𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 [ 𝘢.𝘮 ]

𝐒𝐈𝐗. Recognition

What she didn't expect was for gunshots to wake her the following morning.

Her body responds before her mind. She swiftly sits up while reaching for her holstered revolver. The gunbelt is resting on the floor, but it's still within reach. She wouldn't dare to do otherwise.

Although she has to show trust in order to gain theirs, it's nothing more than pretending. She doesn't trust these men one bit. Last night, along with her arrival, they had been overly enthusiastic to be in the company of a woman.

She'd felt creeped out. Yet, once she made signs of heading right to bed, which consisted of a very thin bedroll, they had left her alone. Still, the sneaky bickering and sideways glances didn't leave.

They never do.

A new round of gunshots slices through the air, the short-lasting thunder echoing within the walls. 

"What the hell?" she mumbles, brows drawing together. She heaves up to her feet, eyes heading straight to the window.

"Fucking Van der Linde scums."

At the sound of the voice, she whirls around. A man, who she instantly recognizes from last night, is standing by the far wall. The O'Driscoll was the first to approach her when she arrived. His clear smirk, lustful eyes.

By the looks of it, they're the only ones inside the cabin.

She exhales deeply, her gut clenching in disgust. Had he been watching her sleep?

Rolling her shoulders, she decides against keeping that thought in mind. It will only unnerve her further.

She frowns, the corner of her lips dragging downward. "Who?"

Van der Linde. The name sounds foreign, yet a tad bit familiar. As if she had read it in the newspaper months back.

He grumbles something under his breath, the grip on his rifle tightening. She eyes him warily, eyes traveling from his weapon to his indefinable expression.

Another gunshot.

Silence.

The man stalks in the direction of the door, apparently reading the situation better than her. 

"Who?" she repeats. Frustration is building up in her throat, making it harder to breathe. She grips her revolver tightly, the metal turning warm from her clammy skin. 

"He said Colm would be in the cabin."

The foreign voice is muffled, indicating that the source is somewhere outside. Lilly scowls at the door. Why are they after Colm? Why would they assume he would be here? Who told them he would be here?

Another voice emerges. However, this one sounds slightly familiar to her ears. "I'll check. You look out here."

Footsteps sound clear as the person skips up the few stairs, their boots thudding against the dry wood.

Lilly shares a look with the other O'Driscoll, who's still standing by the door. He turns back around, weapon gripped in a way that suggests his next move.

Once the door is opened he springs forward, heaving the rifle in the air.

The stranger stumbles backward as an effect of the compact. They're left laying on the front porch while the O'Driscoll hovers over them, ready to fire.

As curious as she might be, Lilly takes no chances. Hurridly, she skips towards the door, shielding herself by taking cover behind it. Her revolver is brought up to her chest, fingers clenching it with all her might.