#had to use a heavy reference for arthur's hat which i feel a bit bad about

[skleech]

i don’t want to remember this life

[daintykeith]

RUN KID RUN

Title: Run Kid Run

Summary: Dutch and Hosea are trying to teach John how to read but he runs off after they got frustrated and Arthur goes deep into the woods looking for John.

Word count: 2298

Notes: mild cursing | brief scene despicting an almost hanging | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @onlytherocksliveforever

Happy late Christmas and Happy new year! I’m sorry I’m so late, this took me forever; I’ve been giving it a long thought and decided to comply to your second item in your wish list!

2) i love DUMB ASS John Marston and his better looking brother Arthur; give me a slice of life with the two of them pre-canon, or a story about them helping the other thru a tough time.

I’ve decided to combine both ideas and so this story came to be.

When Arthur was twenty-three, he saw a boy—dirty, savage and with a look in his eyes that had given up on living. This boy was with a rope in his neck, ready to be hanged. Dark gray with no reflection but death itself; no tears, no regret. Dead Eyes that held onto dear life with a fierceness reflected in his fists.

Next to the boy, an unnamed man spoke words of dead wisdom and nonsense which to the eyes of Arthur was meaningless.

“We have come to see the of law enacted. We will not sit idly by as people take the law into their own hands!”

Heavy kind of bullshit that Arthur didn’t enjoy a bit.

The crowd of the town roared loudly in excitement and agreement. For them, it was only entertainment, a show that made Arthur’s gut churn with anger. He tilted his hat lower and turned around, ready to move on. However, Dutch’s hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him.

“He looks like you did, a while ago,” Dutch said with a smirk before the gun in his hip shot the rope on the boy’s neck.

“He doesn’t.”

The boy’s shine returned in a glimpse that Arthur caught with both his eyes and heart. A will to fight and survive, to get the hell out of the mess that was about to start.

“What the hell Dutch?!”

“He was not meant to. Not yet.”

A sense of relief in his chest appeared with a long deep breath. He was glad for the boy that had gotten a chance to live, what was Dutch and Hosea thinking when they brought him into camp?

Arthur got wounded in the dirty fight they had in town for freeing the boy and he was resting in his tent, with Susan on his side cleaning his injuries. When Dutch and Hosea walked in, he asked: “What took ya’ so long?” with a warm grin that quickly faded into disbelief.

The boy stood between the two men, pouting his lips, frowning and crossing his arms as means to make himself more intimidating. The way Dutch smiled, looked and treated him with his gentle gestures and Hosea had given his jacket to protect him from the chilling breeze of that night was so familiar to Arthur; he had been in that place after all. What was that boy doing in camp? Similar to himself in the past, why did they needed to bring someone as intense and dumb as him? Wasn’t one dumb enough? He wondered.

“What’s your name, kid?” Arthur asked after he noticed Dutch’s gaze on him.

The boy stood silent.

“Come on boy, tell him.” Dutch crouched to his side and whispered words to him that Arthur wasn’t able to hear.

He remained silent.

When Arthur was twenty-four, he met the boy. A month had passed from his rescue and Arthur’s birthday quickly arrived with the cold and mean air of winter. There was no snow landscape yet, the skies had become dark and gray like the boy’s eyes and the fallen leaves

“John Marston,” the boy said with a mean streak that left Arthur with a bad taste in his tongue.

“Arthur Morgan.” He extended his hand to greet but John had already abandoned and left him with the words unsaid in his lips.

Arthur sighed and placed his hands on his gun belt; he could see John’s silhouette far away, hiding somewhere where he thought no one could see him, and grinned. A part of him still refused to acknowledge John, prouder than a bull and wilder than a cougar in a midnight sky, and another part of him found itself in that boy who slept with a knife under his pillow.

“John, come here!” Dutch called the next morning.

Arthur was laying in comfortably in his bed, with his worn-out leather hat covering his eyes, thinking about what to draw in his journal. A bird? A flower? An herb? His imagination was as dull as dishwater and his brain couldn’t tell skunks from house cats. Boredom was partly guilty of the dullness, too.

“John, come on.” From his closed tent, Arthur saw how Hosea’s figure grabbed John’s arm and took him somewhere beyond the reach of their shadow. A loud growl, from the boy, echoed through the whole camp that Arthur scoff. The boy was that stubborn?

The blue-eyed man closed his journal, stood up from his bed and walked out of his tent to do the chores of the day. As he chopped wood, he could see Dutch and Hosea, with John between them, sitting together in one of the round tables near the food station with a book in hand. This was going to be fun to see, Arthur thought.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Dutch said firmly. “Read this part here.”

“No,” John scowled.

“Why not? It’s not that hard if you try. Here. The king in his…” Hosea slowly talked

John went silent.

“Boy,” Dutch lowly growled.

Arthur swung his axe over the log and splat it in half. When he was putting the wood aside, he peeked at John. The boy had his arms crossed, frowning and giving the book in the table a deadly gaze. Did he hate reading that much? Arthur laughed to himself and got caught by Hosea who looked at him with disapproval. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He tried to slowly walk away, feigning ignorance, but the older man approached quicker than he predicted and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Arthur.” Hosea squeezed hard the shoulder blade and grinned in a way that created grimace in Arthur’s expression, “wanna’ join us? I thought I could show you the new book I got!”

Arthur grunted.

Just great. He knew Hosea’s way of scolding Arthur and thinking about it annoyed him, however, he didn’t expect to see Dutch vexed, red-faced and squeezing the book with both his hands, yelling to John.

On the other hand, Hosea was perplexed. He dragged his hands over his now tired face and sighed.

“He wasn’t this troublesome!” Dutch said to Hosea, referring obviously to Arthur.

Something in that statement made Arthur chest puff in pride. Oh boy, he really liked that. Even if he refused to acknowledge this feeling to everyone else, he liked it when Dutch or Hosea praised him.

Arthur remembered the days when Dutch and Hosea were teaching him to read. Hot summer days, mosquitoes everywhere and that smell he couldn’t forget, berries and lemon, which brought his mind ten years back, when he was a thin, small and young boy. He grinned to the loveable thought and looked at Dutch fighting with John.

“Dutch, what’re ya doin’!? Don’t ya’ grab him like that and rub his head!”

“I know he can do it, but he’s not even trying!”

Something Arthur knew is that Dutch would take as “true” whatever he assumed; and hardly took back his words—standing for what he believed, a true blessing for the wise and a curse for the ignorant. Later on, Arthur didn’t know which of those Dutch was. A true mystery until the very end.

“Dutch, calm down, you’re gonna scare ‘im…”

“But I know he can—"

“Shut up, you pair of dimwits!” Susan yelled from afar as she sewed one of Arthur’s shirt.

And before any of them could say any further word, John slammed his hands against the table and ran away into the woods that surrounded the camp.

“Get back here, boy!”

What a mess. When Arthur saw no signs of Dutch calming down or Hosea backing down, he decided to look out for the now goner.

“John! Where are ya’!?” Arthur yelled as he stomped over some broken sticks. Definitively John.

“Ya’ damn bastard, dontchu’ ever get tired?” he whispered to himself, wondering as he furrowed his brows and rushed his pace.

As he walked deeper into the woods, the stars that normally would be faded under sunlight, had come out without any shame, telling Arthur to hurry. The breeze got colder and the sky darker and even if he found clues of where he could have gone to, the boy sure knew how to keep out of sight. He was going nuts; what the hell was the kid running from?! He had nothing to run from and nowhere to go, what was he thinking?

“John!” He called once more before he heard a gasp to his side.

The moment he turned his head, he saw a terrified boy who had fallen into the ground. Unlike the first time he saw him, fierceness shone in his eyes despite of the fear that his thin body could not hide—however, that didn’t mean it wasn’t agile. He quickly got up into his feet and started running towards the glowing moon.

“Oh no, you ain’t!”

He could hear John’s broken breathing and how he gasped for the air he didn’t have; it broke Arthur’s heart.

“Watchu’ running from, kid?!”

Arthur got closer with every step he took and grabbed without any restrains John’s wrist to stop him, quite brusque for his liking but there was nothing he could do. Those iron eyes gazed at him with the loathe and anger he deserved which left a sour flavor in his mouth. John struggled to free himself from Arthur’s grip but it only got stronger.

“Lemme ask you again, kid. Watchu’ running from?”

John struggled again and Arthur grabbed his other wrist. He took a deep breathe and closed his eyes for a moment. Was it this hard for everyone else to deal with him? Being a kid in the streets wasn’t easy, it roughens you up in a way that shatters what you truly are, breaking and eventually rotting every corner in your mind. But he was no kid in the streets no more, he could finally begin living and not just survive.

“He wanted to kill me,” John replied in a quick low whisper.

Arthur raised a brow. “Dutch was shootin’ his mouth off and by now Hosea and Susan must have given ‘im a black eye for that.” He tried to sound reassuring.

“Let go!” John fought with all his strengths to free himself; Arthur tightened his grip.

“Listen to me, kid. You got nothing to run from; here you got a bed, food and people who want ya’—”

“Dead…” John interrupted.

“Let me finish! Goddamit—as I was saying. None of ‘em want ya’ to be a goner.”

“How can I trust you? They all said I was an idiot, useless. They all hate me and they’ll kill me. It’s better if I’m gone.”

“We’re family.” Arthur meant it. He had found a part of himself in the little black-haired boy that wanted to keep running; running to never look back, from all the things he didn’t deserve.

“We ain’t.”

“Listen to me you little piece of…! You became part of us the very moment Dutch cut that rope on your neck and brought you into the camp.”

“Still; that doesn’t mean I can trust you guys. You’re outlaws.”

John wasn’t buying a single bit of what Arthur was saying. Shit. At this rate he was gonna run off by himself and God knows what would happen to him.

“They took me in when I was your age.” John’s eyes widened in curiosity; “I… well, my momma died when I was real young and my daddy… let’s say I wish he did too. They taught me how to read and Hosea taught me how to draw.”

Despite of the nervousness inside him, Arthur took the journal out of his satchel and gave it to John without letting go of one of his wrists. He eagerly flipped through the pages and stopped to look at some of the drawings it contained; some of the graphite stuck into his fingers, but it didn’t stop him from eyeing with detail each illustration.

“Why didn’t ya’ read? Back then, when Dutch and Hosea asked you to.”

There was a long pregnant pause. “I did—read it, I mean. I, uh, wasn’t sure to er, say it out loud.”

“Really?” Arthur smiled from ear to ear. “See? You’re smart, John! Ya’ ain’t that bad, there’s potential.”

John blushed at Arthur’s praise and kept looking at the drawings until he reached the last one, that page that had remained blank for the whole day.

“They are family to me. Family is everything; I’d die for it.” His voice didn’t shake even once.

John closed the journal and gave Arthur a gaze full of admiration that Arthur wasn’t worthy of. He could be one nasty son-of-a-bitch, rash to anger and emotions; unfamiliar to giving inspirational speeches like Dutch would do or smooth-talking like Hosea the Conman.

“And I will…” he stuttered, “I, uh…”

“You what.”

“I won’t let them kill ya’; just in case.”

A mischievous grin appeared in John’s face. “That won’t stop me tho.”

Arthur had let his guard down. John escaped from his grip and started to run the fastest he could. Where the hell was he going to and, most importantly, where the heck had he gotten all that damn energy from?

“Cuz’ I’ll kill ya’ myself, you little piece of shit!”

“Thank you, brother” John screamed in the distance.

“You ain’t got the right to be my brother!” Yet, he wanted to say but kept it to himself.

That day, when Arthur was twenty-four, his family grew by one member. Even if mocked him every now and then and behaved like assholes, it was the most important thing to Arthur. It was everything he had—not like money or gold; those two could go straight to hell unless Dutch and Hosea gave the word.

[saccharine-honnebee]

On Three, We Jump

- Arthur Morgan x Reader - 

Word Count: 5000~ boy howdy

Notes Before the Fic: I think i went a little overboard on this :/

--

It was quite the risk to rob the wealthy family you'd been serving for the past few years, you'd told yourself this countless times. 

You had no prior experience in thievery, no sort of reference to go by, and certainly no guarantee you'd even get five feet away from the Miller estate before being found out. 

All you had going for you was a burning determination, and a few sparks of luck. 

It just so happened that the Miller family was just about the stupidest group of people you'd ever met.

They were far too trusting with their house staff, they told them everything, from where the safe that held their family fortune was kept, to how much was in there, and never seemed to be aware in the slightest that this information could be used against them.

So far it hadn't, and that, more than anything, felt like a sign to seize the opportunity while it was still in your grasp.

All five of them (a mother, father, older sister, and two younger brothers) were leaving for a holiday out in one of their various houses in the countryside, taking with them a few important members of their house staff, and sending the rest away for the week. That left you, one of their most trusted servants, all alone, to take care of their home while they were away.

You were giddy when you were helping the daughter pack her suitcase, and you were practically vibrating as you watched them pile in to one of their carriages, waving farewell along with the rest of the house staff.

By sundown, it was just you, alone in the estate, and after checking and rechecking you had all the supplies your saddlebags could carry, and your horse was safely munching on a pile of hay, hitched to a post you could see from the window of the upstairs drawing room, you finally felt secure enough to begin.

You could feel a slight shake in your hands, from both nerves and excitement as you gripped the handrail of the grand staircase, and made your way towards the oldest daughter's bedroom.

You already knew you wanted to start there. That girl owned more pieces of jewelry than any one person should be in possession of, and you knew several items that you could live off for months that would hardly be missed.

Even so, as you reached the top of the staircase, you found your glee fading ever so slightly as you met the passive gazes of the large family portrait that hung at the entrance of the second floor.

Looking at their painted faces, you couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of guilt dampening your spirits.

You had spent years with these people, getting to know them under the good, steady paying job they had given you. And they had never treated you nearly as bad as you knew other families were to their servants. You could live a decent life here with the Miller’s, if you wanted to.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? You didn't want to.

You didn't want to live the rest of your days living the life of a servant while waiting on a family that had more money than they'd ever spend, not when you could take some of that wealth for and go live the life of freedom and self-dependence you'd always wanted.

You wanted better for yourself, knew you deserved better, and you were going to get it by any means necessary.

You turned your nose up at the portrait and walked right past it. You could feel remorse later, right now you had a job to do.

Finally reaching the eldest daughter's room, you immediately go for her vanity, and quickly opened all the drawers you knew she stashed her jewelry in.

You felt a tingling sense of excitement as you rummaged through the overflowing drawers, and you can suddenly picture yourself as a skilled thief or conman, the kind whose name was known by all but seen by few, and could rob the pants off a man and be half way across the country before he’d even notice they were gone. The kind of person who lived by their own rules, away from the strict hierarchy of civilization.

How childish, to be dreaming about such things while doing something so monumentally real, but you couldn't deny how thrilling that fantasy was when you actually pictured yourself in that situation. 

Once you had taken all the jewelry you dared, you plan to visit the parents room next, you knew the mother had plenty of jewelry as well, and you’d always admired the father’s pocket watch collection- 

Suddenly, the sharp sound of shattering glass cuts through the silence around you, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest in panic. 

The first thought to pop into your head was that the family had returned, and you'd be caught red-handed before you’d even began. Then you think, of course it isn't them. If the Miller’s were back, they would have simply walked through the front door.

No, whoever was in the house with you (and you could definitely tell there was someone now, you could hear them stumbling about through the shattered window) must be here to do the same thing you were.

Not on your watch.

You weren't about to have your one-way ticket to freedom be stolen or forcibly shared. Whoever was down there was either going to be walking out of here empty handed, or never walking anywhere again. 

You had planned to try to off them with the pistol you knew the father kept under his pillow, but before you could try to sneak out of the room, you hear the footsteps of the intruder start to make their way up the stairs.

You curse, knowing there wasn't anything in this room lethal enough to make this quick, so you pad over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room as quietly as you can and stuff yourself inside. The element of surprise will have to be your weapon of choice.

The sound of heavy footsteps reaching the top of the stairs can be heard from inside the dark cupboard, and as they entered the bedroom, the ominous sound made your heart race and your palms sweat, but at the same time, only fueled your determination. 

You listen for a few moments as they walk further into the bedroom, and thank your lucky stars when for some reason, they pause before the wardrobe. 

Taking a slow, deep breath to steel yourself, you place your hands flat against the back of the door, then shove it open with all of your strength. 

You feel great pride in the sharp smack you hear as the wood comes in contact with the intruder’s nose, and you watch him stumble back from the force of it, clutching his nose in his hands and groaning, before you throw yourself at the man and tackle him to the ground.

He hits the floor with a thud, his hat detaching itself from his head on impact, and looking properly disoriented as you straddle his chest. As much as you'd like to take the time to pat yourself on the back for taking down what you can now see is a very large, well built man, you have a job to finish, and you pull back your fist, ready to deliver what you hope will be another disorienting blow to his throat.

Before you could even try, suddenly it's you who’s on their back, as the man looms over you in a dark silhouette. His big, rough hands have your wrists pinned to the ground, and it seems he's every bit as strong as he looks, any attempt you gave to try to wiggle yourself free was proven fruitless as he held you down with his weight. The bandanna he wore over the lower half of his face forced you to stare directly into his eyes, which were currently regarding you with something you couldn't quite discern at the moment, too blinded by your own frustration at this turn of events.

"Back off," you growl. "This house is mine, find somewhere else to loot."

The look in his eyes changes, brows pinching together as he leans back from you slightly. 

“Aint you a house servant?” 

His eyes flick downward across your body, and you were nearly offended, until you realized he was merely looking at the uniform you were still wearing.

"So?" You spit back.

He’s quiet for another moment, thinking, and you can already tell you wont like what he comes up with as you watch the gears turn in his head. 

“So that must mean you know where everything is around here.”

"And what makes you think I'll tell you?"

He sits up slightly and shifts both of your wrists into one hand, and you watch as his other goes to wraps around the handle of the gun against his hip.

You tense at the sight of it, and just know he's smirking at you under the bandanna.

"That enough to convince you?"

You chew at your lip and seethe, the last thing you want is to admit is that he has you intimidated.

"Listen," he starts again, hand moving up to the piece of fabric covering his mouth and hooking a finger under it. "I didn't come here to hurt you. And so long as you behave we can keep it that way. Now here's what I'm suggesting-"

He undoes the bandanna and brings it down to your wrists, and you would've started squirming again if it wasn't for the sudden realization that hit you as you stare up at his now unobscured face- you seen this man before, on a wanted poster. This was none other than, Arthur Morgan a notorious outlaw with a hell of a bounty on his head, and now he was here, pinning you to the ground and proposing a deal. 

"You're gonna show me where the family's safe is," he continues, voice low and threatening as he secured the fabric around your wrists. "And help me get it open. And if you can do that without causing me any trouble, I'll let you take anything else in the house, and we can pretend neither of us saw the other."

Of course he was after the safe, you wouldn't be surprised if the whole country knew the Miller’s kept all their riches within their home. And sure, they had plenty of nice things that would fetch a pretty penny once you pawned them off, but they couldn't provide a life long support like the money in that safe could. So even though there was a very real fear starting to speed up your pulse as you looked down at your bound wrists, now as the mercy of this incredibly dangerous man, there was also an idea forming on how you could turn this situation back into your favor. 

"Alright," you conceded, trying to make your voice sound small and unassuming, and he nods.

"Good choice."

Finally he gets up off of you, then pulls you up to your feet by the bandanna between your wrists.

"The safe is behind the family portrait at the top of the stairs," you grumble, and he nods, leaning down to pick up his hat and place it back on his head.

"Shoulda guessed," he chuckled to himself. "Thing's too ugly for anyone to keep around without a good reason." Then he grabbed you by your wrists again, and all but drags you back to the top of the stairs.

Now standing in front of the large painting, you watch from behind him as he inspects the intricate frame, before finding the side that unlatches, and swinging it open like a door. 

While he’s distracted, you test your bonds, frustrated to feel that there’s practically no give whatsoever. You might be forced to chew yourself free if you couldn't find something to cut it with. 

“You know the combination?” He asks, drawing you from your plotting. 

You shake your head. “The Miller’s are stupid, but they aint stupid enough to just give away that kinda information to anyone.” 

He sighs, sounding tired as he gets down on one knee so he can press an ear against the safe, then spins the dial a few times to reset it. “Guess we’ll just do this the old fashioned way.” 

You watch him for a moment as he goes through each number on the dial, waiting for a tell-tale click or the feeling of some resistance, while you try to think of some way to incapacitate him once he’d finally gotten the thing open.  

Just as you were imagining strangling him with the bandanna around your wrists, and maybe even turning him in to the law to collect his bounty, you hear Arthur let out a frustrated groan. You’re surprised to see the safe door is open, considering the type of noise he made, until you step closer to peer inside, and see that instead of the overwhelming riches you both had been expecting, there’s a metal box sitting there with yet another lock keeping it shut. 

You make a noise of disbelief, surprised that the Miller's of all people would think to take extra precautions, and suddenly you're very glad you didn’t attempt to strangle Arthur the moment the safe was opened. 

“Don’t suppose you know where the key to this is?” he asks, inspecting the silver padlock for a moment then letting it clatter back into place. 

You shake your head again. “I didn't even know that was in there.” 

He seems annoyed, but not overly bothered by this new hurdle to jump over, as he fishes a small, curved metal tool out of his boot, assuring this was nothing he hadn’t handled before. 

You watch curiously as he sticks the metal piece into the lock, twisting it one way or the other until there's some give, then he turns back to you.

"You think you can find me a hair pin?"

You nod, now feeling almost eager to aid him in this task, and scurry back off to the daughter’s bedroom, in search of a pin without any sort of ornamentation on it. 

You can feel the same tingling sensation in your fingertips from before as you sift through the various drawers. Just earlier this night, you’d been imagining yourself as an outlaw, and now here you were, working side by side with a real one to steal from the wealthy and dole out your own personal sense of justice against a world that had forced you to the bottom of the food chain for far too long. It felt almost dirty to admit, but you like this feeling, going against the law to strike back at the system that held you down in the lowly position you were born into. 

You liked it so much in fact, that it had you dutifully marching back to Arthur, presenting a single, plain hairpin with both of your hands still bound, the thought of attempting to loosen the bonds while you were left unsupervised never even crossing your mind. Not when all that money was so close you could taste it. 

You lower yourself onto your knees when he pats the ground beside him. 

“You're gonna help me with this,” he says softly, plucking the pin out of your hands, then guiding you by the wrists up to the metal tool already stick out of the lock. “Hold that still for me.” 

You do, and you watch him as he slowly works the pin into the keyhole beside the piece you're holding. You watch him work in silence for several moments, his eyes cast off to the side as he envisions the inner workings of the lock and searches for the correct pins that will open it up. You almost assume he’s forgotten you were even there until he speaks up again. 

“So what are you doing, robbing the family you work for?" 

The question definitely takes you by surprise, and you debate for a moment on if you should even answer, if it would be wise to give up any information at all to a man like Arthur Morgan. 

“I just… don't want to be a servant anymore.” 

“And you’d rather be a thief?” You can see him looking at you from the corner of his eye, and the judgment behind his question irks you. 

“I would if it means I get to live freely.” 

He looks away after that, and you do too, suddenly very uncomfortable with the closeness between your bodies, but not daring to try and put some distance between you two, for fear of losing all of your progress if you shift in the slightest. 

“So what does that mean to you?” he starts up again, breaking the stretch of silence that had fallen between the two of you. “Living freely?” 

His question surprises you again, you didn't think a hardened criminal such as himself would care to know these things, and you have to stop and think for a moment to find your answer. 

You think about how you've felt tonight, fancying yourself an outlaw like him, someone who roamed as they pleased, dodging the law and pulling schemes, and never having to dust a piece of ancient furniture in a stuffy parlor for the third time in two days. 

You told yourself that the first thing you would do with your money, if you were successful, would be to buy a nice plot of land and spend time lying low and making it a home, that that would be all you would need in life, but now when you thought of the future, it was clouded by that wonderful spark of adrenaline you felt when you committed acts that would surely have you doing time if anyone were to find out. 

Was that life what you really wanted?

You spend some more time wondering how you would put any of that into words for Arthur, but before you could even begin, he's suddenly turning to you with a triumphant look on his face, as the lock finally clicks open. 

You untangle your limbs from each other as you slide your tools free, and you both leave the previous question unanswered as you crowd yourselves around the metal box in anticipation. 

“Let’s hope there ain't a third box in here,” he says as he grips the sides of the lid, and you would’ve chuckled if the suspense wasn't starting to eat at you.

Loud, theatrical sighs of relief are let out by the both of you as the sight of several stacks of green bills come into view.

Arthur quickly counts through them, and just as you get to your feet, remembering your earlier plans to cross him, hes grabbing you by your satchel, and stuffing a good amount of cash into it. 

"Sixty/forty," he says, when you give him a bewildered look, and you struggle to find your words. 

“I… thank you.” There was definitely much more to this man than you thought.

He just shrugs and goes to stand himself. "You helped get the thing open, s'only fair."

The rest of the money fits into his back pocket, and you watch him for a moment, before blurting out, "I didn't think wanted men cared about fairness."

He pauses long enough for you to begin to question if it was a bad idea to let him know you knew who he was, as you watch multiple emotions flash across his face.

"Decent ones do," he answers after a long, deafening silence, and something about the way he says it sounds loaded.

A moment longer and you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself from asking if he was one of them, but then you hear it- the clatter of carriages coming down the pathway.

You tense, and Arthur frowns.

"That ain't-?"

"It is."

For whatever reason, the Miller's had returned, not even a full day from what was supposed to be a week long trip, and were going to come home to see their entire fortune shared between the pockets of you and a notorious outlaw.

Arthur grabs you by the wrist, and tries to lead you down the stairs, but you stop him, you had a better idea. 

“This way,” you whisper, leading him further down the hallway till you reach the drawing room. 

He throws open the doors, and you both slip inside and out onto the balcony. Over the railing, you could see that thankfully your horse was exactly where you left them, beside a pile of hay that looked cushioned enough to not break the bones of someone hurtling towards it from two stories up. 

“We’ll have to jump,” you tell Arthur, who had no doubt already assumed your plan, as he stared wearily down to the ground. 

“On the count of three,” you attempt to offer as you throw a leg over the railing. But before you could even say ‘one’, Arthur had already jumped, taking the plunge and landing safely in the sea of hay below you.

You watch him shamble to his feet in disbelief, ready to curse him out for what seems to be his betrayal, ditching you to be found by the family and take the fall for everything, only for him to turn back around, arms held out high above his head, looking to you expectantly.

"Come on, I'll catch you," he says, as quietly as possible for it to still reach your ear.

You have to stifle a laugh at the almost... chivalrous act, mainly at how unnecessary it is, but you appreciate the thought behind it. 

You almost wanted to make him wait for a moment, just to tease him, but then the faint sounds of an opening door and confused voices reaches your ears, and you're throwing your other leg over the railing and pushing the rest of your body off of it. 

The fall is short, with little time to panic, and you're safe in the arms of Arthur Morgan before you even registered you'd left solid ground.

Instead of grabbing you by the bandanna around your wrists like he's been doing so far, he chooses to hoist you over his shoulder and carry you over to your horse (you would've scolded him for it if its wasn't over so fast), and tosses you stomach-first onto its back, before unhitching the reins and mounting as well.

He whistles, sharp and pointed and you cringe at the sound of it, knowing it wasn't doing anything to help keep your location a secret.

A second goes by, and then another horse is coming into view, and a beat after- just like you feared, one of the Miller sons.

"Hey!" He shouts, pointing at Arthur with fear in his eyes, and you can only imagine how this must look. One of their servants, bound at the wrists and thrown over the back of a horse with a dangerous looking man dressed in dark colors at the reins. At least you'll be more likely to be remembered as a victim than a suspect.

Without another thought, Arthur spurs your horse forward, and into the surrounding forest, his own horse easily keeping pace, and you watch the house go as pure adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You felt triumphant, a little annoyed by the constant jostling of your body as Arthur rode hard and fast away from your pursuers, but triumphant nonetheless.

You've done it, you actually managed to pull it off. 

Eventually, Arthur comes to a spot in the trees he deems safe enough, and slows both your horses down to a trot, before stopping them completely. 

He dismounts, then goes to grab you around the waist to help you to your feet, chuckling when he catches the look on you face- wide eyed a breathing heavy from the peril, but with a hint of a smile on your face.

"That always gets the heart pumpin’," He laughs, two steadying hands on your shoulders as you find your feet again.

When you're no longer swaying in place, he finally goes to undo the knot keeping your wrists bound, and you watch him with silent admiration for the ease with which he works your free. He rubs at the skin of your wrists with those big, rough hands to get the blood flowing again, and suddenly it's the nicest feeling in the world. You let him work his magic, telling yourself you're simply too tired to wave him off, but really, you know you just like the feel of his hands on you. You almost suspect he knows too. 

When he finally pulls away from you, you’re brought back to the present, and your high starts to fade ever so slightly with his next question. 

“So,” he starts, as his horse comes up to him, and starts to nudge at him until he gave it a few pats. “You know what you're gonna do now?” 

“Well,” you say, slipping your bag off your shoulder and attaching it to your own horse’s saddle. It turns its head to you, and you offer a few reassuring strokes to its coat. “I didn't get nearly as much as i was planning to. I should be alright, though. But I might have to find work somewhere else.” 

When you turn back to Arthur, it's clear he's thinking something over, almost looking like he's about to offer you something, but you continue before he could say whatever was going on in that head of his. 

“That, or I could just pull this scheme again. Being a criminal don’t seem too bad now. You wouldn't happen to need a partner in crime, would you?” you ask, only slightly joking.

He doesn't look very pleased at your words as he shakes his head. 

“Trust me, a life of honest work is better than running from the law. More suited for someone like you.” 

“‘Someone like me?’” you repeat accusingly, and he nods as his hands go to rest on his belt buckle. 

“Don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m just saying, if you have any other options, you best take ‘em.” 

You take a step towards him, a smirk forming on your lips. “I think you just don’t want any competition.”

“I think you’d be dead in a week if you tried to live the way I do-”

“You're just afraid I’ll be better at it than you,” You tease, taking another step forward. “Robbin’ every homestead before you even get the chance.” And another. 

You're practically chest to chest now, and the glare he's giving you would've been deadly if you didn't like being the cause of it so much. 

“What,” you say, giving him a playful pout. “You don’t think I’d be any good at it?”

“I think you need to appreciate what you have now,” he says in a low rumble of a voice, nodding over to where your satchel rests against your saddle.  

“Oh, well, then let me thank the man who made it happen.”

You weren't sure if it was the last bits of your adrenaline wearing off, or if something really has been awakened in you, but right at that moment, something about being in the presence of Arthur Morgan made you feel reckless and dangerous, yet invincible at the same time. So with almost no thought to your actions(there was very little thinking done tonight), you took a risk and threw your arms around his waist to bridge what little distance there was still left between you, and smash your lips into his. 

His whole body immediately tenses, and even tries to pull away, but you've got a firm hold on him, and after his initial knee-jerk reaction, he seems to relax ever so slightly into it, and you swear you felt him lean into you. But you're pulling back soon after, can’t let him enjoy it too much.

You try to rein in your smile when you see the way he tries to keep his face hard and impassive while blushing bright red like a tomato, the color clear as day even under the shade of night, and you wonder where that big, tough outlaw from before went. 

You drag your hands across his sides, letting one of them crawl up his chest and ghost over the exposed skin at the opening of his shirt, pleased to see him watching it, while the other went to rest behind your back. 

“See you around, Cowboy,” you whispered, finally pulling away to back up towards your horse, taking great pleasure in the way he tries to hide behind the brim of his hat, and fiddle with his belt buckle to avoid looking into your eyes any longer.

Poor fool must not have been kissed in some time, you think as you mount your horse and spur it onward, down the pathway to the new life you’ll make for yourself. He couldn't even tell you'd stolen his cut of the money right out of his back pocket. ‘Someone like you’ he said. Heh.

"Pool fool, indeed," you tell your horse, as you pat the stack of bills now safely tucked away in your own pocket.

"Hey!" You hear Arthur shout. It's faint, you've already put a good deal a distance between you, but you can still hear the rage in his tone, and it makes a smile spread across you face. "Get back here!"

You urge your horse into a full sprint, just about cackling as you tear down the pathway.

"You're gonna have to catch me first!" 

--

AN: Not necessarily a low effort fic, cuz there was an effort made, but it's definitely not meant to be a masterpiece. Just a bit of fun with a silly idea I thought of. So you're gonna have to forgive me if ol Artie is a little too ooc, I did get a bit carried away lol

Also there's not really any romance?? But trust me, I'm gonna make up for the lack of it here with the other fics I'm currently working on

And i think i gave the reader a bit too much of a personality, and for that I apologize, I’ll do my best to keep that to a minimum

I think a ‘I hope someone other than me can get something out of this’ is in order :P

((note to self: don’t ever try to post something when you’ve only gotten 3 hours of sleep. youll end up misspelling the title of your own fic))

[creative-type]

The Murder of Arthur Wright XI

First Previous AO3

Chapter Eleven: Bad Business

The walk to Fernando’s office was just long enough for Margot to thoroughly berate herself. She tried to keep her expression calm, but Cain’s betrayal cut deep. Margot knew not to trust him on blind faith, but they had been so busy there had been little time to do anything other than verify he was a licensed detective. Margot had allowed herself to be drawn by his affable manner and had forgotten they hadn’t even known one another a week.

Had it all been an act? When Margot thought about it, it seemed that Cain was accustomed to wearing different hats as the need arose. She remembered how he had manipulated Felix Wright into hiring him in the first place, and how different he seemed prior to their meeting with Anansi.

Reputation is a man’s greatest and most fragile mask. Look behind it at your own risk.

It seemed like it had been an age since Anansi dispersed those words of wisdom. Of course they had been referring to Felix Wright at the time, but Margot got the feeling like she was finally getting a glimpse past the façade Cain tried so hard to maintain.

And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

There was danger following him any further. Margot was confident in her ability to fight her way out of any situation, but that was nothing compared to the damage that would be done if someone recognized her. While the Academy’s good conduct policy didn’t specifically forbid professors from going into private meetings with known mobsters, she suspected that the Board of Directors would be none too pleased if they learned of her actions thus far.

It wasn’t funny, but Margot almost laughed anyway. Being fired was the least of her worries. This was the second time Cain had gotten her involved with the Casettis without her knowledge of consent. Already she had a known hitman talking about her with a bookie of what was likely an illegal gambling operation.  

“This way,” Tony said, leading them away from the cheering crowd to an office complex. It looked…deceptively normal. The dwarves were all in good spirits, making small talk with Cain and joking with one another. Though it was starting to get late, the sun still shone brightly in the sky. There was nothing dirty or off-putting, nothing shady that would tip off it was a center for criminal activity.

Finally Tony came to a stop and rapped his knuckles against the doorway. Like the restaurant that started this whole mess there were two entrances, one meant for dwarves and another for so-called big folk. There was no answer, and he knocked again.

“Open up, Fernando. You’ve got visitors.”

There were a few moments of silence before the door opened, revealing a silver-haired dwarf. He scowled at Tony before canting his neck up to Cain. Between a pair of dark glasses and bushy beard covering his mouth it was difficult to make out his expression. Margot supposed the glasses would almost be a necessity to keep from being blinded by the heavy rings he wore on nearly every finger. When he stroked his beard the sun glittered off of jeweled cufflinks, and it wouldn’t have surprised Margot if the chain of his pocket watch was made of gold.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised.

“What kind of greeting is that, Fernando?” Cain asked. “Can’t a guy come around for old time’s sake?”

The dwarf removed his glasses and cleaned them slowly with a kerchief. “Uh huh, I suppose not, but last time we talked you didn’t seem too keen on coming back.” His eyes shifted to Margot. “You brought a lady here? What kind of gentleman brings a lady into his business?”

“She’s the professor Viola was talkin’ about,” Tony said. “The one who fought the drath.”

“The one who saw Master Wright die,” Fernando said. There was something about his tone, the ease in which he said it, that put Margot on edge. He sighed, and returned his glasses back to their proper place. “I suppose you better come in.”

Margot and Cain entered through the appropriate door as Fernando directed Tony and his men to wait for them outside. The office was fastidiously tidy, with each quill and book in place. Fernando ambled behind his desk and clapped his hands. Two chairs, made to seat dwarves, sprung up in size.

“Handy spell, that,” Fernando said as they took a seat. “Enchanted by a guy on Twelfth Boulevard. He does great work.”

“Only the best for you, Fernando,” Cain said.

“Cut the *$!!@&#*, Cain,” Fernando said. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey now, no need to be hostile—“

“And what you doing, bringing a professor from Kemptson here?” Fernando said. There was dry hoarseness to his voice that reminded Margot of a tomb. “The Wizard may be gone, but her type don’t belong here. You should know that, and if you don’t someone otta be teaching you a lesson.”

Cain frowned, and reached for a stick of jerky. His expression was passive as stone, but Margot could see the sweat beading on his forehead. She slid her gaze back to Fernando.

Despite his diminutive size, there was no doubt who was in control of the room. If the jewels weren’t already a tipoff, it would have been impossible for Margot to mistake him for a mere bookie. The dwarf wielded menace like a weapon, and they were in his territory, playing by his rules.

Silently cursing Cain’s recklessness, Margot said, “I am sitting here, you know. It might help if you give us a chance to explain ourselves.”

Fernando’s moustache twitched. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her as if she were a bit of mud he had forgotten to scrape off his shoe. “Alright Professor, I’ll bite. Why in the nine hells are you here?”

“I need to talk with Felix Wright,” Cain said. “If he’s here, I thought it better to let you know before causing a scene at your establishment. You know, as a professional curtesy.”

“And if he’s not you figured I would know where to find him,” Fernando finished for him. He leaned on his elbows, the deep furrow remaining between his brows. “And what makes you think I waste my time looking after Felix Wright?”

“Viola said your Father knew him,” Cain said with a shrug. “Figured you were in business together.”

Fernando let out a harsh bark of a laugh. “As if I’d waste my time. Give him a century or two and he might be worth the effort, but I don’t deal in uncut gemstones. Brilliant mind, but without the common sense the gods bestowed on a common pudding.”

“But you know where he is?” Cain prompted.

“Comes in often enough, braying like the ass he is.” Fernando seemed to have come to the decision that they were not a threat. He reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle of spirits and three tumblers. “Can I tempt you? You won’t find better anywhere in the country.”

“No, thank you,”

“Naw.”

“Suit yourself.” Fernando poured himself a drink and took a bracing sip. “You still haven’t answered my question, Cain: What’s the deal with the professor?”

“Professor Margot is just a consultant for a case,” Cain said.

“And what case would that be?”

Fernando set his tumbler down and laced his fingers together. The intensity returned to his gaze, hidden as it was behind dark glasses, heavy and nearly overwhelming. He moved the ring on his left thumb a quarter turn, and the hair on the back of Margot’s neck prickled. Magic.

Margot called on her power, ready to activate the charms in her skirts, when Cain raised a hand to stop her.

“I just want to talk to Mr. Wright,” he said calmly. “I think you’ll find it mutually beneficial.”

The dwarf rested his hands on his desk. “Yeah?”

“If nothing else I can get him out of your beard for a day or two.” Cain said.

“That’s not good enough, Cain,” Fernando said.

Margot suddenly remembered a story one of her instructors told her years ago of a snake he’d come across while traveling. Before biting it would always shake a rattle on its tail. Fernando was like that rattlesnake, his words equal parts warning and threat.

“I’ve heard whispers, boy,” he continued. “You’ve been sniffing around where you don’t belong. You better be careful were you stick your nose. One of these days it’s gonna get cut off.”

Cain’s grin returned, wolf-like to Fernando’s snake. “It’s a good thing I just want to talk to Wright junior then, isn’t it? Hells bells, I’ll even stay on premises if you’re that jumpy.” He leaned forward as if sharing some conspiracy and stage whispered, “It’s almost as if you got something to hide.”

Fernando’s lip turned down in a silent snarl, flashing a glimpse of a golden tooth. “Tony!”

The door opened immediately. “Yeah boss?”

“Find the elf and bring him here. He was in the luxury box last I saw.” He whirled back to Cain, pointing one meaty finger at his chest. “And you get out of my sight. I’ll overlook your insolence this once. But you’d do well to remember, Cain, you get away with a lot as a friend of the Family, but you ain’t Family.”

“What in the world is going on here?”

Cain shook his head slightly, and said out of the corner of his mouth, “Not here, Prof.”

They were waiting outside of Fernando’s office, still watched by Tony’s goons. A glare from Margot was enough for them to back a respectful distance away, but there were undoubtedly surveillance spells marking their every move. Margot had already spotted two All-Seeing Eyes, only partially hidden by the natural shadows of the building. Who knew what else was watching them.

“Fine, but when this is over you owe me.”

“Fair enough.” The corner of his mouth twitched…was that in regret? Or frustration? “And I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I am sorry.”

Margot grunted. “You better be.”

Margot was more than content to give him the cold shoulder—perhaps literally, depending on how this turned out—but the stony silence only lasted between them a moment or two before she heard Felix complaining loudly.

“I’ve paid my debts, dwarf! You have no right to bring me here. I had twenty gold riding on that race! Unhand me, you scoundrel! Unhand me at once—“ His voice shriveled into a strangled croak when he finally saw Cain and Margot.

“You!”

“Us,” Cain said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and offered his friendliest smile. “Time to go home, Wright. Your wife’s waiting in my office.”

“Isabella?” Felix’s eyebrows drew together, a slur in his voice making it sound more like Izbell. His eyes were bloodshot, and Margot wondered if he was drunk or merely sleep deprived.

Margot had run out of patience either way. With a flick of her wrist she gathered a handful of water, drawing away enough heat to make it just the right side of freezing, and flung it at his face.

Felix yelped and strung together a string of Elvish curses, a few Margot recognized from her time with Lyra. It was hardly the sort of language a gentleman would use. Margot crossed her arms across her chest, unimpressed.

The scientist in her noted the dark bags under his eyes, the frumpled state of his clothes, the messy disarray of his hair with clinical detachment. The man who stood before her was nearly unrecognizable from the one she met at the mage’s conference, a mere shadow of the confident, charming man who was the face of his father’s research.

Her heart softened just a little. Estranged or not Felix had just lost his father, and people dealt with grief in different ways.

That iota of sympathy vanished when, still in Elvish, he suggested her mother had had inappropriate relations with an orc, which even if true would not have been something for Margot to be ashamed of, and she doused him a second time.

That sobered him enough to shut his mouth, and Cain shook his head. “You deserved that one, Wright. Now let’s get you home.”

Isabella was still waiting for them when they returned, which surprised Margot. She scrambled to her feet at the sight of them, her entire attention immediately drawn to her husband. The color left her cheeks, and her already-enormous eyes grew even wider as she covered her mouth with horror.

Stuck between Margot and Cain, Felix looked like a rat caught between a trap and a hungry cat. He swallowed hard, his expression crumpling with shame. “Isabella, I can explain…”

“I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Felix tried to meet his wife’s earnest expression, but was unable to.

“I know you’re eager to get him home, Mrs. Wright, but do you mind if I have a word with your husband?” Cain asked. “I private?”

Isabella looked very much like she wanted to refuse, but Cain didn’t give her the chance, half leading, half dragging Felix Wright but the collar into his office. Margot followed, and as soon as the door clicked behind them Cain traced a sigil that would prevent anyone from eavesdropping.

It was the first spell Margot had seen him perform halfway competently, and that made her think that he was forced to use it often.

“What do you want with me?” Felix muttered as he slunk into his seat. “Have you found Desdemona yet?”

Cain took his time in answering. He drew a stick of jerky out of his pocket, but didn’t put it in his mouth. His expression was hard. “Not as of yet, no. But there were some things I wanted clear up that would be a real help.”

“Well get on with it,” Felix said irritably.

“Alright then, I’ll cut right to the chase: Where did you go after Anansi’s play?”

Felix jerked spastically and threw himself to his feet. “What do you mean where did I go? I told you, I waited for my father—“

“And you lied,” Cain said calmly. “Again.”

For a moment Felix was speechless. His eyes bulged, his lips working wordlessly as he tried to speak but couldn’t. His arms went limp by his sides, and he fell back into the chair. “You think I did it.”

Felix laughed. It started as a disbelieving chuckle and grew in volume and intensity until his whole body was shaking with it. The more he tried to stop himself the louder it got, until he was howling hysterically. At that moment Felix Wright seemed less than sane, and Margot was grateful his wife wasn’t present.

“You…you th-think I did it!” Felix managed between halting breaths. “Me! Kill my own father, when he was about to make me more money than your plebeian minds can imagine.”

“Did you hear that, Cain, we’re plebeians now,” Margot drawled.

“Uh huh.” Cain started chewing on his jerky stick. “Mr. Wright, I’m not accusing you of anything, but it is imperative that we know the truth.”

“It seems to me that you already know the truth,” Felix said.

“Not from the horse’s mouth.”

“I’m beginning to think my faith in you was misplaced, Mr. Cain.”

“Please, Mr. Wright. Every little bit helps.”

Felix snorted disbelievingly. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He straightened himself in an attempt to appear proper, but the affect was undercut by the fact he was still a wet, sopping mess.

“Everything I told you about that illusionist’s performance was the honest-to-gods truth. Father went to confront him, and I went…out.”

“Where,” Cain interrupted sharply.

Felix’s mouth pulled down into a snarl, and he clenched his hands into fists. “I had just seen my sister come back from the dead. It…shook me. I needed some fresh air to clear my head. I took a walk around, and ended up at a tavern a few streets over. I stopped in for a drink.”

He looked up at Cain, and for a moment he looked vulnerable and lost. “I hadn’t gotten drunk since before my sons were born. I swore I never would again, but I just wanted to forget everything I saw. To pretend that it never happened. Some lads at the tavern started a game of cards, which turned to another and another, and before I knew it was two in the morning.”

“I don’t remember making it back to the hotel, but I must have,” Felix said, slumping back into his seat. “Father was furious, of course. We argued, but nothing we hadn’t argued over before, and I was in bed by three.”

“And your father?” Cain asked.

Felix shrugged. “He was still scribbling away in his little notebook. I don’t know if he slept at all. You remember, Professor, how distracted he was when I introduced you? It wasn’t like him to forget like that.”

“What exactly did you quarrel over, Mr. Wright?” Cain said.

Felix’s expression hardened. “What you must understand, Mr. Cain, is that my father cared only for his legacy. He could have stayed on at the University with a state of the art research lab and all the assistants he could have dreamed of and finished his research in half the time, but he insisted on doing everything alone. Or as alone as he possibly could. If he could have avoided working with me he would have, but he couldn’t, and I think he resented it.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, he wrote me for help developing some of his contingency spells,” Margot said.

“Ah, but it was his idea to write you, was it not?” Felix said. “And his idea to integrate your ideas into his research. And really, with all the contingencies he had already put into his device the spellwork you contributed was largely superfluous.”

“That didn’t stop it from blowing up,” Margot said.

“No, it didn’t.” Felix got to his feet, swaying slightly. “Now if you excuse me, my wife is waiting.”

“I may need to call on you another time,” Cain said.

“I pray to any god that cares to listen that won’t be necessary, but if it is you know where to find me.”

“Just one moment,” Margot said sharply. “I get what you were doing the night before the conference, but what about today? You wife was worried sick about you.”

“That’s none of your concern, Professor. Now kindly move aside.”

Margot stared down Felix Wright, and did not budge from the door. “What’s your connection with the Casettis?”

“Professor, let the man leave,” Cain said quietly.

“Do you realize what kind of damage Master Wright’s research could do if it got into those hands?” Margot asked. “Do either of you realize?”

“So first I’m a murderer, and now I’m in the pocket of a mob family,” Felix said scathingly. “Cain, have this woman step aside, or I swear I will move her myself.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“My business is my own,” Felix said, his voice icy cold. There was a look in his eye that was eerily reminiscent of his mother at her most imposing. Still Margot did not move. She needed answers, and she knew that Felix had them.

For a split second Margot thought Felix would attempt to hit her, but with visible effort he gathered himself back under control, and a terrible grin spread across his face. “You’re fired.”

“Excuse me?”

Margot couldn’t tell if she had said the words or Cain. Perhaps they had both spoken, but regardless of which of them spoke Felix’s gaze never left hers.

“I said you’re fired. A man knows when it’s best to cut his losses, and it’s obvious that you two are of no help to me.”

“Mr. Wright, please, I know today’s been a difficult day for you. Maybe once you get some rest—“

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Cain,” Felix said, his voice deadly calm. “I’m thinking more clearly now than I have since my father’s death. I gave you one simple task, and that was to find Desdemona and prove her guilt, and all you’ve done is upset my mother at my father’s funeral, distress my wife, and accuse me of murder. I put too much stock into the Westmacott name to see you for what you truly are: a fraud.”

“But your father’s death…”

“I don’t care about my father’s death,” Felix said. “In fact, the more time that passes the more I realize how little I care at all. So what if he was murdered? That changes nothing except I no longer have to suffer his hubris. My business is my own, and I’m more than capable of standing on my own two feet.”

This time when he moved for the door Margot stepped aside. His wife stood waiting, pale and worried. He didn’t spare her even a look as he brushed her aside. “Come along, Isabella. We’re going home.”

Isabella looked from her husband to Cain, eyes full of questions she dare not ask. As Felix put on his hat and coat she pressed a small pouch of coins into Cain’s hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “His father always did bring out the worst of him.”