest. Not until Dutch and Hosea stopped entering his dreams at night.

After several weeks of travel and some minor arguments, they reached Canada. The landscape didn’t differ much from the area of North Dakota they had been trekking through, but it was still the most beautiful sight Arthur had ever seen. The sun seemed brighter and more yellow, and the grass a rich green and plush enough to use as a bed.

A nice flat piece of land, fertile from the Red River and southwest of the province’s capital of Winnipeg was what Arthur and Strauss were able to get a loan for after a temporary camp got set up. Arthur Callahan and Leopold Wagner were just two men acting as spokesmen for a group of vagabonds moving to Canada after an unfortunate twister destroyed their crops and homestead in May. The sob story had been enough for the kind banker to give them a loan to buy the land, but he warned if they could not pay it off, there would be hell to pay later.

They returned to their campsite a few days later, hungry, tired, hopeful faces looking up at them as they strided up on horseback. Arthur couldn’t contain his smile as he announced that they had been approved for a loan and would be moving to a parcel of land called “Oxdown’s Crest”.

Arthur rode ahead to the claim, letting his Missouri Foxtrotter truly run for the first time since burying Hosea. Oxdown’s Crest had a system of creeks that wound around the east and south side of the property. A healthy bit of woods lay at the northern edge, and between the woods and creeks lay a prairie with a field of swaying grass peppered with red, yellow, and purple wildflowers.

Arthur leaned against the horn of his saddle, breathing in the clean fresh air as his stallion nibbled on grass untouched by people. A yip sounded in the distance and two gold eyes peeked through the grass. Arthur sat up with a smile as a round face, black muzzle fading to silver cheeks, greeted him. Its bushy tail tipped with white wagged through the grass, yipping once again a smile seeming to grace its jowls.

“Hello, old friend.” Arthur mumbled with a two finger salute.

The fox barked, and he almost believed it was saying hello back.

Sliding off his steed, Arthur waded into the grass that reached his knees. He kneeled to the ground before flopping backward and looking up at the azure blue sky, cotton white clouds creating a dance of shadows over the meadow as they passed before the gleaming sun.

Propping his hands under his head and flicking his hat down over his face, Arthur crossed his boots at the ankle and closed his eyes. His mind was blank for the first time in months as he fell into a deep sleep.

In the following weeks, the group started to make Oxdown Crest, now named Matthews’ Rise, a home. A house was the first priority that started with Arthur and Charles riding to the nearest town, Dudley, to buy tools and for Arthur to post a letter to Angelo. None of them had built a house before, but with some help from the local carpenters who were friendly enough to lend a helping hand, they got a decent start cutting and milling the lumber from their property.

It took them working every day from dawn to dusk to build a structure that might resemble a home, but it was their home. The last of the shingles got nailed into the roof nigh on fifty-five days after arriving on Matthews’ Rise. Arthur stood in front of the porch looking at the remaining trees peeking over the slope of the roof, his hands settled on his hips and a smile on his lips.

Arthur had never felt more proud of himself.

They had a party that night, drink flowing freely between everyone as they danced around their blazing fire pit. Arthur snuck off from the party with a lantern, stumbling through the grass to rest by the trickling brook, frogs and crickets singing close by. He pulled out a small stack of envelopes Angelo had sent him in response to his own letters. Opening his journal, Arthur scrawled out a message of the finished household, his drunk heavy hand making his handwriting sloppy loops. In the morning he would inevitably rewrite the letter, but as he looked up at the midnight sky twinkling with white gems, he didn’t much care.

Strauss informed Arthur and Grimshaw that there was enough money to pay the bank for three months. Autumn had already set in, leaving no time for a crop. Arthur announced to everyone that they should head to Dudley and start to look around for jobs.

“Legal jobs. We ain’t low-down crooks no mo’,” Arthur said with a smirk that got a few giggles out of the girls. “I mean it though. I better not have to head into town to break y’all outta jail. I’m talkin’ to ya, John, specifically here.”

Abigail got a job quite easily as a doctor’s assistant, helping sew up old outlaws was good experience. Jack wasn’t too happy about his momma being gone most days and being stuck with Grimshaw, Strauss or Uncle. Sadie, Charles, and John did a few bounty hunting ventures, until Abigail demanded John not be a part of it anymore. John found some work as a farmhand on a ranch a mile or so south of Matthews’ Rise.

Karen and Tilly both found work at the Dudley Tavern, waitressing and bartending. Karen had sobered up in the months they had been here, though she still stare into the wilderness with sorrowful watery eyes watching red squirrels dance in the trees. Mary-Beth found an odd job of helping an elderly widow clean up her house, and the lady always had more work for her to do. Kieran, who was usually stuck to Mary-Beth’s side, was starting to get used to being blind, mostly tending to the horses and avoiding getting in the way.

Grimshaw, Strauss, and Uncle stayed on the property, trying to make it a home as best they could. Arthur also stayed at the property most days, working on building a future pasture fence and plotting for a barn and a second house the next spring. The main house was large enough for everyone to huddle inside on bedrolls and cots to sleep, which they would roll up in the morning, but it was far from comfortable even if it had a somewhat functioning kitchen, washroom and fireplace.

Jack tried to avoid his reading and writing lessons to help his Uncle Arthur with building the fence, but usually Grimshaw would come storming out to find him. Arthur enjoyed hammering the fence into place while listening to Jack talk about whatever story he came up with. He hoped he’d keep the creativity and become a writer or something better than a ranch hand when he grew. God, he just wanted one of them to grow up and be something more than an outlaw.

It was October when John pulled Arthur to the side to talk. The girls were cleaning up plates and silverware while everyone else chatted from their perches on whatever they could find including the floor, a bucket, an old stool, the wall. John touched his arm and gestured with his head to the porch.

Arthur pushed off the wall and followed his little brother outside, the autumn chill sending goosebumps over Arthur’s arms. John pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Arthur.

“Quite a place we made, huh?” John mumbled from around the hot glow of his cigarette.

Arthur nodded and lifted his foot to light a match. “It sure is.”

“You happy here?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” Arthur chuckled as he leaned his elbows against the railing of the porch, blowing smoke into the silver moonlight.

“Ya miss Bronte,” John said flatly, leaning against one of the support beams.

Arthur licked his lips and took another drag from his cigarette, looking down the dirt walkway to the shabby hitching posts out front. Their wagons still parked where they had been back in August, grass growing around the wheel spokes. They should really sell them off, being as tight on money as they were, but the constant thought that this wasn’t permanent and they would have to move again hung overhead like a fog.

“Ya know, Arthur, we’ll be okay without you.”

“But what if ya ain’t? What if I leave and the law shows up? What if I leave and Dutch shows up and kills y’all? I won’t be here to-to…” Arthur hung his head, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

“I think ya forget we have lived the same life as you. We’ve all been outlaws. Survived just like you.” John dropped down to his elbows beside Arthur. “You got a-a life ya need to get back to. This,” John gestured between them then back at the house full of laughter and warmth from the fire. “This will always be here. We’re family. But you aren’t… tied down by Dutch anymore, Arthur. Go live yer life the way you should of long ago.”

“For Godsake, John, we’re sleepin’ fourteen people in a house built for no more than six. Y’all ain’t ready for me to leave yet!” Arthur stood up, slapping his hand down on the railing.

John frowned, leveling Arthur with a glare. “Do you really have no faith in us? I love you as a brother, but goddamn you are so thick in the head sometimes. Answer my question, Arthur. Do ya miss Bronte?”

“Of course, I do, but that don’t matter none! I gotta look out for y’all. I can rest when this is done.”

“John’s right, Arthur.” John and Arthur turned around to the front door, Grimshaw wrapping a shawl around her upper body. “We love you, but you deserve happiness too. We are competent enough to figure things out. You got us to Canada. You got us safe, we can handle the rest.”

“What about the bank-”

“We have Strauss for financial issues.”

“But the barn and fence-”

“John, Sadie, Charles, and even Uncle can help with that. It might take a while, but we can do it.”

Arthur looked from Grimshaw to John, his mouth feeling dry and throat constricting. “Yer just tryin’ to get rid of me is that right?” Arthur slumped backward and laughed softly.

Grimshaw smiled, the scar on her cheek stretching thin. “If that’s what it takes to get you to go back to your lover, then so be it. I might not fully approve of it, but he makes you happy and confident in yourself. You’re like a stray cat who got fed. We’re cutting off the food now.”

“A fat tomcat at that.” John muttered, getting a solid punch to his shoulder in response.

“We’re doing this outta love, Arthur.” Grimshaw added after rolling her eyes.

Arthur sighed in defeat and stubbed his cigarette out under his boot. “Y’all promise that if any trouble falls upon you, you will write as soon as possible?”

“If it is something we can’t handle, yes. You can’t just uproot your life anytime someone is in trouble. Think about yourself for once, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded solemnly, looking through the window to Uncle strumming his banjo as Jack and Tilly danced in the center of the living room. John’s hand on his shoulder made his heart pump faster with anxiety. He was leaving the only true family he’d know for some guy he met that year. He’d miss so many birthdays, accomplishments, and celebrations.

“If I go, John, you have to promise me somethin’.”

“Yes, yes, I promise to protect everyone and-”

“Put a goddamn ring around Miss Roberts’ finger and treat her and that boy right.”

John’s face went pale as Grimshaw snorted and lifted her hand in dismissal before going back inside.

“Propose?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for-”

“Yer twenty-six. Have had a kid for five years now. Ya love her and that kid, and I damn well know that. Ain’t ya tired of runnin’? Plus, if ya don’t then I guess yer stuck with me.” Arthur looked down at his nails, picking at the grime stuck under them.

John rubbed his face and made a small lap around the porch before stopping in front of Arthur. “Fine! I’ll ask Abi to marry me.”

Smiling lopsidedly, Arthur clasped John’s shoulders and tugged him in for a hug. “Good man.” He slapped John’s back, turning to look over the moonlit grassland and progressing fence line. “And, yeah, ya better protect and watch over everyone too.”

John went back inside with a snort, Jack running up to him with a muffled squeal of laughter after the door shut. The waxing moon hung in the cobalt sky, not deterred by any clouds. Arthur would miss the open air and country up here, but the tugging in his heart was a stronger pull than the fresh scent of grass and tree sap. Arthur patted the oak railing before heading back to the socializing.

o0O0o

Arthur woke before the sun, the bedroom he shared with Charles and Kieran still dark. He dressed quietly, but Charles, being a light sleeper, watched him from his bed roll. Kieran rolled onto his side but remained asleep as Arthur began to gather his few belongings.

After setting his packed saddlebags and satchel on his cot next to his bedroll and tent, Arthur nodded to Charles and exited the room to get a pot of coffee brewing. The cabin’s floorboards were cold against Arthur’s socks but after getting a fire lit in their cast iron stove, which they had bought from Mary-Beth’s employer, the chill ebbed. Arthur yawned and stretched his arms above his head, feeling his spine crackle like the pine wood in the stove. Setting up the percolator, he hovered over the stove, his eyelids falling closed in a half-sleep as the coffee grounds released their bitter aroma. Charles entering the kitchen startled Arthur awake again, another yawn leaving his mouth as he straightened.

“Leaving today?” Charles asked with a tilt of his head.

Arthur nodded and brushed his hand through his hair. “Mo’ like bein’ kicked out by John ‘n’ Grimshaw.”

A deep chuckle vibrated out of Charles, his growing hair swishing against his cheeks. “It’ll be good for ya.”

Arthur hummed with a shrug, pouring two cups of coffee and handing one to Charles. “I know, I just don’t wanna leave y’all alone.”

Charles clinked his mug against Arthurs and gave him an unimpressed frown. “I think we can handle it.”
“Yeah, well, my conscience ain’t too forgivin’.” He took a sip of the steaming coffee, letting the heat warm his chest. “Thought I’d wait ‘til everyone was up ‘fore I left, though.”

“I’m pretty sure the ladies would hunt you down if you left without saying goodbye.”

A shiver raced up his spine making Arthur laugh. “Them women can be vicious. But… what’s yer plans Charles? Ya told me you’ve never been one for stickin’ ‘round.”
Charles swirled his coffee, looking down into his blue speckled enamelware mug like it would give him the answer. “I ain’t ever been one for settlin’ down…”
“I don’t think any of us were ‘til now.” Arthur gestured with his cup and tipped his head. “Yer young still. Maybe you’ll find a nice lady ‘round here and find yer own place.”

Charles smiled lopsidedly and shrugged. “Sure, but until then I suppose I’ll stay here and help build this place up.”

“I’d appreciate that mightily.”

Arthur and Charles sipped on their coffee in silence, watching the sun shine hues of pink and orange into the kitchen. Grimshaw and Sadie filtered through getting their own mugs of coffee as the house began to wake with groans and yawns. Arthur moved from the kitchen back to his bedroom, pulling his suspenders onto his shoulders and tugging his leather jacket on. Kieran was struggling to pull his pants on until Arthur cleared his throat to announce his presence and helped orient his pants so he could pull them on.

Kieran thanked him with an embarrassed blush, but Arthur just patted his shoulder, eyes averted from the red gouges that marred his face. Kieran had saved his life at Six Point Cabin, and Arthur hadn’t been able to save his eyes. Guilt sickened him, but Arthur looked him in the eye and grabbed both his shoulders making Kieran jolt.

“I ain’t never said it, Kieran, but I’m sorry. For… bullyin’ ya and not bein’ able to save ya in time-”

“Oh, that’s okay Mist-”

“No, I ain’t done. Yer a good kid, and ya have a place here. Not as an O’Driscoll, not as a Van der Linde, or a Morgan, but as a Duffy. Kieran Duffy. And I hope you enjoy living yer life however ya want. And if ya follow through with Mary-Beth-”

Kieran squeaked and slapped a hand over his mouth as his face went crimson. “I-I ain’t got a thing for-for Miss-”
“Kieran, ya might be blind, but everyone else can see how ya fancy her. Just be good to her.” Arthur patted Kieran’s shoulder again before working his jaw and awkwardly stepping away. “Now, don’t ya tell anyone we had this conversation. They’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

“Well, haven’t you?”
“What was that, Duffy?” Arthur narrowed his eyes, even as a smile tugged at his lips.

“N-Nothin’ Mister Morgan!”

“‘M just messin’ with ya, calm down.” Arthur snickered as he slung his satchel over his gambler hat clad head and buckled his gun belt over his hips, listening to Kieran grumble to himself. He hauled his semi-auto shotgun, Lancaster repeater, tent, bedroll, and saddlebags to the living room by the front door. Uncle and Strauss, who spelt in the living room, observed him with half smiles and sad eyes. Arthur cleared his throat and nodded to the older men before returning to the kitchen, packed with people trying to get a bite of food before heading off to their jobs.

Arthur’s throat constricted watching Abigail give Jack a slice of homemade bread with a smear of red jam on it, Tilly playfully shove Mary-Beth who snickered to herself, John attempt to wake his droopy eyelids, and Grimshaw inhale the steam of her coffee. Leaving the found family he had gathered over the decades hurt almost as much as being away from Angelo. Maybe he just loved too hard too fast, as Hosea always liked to tell him.

The room went quiet, everyone looking at him as he stood in the doorway. Arthur forced a smile and gestured to the loaf of bread being cut.

“Mind if I get a piece of that ‘fore John eats it all?”

Laughter bubbled up in the wake of John’s scoff and eye roll. Abigail cut him a slice of bread, which he slathered with strawberry jam. Breakfast was a solemn thing. Everyone knew Arthur would be leaving, but no one wanted to face the truth of it yet.

Arthur wiped bread crumbs out of his beard and walked outside to where the horses were grazing. His Foxtrotter perked his head up from between two of the draft horses, lumbering over to Arthur and nosing at his palm.

“Hey, boy.” Arthur brushed a lock of amber hair out of his face and pet down his long snout. The stallion would make a good riding horse for Jack when he got bigger. Maybe it was selfishness, but Arthur couldn’t think of leaving any other way than astride Silver Dollar. “You be good to these people, okay? Yer a good boy.” He looked up at the sky while gently soothing down the stallion’s strong neck.

Petting down his back to his flank, Arthur walked toward the silver Turkoman, grazing next to Old Boy. The war horse was high strung and a little unpredictable, but Arthur knew he was loyal and brave.

“Hey, Dollar.” Arthur patted his shoulder, earning a stomp and pinned ears in response. “I know, I ain’t Hosea, and ya ain’t had a rider in awhile. But you and I are gonna get to know each other real well.”

Slowly, Arthur pulled his lasso from his satchel and slid the loop around Silver Dollar’s neck, leading him up to the hitching posts. Dollar snorted and flicked his tail in irritation but followed Arthur to the posts. Saddling Silver Dollar was a task as the stallion kept side stepping and stomping his back legs, but with a little patience Arthur was able to cinch his saddle snug and place a bridle over Dollar’s ears.

He let Dollar wander around tacked up to cool down before they left, but now came the hard part of saying goodbye. His tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth as he walked up to the porch, spurs clinking against the wooden stairs. Sweat made his forehead slick and his palms clammy, but he opened the door all the same. Everyone had gathered in the living room and hallways, tears gathering in some of their eyes.

“This ain’t a funeral, y’all,” Arthur choked out and grabbed his gun belt for moral support.

A few sorrow laced laughs broke out as Arthur approached Mary-Beth and Karen on the edge of the gathering.

“Miss Gaskill.” Arthur nodded to her, only for her freckled nose to wrinkle and tears to stream down her cheeks. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, face buried in his leather jacket. Arthur patted her back and kissed the crown of her auburn hair. “Ya be sure to send me a copy of yer first book yeah?” Arthur rubbed over her shoulder blades as she nodded and slowly pulled back.

“Al-alright, Arthur.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her shawl.

Arthur smiled and leaned down toward her ear. “And if that Duffy boy hurts ya, I’ll set him straight, ‘kay?”

Mary-Beth giggled as Arthur turned to Karen who had her arms crossed under her bosom. Arthur tilted his head and gingerly cupped her elbows.

“‘M proud of ya, Karen. It takes guts to pull yerself outta the bottle-”

“Oh shuddup, and come here ya lug.” Karen opened her arms and gave him a brief squeezing hug.

Chuckling, Arthur patted her shoulder before moving to Tilly whose eyes were watery despite her upright stony posture. Arthur swallowed hard and moved to pull her in for an embrace, feeling tears stain his shirt. Craning his neck, Arthur rested his cheek against her head.

“Yer a good girl, sweetheart. You’ll do so well in life.”

“I-I love ya, Arthur,” Tilly mumbled against his chest.

Arthur rubbed up and down her spine until her sobs died down. “I know, I know. I love ya too.”

Stepping back, Arthur framed Tilly’s face with his hands and pressed their foreheads together. Arthur had been there for Tilly since she was the ripe age of twelve, leaving her stung like a knife flaying his flesh. His thumbs wiped away her tears before she pressed a kiss to her forehead and rubbed down her upper arm.

“Uncle, ya old bastard,” Arthur grunted, scratching his nose to keep the onslaught of tears from falling.

“Naw, don’t be like that, Morgan. Ya love me,” He said while opening his arms wide, showing off his stained union suit.

“I ain’t huggin’ ya.” Arthur grimaced and reached out to take one of his hands, giving it a firm shake. “Ya better cut that lumbago sh*t too. There’s a barn and another house to be built.”

“It’s a real condition!”

“Yeah, and so is mah fist if ya keep at it.” Arthur huffed with an eyeroll, only to smirk after and wink at Uncle.

“Well, Herr Morgan. It’s been an honor working with you. Auf Wiederschauen.” Strauss held out his aged, dainty hand to Arthur, his rat-like face seeming more droopy than usual.

“Like-wise.” Arthur shook his hand and tipped his hat to him.

Grimshaw puffed her chest out and eyes narrowed, judging him from head to toe like she did when he was still a teenager. “You best write every month at the very least.”

“Susan, come on. Ya raised me better ‘n that.” Arthur bared all his teeth in a grin that earned him a smack to his shoulder.

“I also should of beat more common sense into ya.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning up to his ear. “Just no unexpected babies, yeah?”

Arthur barked out a laugh and gave Grimshaw a squeeze back. “No unexpected babies, I swear.”

Grimshaw jerked her head in a nod, dabbing at her eyes as Arthur moved on to Charles and Sadie. Arthur nodded to both of them. “Thank ya both for helpin’ out so much. We wouldn’t of done it without y’all.”

Sadie kicked the floorboard with a bowed head before going in for a sideways hug. “Yeah well it’s kind of like helping a wounded animal. Ya feel bad for it so ya help it,” She rasped with a wink.

Arthur flicked her hat down over her eyes, getting shoved to the side in response. He chuckled and held his hand to Charles. Charles grabbed his hand, shaking it before pulling him in closer for a strong embrace.

“Thank ya for showin’ me life’s better with a family around.” Charles whispered before letting go and fixing a wrinkle in his shirt.

Smiling warmly, Arthur turned to the small Marston family. Jack was crying against his momma’s skirt and Abi had a firm grasp on John’s elbow for support. Arthur sighed and kneeled down to Jack’s height, pulling him from his momma to wrap his little arms around his neck.

“Don’t go Uncle Arthur! I don’t want you to leave like Papa Hosea.”

“Oh, Jackie…” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in Jack’s freshly-washed hair. “I ain’t leavin’ forever… And listen. Whenever I miss Papa Hosea, I look outside and listen for a fox bark. That’s him looking over us okay?”

“Really?” Jack pulled back with wide wet eyes, snot running from his red nose.

Arthur wiped the snot away with the sleeve of his shirt peeking out from his jacket. “Really. And when ya miss me…” Arthur thought back to when he had dreams of a majestic stag sipping from water on fire with the golden sun, “look for a stag. That’s me watchin’ over ya. Okay?”

Jack sniffled and nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around Arthur again. “Okay, Uncle Arthur… I love you.”

“I love ya too, Jackie.” Arthur ruffled his hair and slowly peeled him off of him before raising to his feet and looking at Abigail who had broken into a sob.

“Come ‘ere, Abi.” Arthur gestured her forward, grunting when Abi barreled into his stomach.

“Thank you, Arthur. I-... I know it weren’t easy, but this place- Jack will finally grow up where he belongs. I can’t thank-”

“Ya don’t have to thank me. I was just doin’ right by y’all.” Arthur pet her thick dark hair, patting her back for a moment to let her calm down.

She roughly rubbed her tears away, an embarrassed blush tinting her cheeks before she distracted herself by scooping Jack up.

“John.”

“Arthur.”

The two brothers looked into each other’s eyes, not sure how to say goodbye. Arthur exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging before he grabbed John’s shoulders and dragged him in for a hug. John fought against him, only to give up and hug him back.

“Remember what I told ya, John. It’s time to start bein’ a man.”

“Yer not my father, Morgan.” John grumbled.

“Naw, I’m worse. ‘M yer brother.”

John sulked, rolling his eyes and stepping back. “I know, unfortunately.”

Arthur grinned and flicked John’s forehead, backstepping before John could flick him back. Doing one last once over of the living room, Arthur nodded to everyone and grabbed his weapons, saddlebags, and tent.

Everyone filed outside, following Arthur to the porch as he lugged everything toward Silver Dollar. After attaching his tent and saddlebags and slipping his guns into their sleeves, Arthur swung up onto the saddle. Dollar snorted and shifted under the weight, dancing in place before settling down.

Everyone lining the railing and waving with mixed smiles and sobs. The corners of Arthur’s lips quirked up as he took off his hat to wave it high above his head. Wheeling Dollar around, Arthur heard bare feet slap against the wood stairs then the rustling grass behind him. Jack ran beside Arthur as he pushed Dollar into a trot then a canter. Jack fell behind waving his arms and yelling “Goodbye, Uncle Arthur!”.

A silver fox took Jack’s place sprinting beside him until it darted off into the brush back to Matthews’ Rise. Arthur knew they’d be okay.

o0O0o

Riding alone was a lot faster than with a wagon train. Arthur and Silver Dollar covered between twenty and thirty miles each day, camping out in quiet areas off the road, and hunting each evening for dinner. Silver Dollar grew more friendly as time went on, he knew Arthur wasn’t Hosea but he was trusting Arthur more and more. Ambarino’s cold mountainous terrain arrived sooner than Arthur expected, their only issue being a few wolves prowling the barren vastness.

O’Creagh’s Run was a welcome sight, even as early snow began to twinkle in the sky, offering a dinner of fish that Arthur somehow managed to catch. He stumbled into an old Veteran whose horse threw him and took his false leg, and after helping him retrieve his horse, the Veteran opened his door to Arthur for the night. Sleeping in a building for the first time in a month allowed Arthur to sleep more than five hours.

The next day Arthur traveled down into New Hanover, flying through Emerald Ranch with a wave to Seamus. He slept out in Scarlet Meadow that night, reminiscing on their time in Clemens Point. How far he had fallen from fishing on the Flat Iron with Hosea and Dutch to having neither in his life anymore. Dollar and he didn’t get much rest, and they departed for Rhodes early in the morning. Rhodes had a new Sheriff and no one recognized him from when he killed most of the Grays and Braithwaites back a few months.

He spent the night in the Rhodes’ Parlor House, spending longer than he’d like to admit bathing away the grime covering his body and cleaning his clothes. He trimmed his beard and hair to a less mountain-man appearance and slept peacefully despite the saloon drunks raising hell throughout the night.

Rising with the sun, Arthur got dressed in his now clean blue button-up shirt and put on a slightly nicer pair of riding pants. Slicking back his hair, Arthur placed his hat on his head and set off for Saint Denis.

As the towers of billowing smoke grew visible, Arthur rolled his spurs against Dollar’s flank, cantering toward the large cast iron ‘Saint Denis’ welcome sign. Not even the bugs buzzing by his ears or the rumbling gators could deter him from the bridge leading into the city. He did appreciate that the weather had calmed significantly from the summer months, as Christmas lay just around the corner.

Arthur forced himself to trot through town, not wanting to plow someone over in his anxious excitement. His lungs filled with the mixture of swamp scum and burning coal, which wasn’t as unpleasant as he remembered it to be. Arthur straightened his posture as he trotted down Angelo’s street. He came to a halt before the front gate, squinting his eyes under his hat.

Angelo was lounging on his upper balcony, legs crossed at the ankle and a glass of white wine swirling in his hand. Arthur’s face split with his grin as he raised his hand and whistled. Angelo startled slightly and turned to look at the street with a scowl, only for his eyebrows to shoot up with a gasp and his wine glass to shatter on the floor. Angelo stood up, leaning against the guard rail with his eyes wide and lips parted. “Arthur? The Hell took you so long, caro!”

While this wasn’t the house he made with his family, he sure felt like he was home now.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Five Months later; April, 1900

Dear Arthur,

We started planting corn today. Hope it grows alright. I’ve never grown corn before. The girls made a little garden with tomato plants, green beans, and squash of some kind. Their garden seems to be going better than what Charles, Sadie, Uncle and I can do with this corn field.

We bought two milking cows and a bull, and hope to have calves next year. Construction on the barn and silo will start after we plant the corn, and by god I hope we get the silo done before the corn’s ready.

Jack got enrolled in the Dudley school, Abi cried her eyes out the first day we sent him off with his books. Boy better learn better than he does with Miss Grimshaw. Jack also wanted me to include this picture he drew. Says it's you and Bronte, and was very adamant you know the tall one is you and the short one is Bronte.

I also included a copy of Mary-Beth’s book. She wrote alot over the winter and managed to snag a publisher in Winnipeg. Her and Kieran are pretty well off. Kieran’s learning to use a cane to feel his way around. Heard Charles is talking to someone in town too, but don’t tell him I said that.

Karen had a small relapse, but Grimshaw and Tilly helped pull her out of it. Strauss has developed a cough, but we think it’s just the turning weather. We’re doing well off for the Spring. How’s things in Saint Denis? Being a trophy wife and everything.

I jest, of course. We send you all our love and regards.

Love,

John

Underneath John’s name were a list of other’s signatures, Jack’s being the largest with unsteady, wobbling lines. A gentle breeze filtered into the bedroom, making the heavy burgundy curtains sway back and forth. The swamp scum was overpowered by fresh rain that downpoured yesterday and the blooming plants and flowers, twinging Arthur’s nose with an earthy sweetness.

Arthur smiled down at the yellowed letter, shifting it to look at the drawing of him and Angelo. Arthur’s stick man had a goofy smile under a hat-like object, while Angelo’s stick man had a deep frown and held a plate of scribbled lines that Arthur guessed to be pasta.

Arthur set the picture down on his nightstand and thumbed through the rust-red book, Mary-Beth’s pseudonym printed in gold ink across the bottom of the cover. Warm flooded Arthur’s stomach leaving him drowsy with pride.

“Arthur! We’re going to be late!” Angelo called from the bathroom, where he had been for nearly half an hour fixing his hair and suit.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur set the book down next to Jack’s drawing, the paper bowing over the book, and walked toward the bathroom, leaning his shoulder against the hardwood-framed archway. “We won’t be late, Angelo.”

Angelo’s mirror reflection glared at him over his shoulder as he tied his white bowtie. “You don’t even have your tie done, tesoro.”

Arthur came up behind Angelo and grabbed his hips, leaning down to rest his chin on Angelo’s shoulder and nuzzle his stubble along his clean-shaved face. “Ya worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough about your appearance, sciocco senza moda…” Angelo huffed and adjusted his tie so it was straight.

Snorting softly, Arthur turned to press a kiss to Angelo’s cheek. “They got Jack enrolled in a school up there.”

“There are better schools in Saint Denis. As I’ve said before.”

“Yer incorrigible.”

Angelo twisted around, one eyebrow co*cked upward. “You don’t even know what that word means, caro.”

“Yeah, I do.” Putting his hands on his hips, Arthur straightened his back to look down his nose at Angelo.

“Sono sicuro che lo fai… Now, come here.” Angelo gestured for Arthur to lower himself, grabbing the ends of his black tie and forming it into a bowtie. “Not too tight?” He shifted it around as Arthur grumbled while shaking his head. Angelo ran his hands down the silky sunshine-yellow of Arthur’s vest, pulling it straight. “If you’re going to roll up your sleeves, you need to work on the wrinkles.”

“Yer treatin’ me like a child.” Arthur held his arm out for Angelo to re-fold his sleeves to rest above the elbow so no wrinkles formed in the starched white fabric.

“Well, don’t act like one.” Angelo grinned and reached up to swipe a lock of his honey locks to the side.

Arthur shook his head and pecked Angelo’s palm. “Yer a cruel man, Angelo Bronte.”

“I’m letting you wear your hat, isn’t that kind enough?” His hand cupped Arthur’s stubble covered cheek, petting his thumb into the short prickly hairs.

“Ya said ya liked the hat.”

“Sure, sure. I love that ratty, old thing you call a hat.”

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur grabbed Angelo’s wrist and backed him into the sink. He planted his hand on the sink’s edge, trapping Angelo against it. The crime lord stared into the gunslinger’s blue and green speckled eyes, holding his breath and waiting.

Arthur leaned in, his lips brushing Angelo’s tantalizingly before pulling back abruptly. “I thought ya said we were gonna be late?” Stumbling away with a laugh, Arthur dodged Angelo’s playful backhand while the other man stomped away.

“I believe you are the incorrigible one, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur followed Angelo out of the bedroom, grabbing his gambler hat off the hat rack and slicking his hair back to place it upon his crown. “Now, how behaved do I gotta be at this?”

Adjusting his cufflinks, Angelo chortled and turned to fix Arthur with an amused smirk. “As long as you don’t embarrass me too poorly, I’m sure no one will care too much.”

“So,” Arthur motioned in a circle with his hand, “I can get drunk?”

“Don’t get in any drunken fights like last time and I’ll allow it.”

Arthur choked on a laugh. “Listen, that prick had it comin’!”

“While I agree, you can’t fight everyone you see, tesoro.” Angelo gestured for Arthur to follow him down the stairs where Luca was waiting with a wide smile.

“Signori, your coach is waiting.” Luca bowed slightly, his arm outstretched to the front door.

“I apologize, Luca, Angelo was being picky ‘bout his suit.” Arthur winked only to grunt when Angelo elbowed him in the ribs.

“You can’t rush perfection, you fool. I care about my image unlike some of us.”

Baring all his teeth in a grin, Arthur rubbed his ribs and shrugged at Luca who was attempting to hold in a chuckle. “Enjoy your evening, Signori.”

o0O0o

“-and that is why it is so important to keep a social hierarchy. It is unnatural for a commoner to rise up to such a level such as us. They have not been trained in the skills required to be in high society. Don’t you agree, Mister Callahan?”

Arthur downed his flute of champagne and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The evening was dragging on, the only thing truly keeping Arthur sane was the stars visible though the weeping willow tree planted in the garden of one of Angelo’s associates. If he had to listen to one more person complain about poverty or non-white people, Arthur’s head was going to explode on account of how ignorant these people were.

Arthur searched for Angelo through droopy, half-open eyelids, finding him fake laughing to fat feller’s joke. He didn’t know how Angelo enjoyed these functions, when all he ever did was fake laugh and mutter curses under his breath half the time. Turning his attention back to the insolent man in front of him, Arthur grimaced at the man’s white goatee and even whiter suit. It was nearly blinding even in the glowing orange lights of nearby candles.

“So, mister, yer sayin’ me bein’ here would be considered… unnatural?” Arthur co*cked his head, his lower lip sticking out minutely in a feigned pout.

The man’s face dropped and lost its color to match his get-up. “I- Wait, now hang on, I personally think your rough exterior is charming!” He held his soft uncalloused hands up in surrender, laughing awkwardly through an onslaught of sweat.

“Huh, weird because,” Arthur looked into his empty glass and signaled for a waiter to come over, “I believe you were just talkin’ about how unseemly workin’ men are. Tell me how do ya get the ‘high-class’ beef onto yer table? It don’t just appear there. Some cowpoke out there is workin’eighteen, twenty hours a day so ya can get your perfectly marbled steak. But hey!” Arthur slapped the man’s arm with a dark smile. “That’s just how the social hierarchy works right? Ya sit on yer ass all day and complain about how hot it is out, and let the real men do the work, yeah?”

“Now-Now, I think you’re being unfair, Mr. Callahan-”

“I’m terribly sorry, signor Bronson. My partner here can be a…” Angelo grabbed Arthur’s shoulder and gently shook him, “How do you say, a bit defensive. How can I soothe over any insecurities?”

Bronson’s Adam’s apple bobbed against his Kentucky Colonel tie. “Oh, uhm, there’s no need for that. Mr. Callahan and I were just chatting, all is well- Oh, is that Mr. Davidson? I must go speak with him! Have a lovely evening, Mr. Callahan, Mr. Bronte.”

Arthur snorted and took a drink of his now filled flute, muttering, “Coward.”

Angelo rubbed a hand down his face and patted Arthur’s arm. “I thought you were going to turn his suit red.”

“Thought ‘bout it.” Arthur smirked and ran his tongue over the back of his teeth. “Nah, just makin’ a point. I weren’t gonna punch ‘m, I swear.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe you in the slightest, caro.”

Arthur held his hand up in a shrug. “Guilty as charged, darlin’. Now, I need to take a piss. Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

“What don’t want to get lost again?” Angelo snickered at Arthur’s unamused eye roll.

“Ya said it was inside to the left, ya didn’t say it was a guessin’ game on which door on the left it was.”

“You have to admit it was a little ridiculous, tesorino.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Arthur sucked down the last of his flute of champagne, much to Angelo’s annoyance. “Where’s it at? Or I can just go around the corner and piss on their shrub-”

“Ah, ah, ah, no. It’s on the ground floor, the first hallway to the left and the first door to the right. Think you can remember that?” Angelo smiled fondly as Arthur’s eyes darted from Angelo to the paned-glass door that led inside.

“Yeah…”

Petting his lower back, Angelo jerked his head toward the manor house. “If you get lost, Guido is up that way to direct you.”

“I think I’d rather die than ask Martelli for help.” Arthur waved Angelo off and headed for the house.

“I don’t understand the disdain you two hold for each other,” Angelo called after him.

Arthur pulled his hat down lower over his eyes and passed by Martelli who gave him a snide glare out of the corner of his eye. If the brat wasn’t heir to the Bronte Empire, Arthur would have considered beating him to a pulp to show him his place, but Arthur was sure Condrone would lay him out with a bullet between his eyes if he did that.

Inside the house was almost a peaceful welcome to the chatter outside. His steps echoed along the marble tiles in the tall entryway as he located the hallway lined with paintings of the countryside. These people didn’t know sh*t about the countryside other than whatever estates they had in ripe green fields. They never faced a grizzly bear’s rancid maw about to bite, never watched a tree crush a man’s legs into a pulpy mess, and probably never slept under the stars on the cold ground next to a campfire.

At least Arthur had the luck to experience a wilderness man’s life before being treated to this constricting way of life. He couldn’t say he hated city life though. There were pains and annoyances, but he was finding it had its delightful quirks. The wilderness of New Hanover was only a short ride away anyway. Angelo and him were making things work and that’s all that mattered, Arthur supposed.

Finding the bathroom, Arthur did his business, admiring the delicately crafted lion-claw bathtub and mural painted ceiling. Angelo had been drilling into his head about hygiene lately, so just to satisfy him, Arthur used the bar of soap next to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly. He looked into the mirror resting above the sink, pausing to rub over his jaw. Good food and plenty of sleep had made his face fill in and the bags under his eyes drain away. He almost could look at himself and appreciate what he saw, but then the crows feet and the scars on his chin was a harsh reminder to the life he lived. He didn’t deserve to be here with the blood that stained his hands.

Shaking his head of the thoughts clawing at his mind, Arthur shut off the water and dried his hands with an embroidered towel. He pulled his vest tight against his shoulders, loosening his bowtie minutely. His boots slapped against the tiled floor reminding him he should have really shined his boots before tonight, but unlike Angelo he didn’t think ahead for things like this.

A solid mass collided with his shoulder causing him to snap his head up, an apology already on his tongue, but all words slipped from his mind as his eyes widened. Brown eyes that cascaded into black pits shone with surprise. Eyes that once upon a time could look at him a certain way and Arthur would run head first into anything.

“Arthur?” Dutch’s voice cracked with a swirling mix of disbelief and sorrow. His gloved hand reached up but did not touch him, almost like he thought Arthur was just a figment of his tormented mind.

Arthur screwed his gaping mouth shut, rage building up behind his ribcage and pouring out into his clenched fists. He let a fist fly before any other emotion could take hold. His knuckles tore into Dutch’s jaw making him stumble backward into the wall with a thud.

Catching himself on the wood trimming, Dutch lifted his silk glove to touch his lip, a smear of blood staining the snow white. “Wait-”

Arthur lunged at him, grabbing his suit’s lapels and slamming him into the wall again, teeth bared in a snarl. “How the hell are you alive! The hell are ya here for!?” Spit hit his waxed moustache as Arthur shoved his face into Dutch’s.

Dutch wrinkled his nose and cracked his forehead against Arthur’s, snapping his head backward and loosening his grasp on his lapels. Before Arthur could recover, a fist slammed into his gut pushing the air from his lungs and folding him in two. His hat fell to the floor, hair falling in front of his eyes as he backpedaled and glared at his once-mentor.

“Arthur, just hang on a second-”

Arthur stood up reaching for his holster only to remember he gave it up at the entrance. Dutch pursed his lips and swiftly reached into his coat, but Arthur clenched his jaw and lurched forward to grab his arm, forcing it away from the concealed weapon. Arthur struggled with Dutch for a moment, both using all their strength as sweat marred both their brows.

Arthur pinned Dutch’s arm above his head, one of his Schofields pointed at the ceiling. They panted hot puffs into each other’s faces, a moment of calm where Arthur was overcome with anguish for his two decades of servitude to someone who in the end was driven by greed.

“Why are ya here, Dutch?” Arthur hissed through his teeth, grabbing his lapel again to keep him pinned.

Dutch swallowed hard, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and above his eyebrows seemed to grow deeper. “Well, son, I’m tryin’ to rob these fine people. Like we used to do, or have you forgotten that? Hell, why are you here? Oh, wait, is Angelo Bronte here, son?” He tilted his head, a glint entering his eye like he knew he had the upper hand.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya rob them people.” Arthur enforced, tightening his hold on Dutch’s arm.

“Why son? You know just as well as I these people deserve it more ‘n anyone. Wallowin’ in their riches while others go without food or shelter.” Dutch narrowed his eyes, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“They are innocent people. As much as I hate ‘em, they don’t deserve to have a gun pointed at them. I won’t… I won’t have another Blackwater or another Lemoyne State Bank.”

“They have softened you, son… How did things go after you took the gang from me? Huh, son? I want to know how you managed to turn so many against me.” Dutch suddenly grabbed Arthur by the throat and rolled them, smacking Arthur’s head against the wall and knocking a country-side painting off the wall, splintering the frame.

Arthur’s face screwed up in a grimace as pain zipped through his skull, creating a dull ache in his brain. “Stop… callin’ me that…” Arthur spit a glob of saliva and blood from biting the tip of his tongue onto Dutch’s white vest. “Ya know… I only did what Hosea wanted.”
“What…” Dutch’s body sagged as his face fell. “Hosea… wouldn’t- he and I-”

“Ya went insane, Dutch! And Hosea was on his deathbed! What did ya honestly expect? Ya drove everyone off the end because you were power-hungry and greedy. You stopped carin’ ‘bout the well-bein’ of them people.” Arthur jutted his chin out and leveled Dutch with a sneer. “You turned yer back on us. Despite what crazy illusion ya made-up, in the end you didn’t care no mo’.”

“I did care! I was trying to get us money so we could get away from that life!” Dutch yanked his arm to free it from Arthur’s grasp, but Arthur latched onto his jacket sleeve and shook his arm trying to dislodge the gun to no avail.

“You should of listened to Hosea if ya truly cared! But it don’t matter now… they’re all safe.” Arthur exhaled heavily, a small smile tugging on his lips. “They’re doin’ pretty well for themselves. Better than we ever did together.”

“Then why aren’t you with them? Why are you in this godforsaken city?”

“I think you already know that answer, Dutch.” Putting his boot flat against the wall, Arthur pushed off, forcing them backward toward the opposite wall.

Dutch cursed under his breath and slotted his hand under Arthur’s chin, burning his throat with a constricting force. His head grew light and his face turned a blistering red as Arthur grabbed Dutch’s wrist trying to pry it off while his other hand fought to keep the revolver aimed away from him.

“Well, looks like you found the fun without me, Boss.”

God, Arthur wished he’d never have to hear that slimy voice ever again. Glancing to the side, Arthur saw Micah f*cking Bell the third standing in a black suit that didn’t flatter any part of his figure, double-action revolver leveled at Arthur’s torso.

“I would say it’s good to see you, Morgan, but we both know that’d be a lie. Hell, yer pretty good at lying though. Why don’t you let him go before I finish what I should of done a while ago.” Micah motioned for Arthur to back up with a flick of his gun barrel.

Arthur’s throat bobbed against Dutch’s palm before he let go of Dutch’s arms and took a step back, hands held out at his sides. “Ya look tired, Micah. Being an outlaw finally catching up with ya?” Arthur wrinkled his nose, heart pounding against his ribs when Dutch aimed his gun at him as well.

“Not in the least, but I see bein’ a pampered poodle has caught up with you.”

“Enough, Micah.” Dutch labored a few breaths as he lifted his stained glove to fix his fringed mustache. “We can’t exactly continue with the plan with Mr. Morgan running around…” Dutch’s eyes darted between Micah and Arthur, as if waging the benefits to offing Arthur right there.

“Go on and shoot me. ‘M sure that’ll cause a joyous ruckus.” Arthur muttered, his mind racing with his limited options. He could shout for help, and be shot. He could try to charge Micah, knowing he was a slightly slower shot than Dutch, but Dutch would stick him with lead before he could get control of Micah’s gun. He could give up and see what they did with him, but Arthur would rather die than know what kind of torture Micah had up his sleeve.

“I’ll take him away from here, boss. Get rid of him for good. Joe and Cleet are still surveying the crowd as we speak.” Micah smirked under his blonde scruff of a moustache, his pale blue eyes aflame with malicious intent.

Dutch worked the inside of his mouth with his tongue before looking straight into Arthur’s eyes. There was sadness, like putting down a dog you raised after it started to get old and senile. It’s use long since out-lived

“Alright… I am sorry it had to be this way, son. But you leave me no choice in the matter…” Dutch had the nerve to sag his shoulders as he gestured to Micah with his gun.

Arthur gritted his teeth, pacing slowly to Micah’s sick grin. “Hosea would be so ashamed of you, Dutch. And I hope you live knowin’ in the end it didn’t matter how much money we made or how famous we got. But how many lives we’ve taken, how much blood was spilt because of us.”

Micah grabbed Arthur’s shoulder and spun him around, pressing the iron barrel roughly into the base of Arthur's skull. “Don’t worry princess. I won’t be too rough with you, but I’m sure, you’re used to things being a little rough-”

“I’d think long and hard before you decide to aim your guns at him, signori. Not that it’s my business, but my boss would be mighty upset if anything happened to Signor Morgan.” Arthur, Dutch, and Micah all jerked their heads around to see Martelli standing with his Mauser pistol aiming at Dutch.

“And who the hell are you?” Micah snarled, his focus slipping from Arthur to the intruder.

“Someone you don’t wanna mess with, Stronzo.”

Martelli gave Arthur a hurried look urging him to do something while they had the element of surprise still. Arthur silently thanked whatever god or entity that caused Martelli’s parents to meet and have him, before he swiftly shoved Micah’s arm and jerked away from him.

Dutch’s arm swung around to aim at Martelli at the same time Micah squawked and squeezed the trigger. Three shots echoed down the hallway.

His ears rang from the blast so close to his head, disorienting him and making his eyes squeeze shut to stop the vibrating of his brain. Agony seared Arthur’s shoulder, burning down into his arm and chest and his shirt growing tacky and wet. Familiarity of a previous wound whispered in Arthur’s mind, but he ignored the ringing and pain to grab Micah’s hand and wretch his gun away. He roughly slammed Micah’s head into the wall, making another painting fall off its fixture. Micah’s eyes rolled back into his head and his face went slack as a smear of blood painted the eggshell white wall.

Arthur gasped and pressed his palm against his shoulder, nearly shouting as his muscles spasmed with a torment of blood and hurt. He looked from Micah’s limp body to Martelli who lowered his gun, staring in disgust at the bullet hole that cracked one of the marble tiles by his feet. Arthur followed the line of trajectory to Dutch’s slumped body. Dutch was clutching his chest, head bowed and staring at a growing spiderweb of red seeping through his vest.

“No…” Arthur panted and rushed to Dutch, his right arm uselessly hanging against his side. He dropped to his knees after kicking his Schofield away and grasped Dutch’s hand. “Dutch. Dutch!” Arthur blinked away a few tears and gently shook Dutch’s body.

“Arthur…” Dutch gurgled and picked his head up only for it to slap against the wall.

“‘M right here, Dutch.” Arthur winced as he propped Dutch up against his unwounded shoulder.

“I’m… y-yer right, ‘bout it all. ‘N’ I don’t deserve it but…” Dutch’s body shivered, his eyes glazing over and mouth hanging open.

“But what? But what, Dutch!?” Arthur shook his body again. Why did he care so much? After everything, why was he on the floor next to Dutch holding him as he died? Martelli said something, his polished shoes clipping against the floor, but Arthur didn’t hear him. The edges of his vision blurred as Dutch’s fingers twitched against Arthur’s hand.

“Bury… me with… ‘Sea. ‘M so-so sorry…”

Arthur watched helplessly as Dutch’s face went grey and his eyes lost their luster. His head lolled to the side, and his hand dropped from the dark hole in the left side of his chest. Arthur flopped backward against the floor as a sickness consumed him, the ceiling’s swirling patterns meshed together into a collage of memories. Dutch putting a gun in his hand for the first time. Hosea’s first fishing trip with him. Dutch trying to teach him the finer lessons of Evelyn Miller. Hosea smacking his head when he purposefully messed up his reading lesson. Everything came piling on top of his already heavy chest, making it hard to breathe.

A dark human-like shadow shrouded his vision, calling to him in a muted tone. A second shape grabbed his face, desperation coloring his muffled voice. His eyelids were heavy. He could use a drink right now, his throat felt so dry. Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt. Arthur let the darkness wrap around him and pull him safely into the cradle of unconsciousness.

o0O0o

A month later; May, 1900

The thin sky-blue curtains danced in the wind that carried the smell of nectar and grass seeds throughout the master bedroom. A light sheet covered Arthur’s lower half keeping him pleasantly warm in the slight chill. He inhaled the New Hanover scents, wincing when the heave of his chest pulled taut on the stitches and bandages still locking up his right shoulder. Cracking an eye open to look at the faint gray ceiling and pale green walls, Arthur smacked his chapped lips and shifted to sit up against the goose-down pillows supporting his head.

He must have fallen asleep again while sketching, his journal open next to him and his pencil left abandoned in the folds of the sheet. Sketching was difficult with his shoulder being immobilized, but he did so anyway to let out the taunting thoughts that lingered at the corners of his mind. The sheet fell down to his waist when he hunched over in a sitting position. Massaging the bandages that wrapped around his chest, he winced at the soreness nestled there.

He really needed a drink, but Angelo was insistent he not drink until the stitches came out of his flesh. A doctor would be coming by their vacation home in the next day or two to look over the wound and determine if the stitches could be taken out. He was lucky that the bullet angled enough to pass between his rib cage and miss his shoulder blade, ripping a hole through both sides of his body. If the bullet had hit his shoulder blade things would have been much more difficult to heal.

Micah had been taken into custody and sent off to Sisika the following day, on trial to be hanged, but Arthur had a sick feeling that he’d escape death’s grasp again. And Dutch…

Arthur pushed through the fever he developed to go bury him. Angelo went with him along with a crew of people to ‘help dig’, but Arthur knew this experience had shaken Angelo and he feared another attack. Dutch got his death wish and was buried beside Hosea, but Arthur didn’t think he’d be able to forgive him for a long while.

Shortly after his burial, Angelo surprised Arthur with a vacation home in Roanoke Ridge, not too far from the border of Lemoyne, but far enough that the weather was more pleasant for a healing gunshot wound. Angelo was nervous to stay in the city for the time being, but Arthur accepted the gift as Angelo giving him a place away from the muck of the city. It was a quiet place with an old farmhouse that was renovated to Angelo’s likings, a modest stable barn, and a large pasture that Silver Dollar was enjoying. Guards still lurked around the homestead, but for Arthur, this is all he ever wanted in life.

Someone knocked on the door making Arthur jerk up and hiss as the movement stabbed his shoulder. “Come in.” Arthur rumbled, brushing his hair out of his face. He needed a haircut.

Angelo peeked his head in, smiling at seeing Arthur sitting upright. “Ah, buon pomeriggio, amore mio. How was your second nap for the day?” Amusem*nt seeped into his tone making Arthur shake his head with a chuckle.

“Listen, darlin’, the older I get the harder it is to heal from sh*t like this. When I was twenty I was doin’ chores two day safter being shot.”

“I’m sure.” Angelo stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Aren’t you cold with that window open?” He shivered and unrolled the sleeves of his button up, looking at the waving curtains.

“Psh, this is the perfect weather, sorry yer a lizard and need muggy heat.” Arthur stuck the tip of his tongue out at Angelo before taking a deep breath to emphasize his point.

“Ha-ha-ha. Can you tell how amusing that was?” Angelo sat on the edge of the bed, glancing at Arthur’s open journal. “How’s your wound feeling today?” He tilted his head to get a better look at the sketch of Silver Dollar grazing.

“‘Bout how you’d expect. Sore as hell, but still not as bad as when that doctor was diggin’ around to make sure no bone fragments were in the tissue.” Goosebumps erupted over his arms at the traumatic memory.

“Hmm, do you need more morphine?” Angelo’s lips pursed, not wanting to administer something so addictive, but not wanting Arthur to be in pain.

“Nah, I’ll survive a lil’ pain.” He didn’t wanna go down that slippery slope that Reverend Swanson went down. “What have ya been up to today?”

Angelo scoffed and threw his arms up. “Matteo wants me to return to the city for some business, but I believe he is sick of dealin’ with Guido. He sent not one but two messengers today, both saying Matteo needed me.”

“I mean… I wouldn’t wanna deal with that brat either…” Arthur reached for his journal to close it, sticking his pencil between the pages.

“I still do not understand it. Guido saved your life, and you still resent him.” Laughing breathlessly, Angelo patted Arthur’s leg hidden under the sheet.

“‘M almost positive that he only came to look for me ‘cause he thought it’d be humorous to find me lost in the mansion. But I will admit, I do appreciate ‘m showin’ up when he did.”

“I also appreciate him showing up when he did…” Angelo worked his jaw while rubbing Arthur’s shin up to his knee.

“When do ya leave for Saint Denis?” Arthur reached to place his hand over top of Angelo’s.

Angelo huffed, shifting to face Arthur and interlocking their fingers together. “I should return this evening, so I can see what problems Matteo needs fixing tomorrow. Blah.”

“Well,” Arthur shied his eyes away from Angelo’s face, a blush heating his cheeks and ears, “guess we should say our goodbyes now then, yeah?”

“You vixen. Are you sure your shoulder can handle that, caro?” Angelo’s hand crept up Arthur’s leg, massaging the muscle of his thigh.

“Been told intercourse makes a good pain reliever-”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Angelo grinned, leaning forward and examining Arthur like his next meal.

“I’d rather not say.” Arthur laughed, relaxing back into his pillows, bringing his knees up in a bent position. “Ya should also know ‘m not exactly wearin’ anything under this sheet.”

“My, my, you are a little minx today aren’t you?” Angelo scooted up to cup Arthur’s jaw, soothing his hand down to hold his throat.

Arthur gasped at the gentle pressure on his neck, his eyelids growing heavy with an influx of arousal. “Well, I’ve been laid up fo’ four weeks. There’s a li’l pent up frustration.”

“When we first met didn’t you tell me you hadn’t felt a sexual touch in years?” co*cking his head to the side with a wicked grin, Angelo dipped down to press a chaste kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “You just can’t get enough of me can you, mio amore?”

“Now hang on, don’t be gettin’ such a big ego-” Arthur’s retort was cut short with an elongated groan as Angelo’s free hand slipped down to rub between his legs through the soft sheet. The fiction of the high-thread count made his member jump to attention, an angry blush flooding its way down Arthur’s face to his chest.

“Hmm, me? Big ego? I can’t believe you think so little of me, Arthur Callahan.” Angelo grinded his palm down onto Arthur’s bulge, but lightened up and swiped his thumb pad over the growing beard Arthur had formed. “You still have to tell me how you came up with that last name… but if you do become in too much pain, say a vegetable of some kind.”
“What like tomato?” Arthur blinked a few times, his shoulder’s pain already ebbing to the background as an animalistic sexual urge lit his body aflame.

Angelo chuckled and pressed another kiss to Arthur’s forehead, before grabbing the sheet and flinging it from his body. “Tomato is a fruit, but that will do.”

Arthur squawked when the breezy air slid over his bare torso and legs like a snake. “Tomatoes ain’t a-” The crime lord wrapped his warm hand around Arthur’s dick, silencing him.

Angelo massaged up Arthur’s shaft, following a vein up to the apex right under the mushroom head tip. Arthur sighed in contentment and let his upper body relax into the pillows as his hips twitched into the heavenly touch. The hand on his co*ck encased the head, squeezing snugly, but ceasing movement.

“Tell me, Arthur.”

Arthur groaned in irritation, anticipation making his hands curl into the fitted sheet. “Goddamnit, Angelo-”

Angelo tightened his grip on both Arthur’s throat and his dick, tears sprining to Arthur’s eyes. “Ah, ah, ah, only obedient boys get what they want. So tell me, how much do you want me to f*ck you? Hmm?”

“Gah! sh*t…” Panting sharply, Arthur’s mouth went dry, his tongue flopping around his mouth like a beached fish. “I want ya to f*ck me, Angelo.”

“You don’t sound too excited or passionate, tesoro.” Feigning a pout, Angelo’s hand left Arthur’s dick, leaving it cold and pulsing for contact.

“I want you to f*ck me! I-I-” Arthur’s mind raced with words but none of them were right. God, why did Angelo insist on mind games as a form of foreplay? “I love when you f*ck me, it’s so… freein’ and makes me forget ‘bout everythin’ but you.”

Angelo’s tan skin went darker with a blush as his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Well, that wasn’t exactly what I was going for, but I suppose that will do.” Angelo’s hand returned to his groin, cupping his balls and rubbing the skin between his thumb and index finger. His lips connected with Arthur’s open mouth, teeth and tongues colliding in a spark of passion.

The pressure on his throat lifted, allowing sweet air into his lungs and making his head float. Arthur ran his fingers through Angelo’s short hair, wrapping his legs around his midsection to drag him closer. Angelo grunted into his mouth when he planted his elbow next to Arthur’s head to keep from crushing down on his bandaged chest.

Pulling back with a string of saliva connecting their mouths, Angelo fixed Arthur with a scolding look that Arthur only smiled innocently at despite his rudy cheeks. “You are a sly one, Arthur. It is a shame though that your chest is covered up…” Angelo sat back onto his knees, tracing his fingers down the cotton bandage to where his erect nipples bowed the material.

Arthur’s back arched when Angelo brushed over his nipples, circling them and pushing down on them like buttons. “Ha-ah! D-don’t seem to deter ya too much!”

“No, I suppose not.”

Angelo snickered and dragged his palm down Arthur’s belly to join its twin in teasing his dick. Arthur pushed away the dark thought about how his belly was no longer as solid as it used to be. The pasta and desserts Angelo’s houseworkers constantly fed him had turned him soft, even his pants started to fit a lot tighter, and being on bed rest certainly didn’t help the situation.

“Now that won’t do. Can’t have you falling into that dark little mind of yours,” Angelo chided, pulling Arthur’s attention outward with a firm stroke of his member and a poke to his entrance.

Arthur sucked in a breath through his teeth, feet curling at the twinges of pleasure mixing with the pain of his shoulder. His cheeks puffed out with an exhale when Angelo pushed a digit dryly into him.

“I’ll be right back, let me grab some petroleum jelly.” Angelo patted Arthur’s flank, not unlike a horseman giving their steed a job well done, and slid off the bed to the bedside table.

After tossing the container onto the bed, Angelo untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it. He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers before pushing back in between Arthur’s thighs, his underwear tented where his own arousal was hidden.

Angelo made sure Arthur saw him open the container of petroleum jelly and slather his index and middle finger in the pale yellow substance. Arthur bit his lower lip as Angelo kneaded his balls in one hand and slid the coated fingers down to his puckered hole. Arthur would not admit to the whimpering moan that sneaked out of his mouth as Angelo gingerly pushed one finger into him.

The digit inside of him curled, searching for that spot that Arthur knew would make him turn into a quivering mess. Thrusting in and out a few times to loosen him, Angelo added his second finger, a burning stretch making Arthur’s mouth fall open and his eyes flutter shut. Blinded, Arthur could feel the fingertips scrape along his insides, could hear Angelo’s quiet noises of appreciation and arousal, and could smell the sweat and humidity of sex in the air above them.

Stars danced behind his eyelids when Angelo brushed against his prostate. Fire licked up his spine to his head before turning to lightning that zapped through all of his limbs.

“AH! f*ck!” Arthur slapped his left hand over his mouth as a torment of sloppy moans pushed out of his throat.

Angelo attacked the spot with vigor, his smirk was evident in his low chuckle. Tears gathered in his eyes as his thighs and member spasmed helplessly, but the sensation stopped and Angelo’s fingers withdrew from him.

“Mi dispiace, tesoro. Can’t have you climaxing so soon.” Angelo shimmied out of his underwear, his dick curved slightly to the left and pumped full of blood.

Arthur wiped the smear of slobber from his mouth and looked at the ceiling to get his eyes uncrossed. “Ya just wanna be in me when I blow my load…” Arthur slurred as Angelo got more petroleum jelly to cover his co*ck.

“Look at you being so smart, caro.” Angelo condescendingly patted Arthur’s wet cheek before arching his back to bring his dick close to Arthur’s clenching hole. “Do oyu think you’ve been good enough to deserve this?”

Arthur swallowed and wiggled his hips to brush his co*ckhead agianst his entrance, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to get Angelo inside of him. “Y-yes, signore.”

Angelo clenched his jaw, his chocolate eyes flashing with mirth. “Say that again, Arthur.”

“Yes, signore,” Arthur said with a little more volume, licking his lips as his eyes darted from Angelo’s face down his tanned body.

“Bravo ragazzo.” Angelo shifted one of Arthur’s legs up above his shoulder, his tip playing at his hole before pushing in.

Arthur sighed in relief at the initial entrance, but winced when his co*ck reached the tighter part of his channel. With a few slow thrusts, Arthur accepted Angelo furth in until his neatly trimmed hair prickled against Arthur’s ass. He paused, fully seated in him, to catch his second wind. Arthur looked through his eyelashes at Angelo’s creased brow starting to gleam from sweat. He was handsome. Arthur might think himself ugly and old, but Angelo? Angelo was like well, an angel. His beautiful skin and sharp eyes mixing with his aged but not wrinkled face, Arthur left the air leave his lungs again.

How did he ever manage to gain his attention in the first place?

Angelo peeked an eye open to catch Arthur’s peering blue eyes, a smile slanting his lips. “You still comfortable?”

“Just f*ck me already, you beautiful bastard.”

Angelo barked a laugh and curled his arm around Arthur’s leg. An empty feel replaced Angelo as he slid out only to push back in with a faint squishing noise. Arthur craned his neck to watch Angelo’s length disappear into him, moaning and throwing his head back when Angelo’s head rubbed against his prostate.

Leaning forward to press himself firmly against Arthur, Angelo kneaded Arthur’s love handle and stomach in appreciation before rolling his hips to grind his shaft against Arthur’s insides. Arthur’s hand shot up to grasp at Angelo’s hand as a gasp tore its way out of his throat. Angelo created a firm, steady pace, going fully in and out so Arthur could feel the friction in his stomach. Pleasure built in Arthur’s groin, a slow climb that had Arthur vibrating with suspense.

Angelo grunted above him, struggling to keep an even pace as his body urged him to chase his high. Arthur interlocked their fingers together against his thigh, gazing up at Angelo who smiled and lowered down to kiss Arthur. Arthur hissed at the stretch in his hamstring, but rolled his lips against Angelo’s creating a bubble where it was only him and Angelo.

The wind blowing through the window, the distant sheep bleating, the scent of pollen, the stitches in his shoulder, all of it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Angelo’s body against his, their lips and fingers locked together and pleasure coursing through their groins. Arthur broke their kiss to press his forehead against Angelo’s, sucking in the hot air escaping Angelo’s mouth.

“I love you, Angelo.”

Angelo clenched his jaw as his thrusting stuttered, his hips smacking into Arthur’s swiftly and roughly. “I love you too, Arthur.”

Sparks erupted in Arthur’s stomach like the fireworks he saw at the Mayor’s party a year ago. His body tensed in an arch, a rain of his seed pushing out of his co*ck to paint Angelo’s torso. Angelo wasn’t far behind, filling Arthur’s insides with heat. Angelo gasped and choked on a laugh, his body jittering with aftershocks of his climax.

With a heaving chest, Arthur reached up to press his palm agianst his shoulder, a flash of pain making him grumble. Angelo slicked back his hair and gave him a concerned look.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“Naw, just a li’l tender is all, don’t worry, darlin’.” Arthur winked and pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Huffing in suspicion, Angelo petted up and down Arthur’s leg. “I’ll go get a towel and some water.”

“Add a flask of whiskey to that list!” Arthur grinned cheekily and carded a hand through his hair.

“Ha-ha-ha, not a chance until those stitches come out. After that Hell, you can drink all you want, caro.”

Arthur didn’t consider himself a good man. Every turn in his life led to bloodshed or heartache. He didn’t deserve a life of luxury. Yet… seeing his family hidden away and safe and knowing he helped get them there. He felt he earned at least a smidgen of selfish contentment, and if he found that contentment in Angelo Bronte, an Italian immigrant turned crime lord, then so be it.

He was never going to die being a good man, but he could spend the rest of his life being a happy one.