Reckless Hearts

Chapter 12

You'd only been laying on your cot for about ten minutes when another shadow appeared outside the door flap. You got up from the cot, not prepared to be laying down, and vulnerable when Dutch came in.
When the door flap opened, you were surprised to see Micah walk in. You weren't surprised, however, to see a sneer on his face.
"What the fuck do you want, Micah," you growled.
"You stupid fucking Bitch," he growled, as he backhanded you across the face, sending you sprawling onto the floor.
You glanced at the chair, where you had put your gun belt.
He sneered, "don't even think about it, bitch!"
You felt fluid running down the corner of your mouth. You wiped it away with your thumb, then looked at your thumb. You didn't need to look, you knew it was blood. It was just a force of habit. Plus you could taste the iron on your tongue, when your tongue automatically found its way to the cut.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" you screamed at him.
He took a step towards you, as he did, you remembered the knife that you always kept tucked in your boot.

Randy, your father. Even when you found out he was your father, you always called him Randy. That was his idea, always keep an extra weapon hidden, for emergencies. He might have been a bastard, but he was a clever bastard.

You pulled the knife out of your boot, and pointed it at him.
"Don't think I won't use this, Micah. It would give me great pleasure to see your guts spilling out on the floor."
Micah stopped, dead in his tracks. His face flushed with anger.
"If it wasn't for Dutch, you'd be dead already," he snarled.
You rolled your eyes, "no doubt, probably by the side of the road, after you left me."
Before he could say anything, or do anything, the tent flap flew open.

Arthur Morgan stood in the doorway. He took one look at you on the floor, blood still seeping out of your broken lip, then he looked at Micah.
"What the hell!" he exclaimed. He grabbed hold of Micah, swung him around. As you watched, his fist made contact with Micah's face, sending him flying out the door of the tent.
"Get outta here, you piece of shit. Dutch said to keep her in the tent, not knock nine barrels outta her," he growled.
Arthur came back into the tent. Seeing the knife in your hand, he put his hands up in mock surrender.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
You glared at him, "I asked you for help earlier, and you ignored me. Now you think you can come in here, like a knight in fucking shining armour!"
Arthur lowered his arms, "I was..." He started, but you interrupted him.
"Yeah, you were just following the high and mighty Dutch Van Der Linde's orders. Well, I ain't interested. You can just fuck off with the rest of 'em." You snarled.
Arthur sighed and turned away. Leaving you alone in the tent. As he left, he closed the tent flap behind him.

You got up from the floor and sat on the cot. You could feel the heat in your face, where Micah's hand had made contact. Your arm was also now throbbing a little.
You heard raised voices, outside your tent. You couldn't work out who they were, or what they were saying, but you could still see the silhouette of Charles outside the door.
You stood up and put your gun belt back on. The next person who tried anything was likely to get a bullet in them.
You decided to lay back down on the cot. Before you did, you drew your gun from the holster.
You laid down, with your gun in your hand, resting across your stomach. Now it was just a case of waiting to see who wanted to try their luck next.

It was about an hour later when the tent flap next opened. If Arthur had told them to give you some space, until you had calmed down, then he didn't know you very well. You were still angry.
You weren't exactly sure who you expected, but as soon as you saw the tent flap move, you sat up and pointed your gun at the door.

Dutch walked into the tent.
"I hope you aren't intending to shoot me," he questioned, nonchalantly.
You narrowed your eyes, "come any closer, and I just might," you snarled.
Dutch held his hands up, "we need to talk, Kara." He stated.
You rolled your eyes, "that's rich. You have me manhandled into my tent, put an armed guard on the door, then send one of your goons in to beat me up, and now you want to talk!" You scoffed.
Dutch looked at your face, focussing on your split lip.
"I'm sorry about that, I didn't ask anyone to do that. Micah can be..." You interrupted him.
"Micah is a fucking twat, you need to put him on a leash." you huffed. "Now I suggest you turn around and leave me the hell alone."
Dutch narrowed his eyes. You could see by the look on his face, that he was beginning to lose his temper. He took a step forward.
As he did, you cocked the hammer on the gun. Within seconds, Charles was in the tent, with his sawn-off shotgun, pointing it at you.
"Don't be an idiot," Dutch growled, "shoot me, and you'll be dead in seconds."
You released the hammer, and holstered your gun. You knew that this was true. You were in Dutch's camp, surrounded by his men. Whatever happened, you knew that they were fiercely loyal. Even the women. In a way, especially the women. You wondered if he expected that from you.
Dutch, looked over his shoulder, giving Charles a knowing look. Charles immediately obeyed and slipped back out of the tent.
"Listen," he sighed. "There's something big, gonna go down in Blackwater. I told everyone, to stay away from town."
You raised your eyebrows, "everyone!"
"No," he admitted, "But I wasn't expecting you to go off riding, least of all into Blackwater."
You narrowed your eyes, "and that gives you the right, to put me under armed guard in my tent, did it never cross your mind, to just tell me, outside the saloon!"
Dutch took another step towards you, his hands on his hips. He was now at the edge of the cot, slightly leaning over you.
"Riding into Blackwater was reckless and stupid," he growled.
You glared back, "So was not telling me not to go there," you countered.
Dutch went to put his hand near your face, but you swiped it away.
"Don't...Don't touch me," you growled.
He took a step back. "I'll send one of the girls in to check on your face."
"Don't bother," you retorted, "I'll be out of your hair soon enough."
Dutch shook his head. "I'm sorry Kara, I can't let you go anywhere, not until after the Blackwater job. Promise me you won't try and leave, otherwise..." He stopped, just staring at you.
You sighed, "fine, I'll stay put. But once you're done in Blackwater, I'm outta here."
He stood there for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes, just staring at you, holding your gaze, expressionless. Until you looked away. Then he turned and silently left the tent.
You took off your gun belt, for the second time, and put it onto the chair.
Returning to the cot, you laid down, tilting your hat over your eyes, you closed them.
Your stubbornness, took hold of all common sense. If he wanted you to stay here, then here you would stay.

Even though your eyes were closed, you didn't go to sleep. Self-preservation kicking in, most probably. After Micah trying to beat you up, Charles pointing a gun at you, and knowing what Dutch was capable of, when he flew into a rage. Sleep wasn't going to come easily.
When you heard the tent flap move, you tilted your hat back, to see who it was.
You were surprised to see Karen.

Of all the girls, you probably liked her the best. She wasn't afraid to tell it how it was. But to be fair, you weren't particularly in the mood for company.
Karen smiled at you, "Dutch asked one of us to check your face, he said that oily turd, Micah, clobbered you. Are you ok?"
You touched your face, it stung a bit. Likely you would have a bruise tomorrow. The cut on your lip had at least stopped bleeding, and the throb in your arm, had dulled to just a dull ache.
"I'm fine Karen," you sighed.
"You sure," she countered, "I can get you some food if you want."
You shook your head. "Ain't really hungry."
Karen pulled a bottle of whisky from her pocket. "How about a drink," she smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but held out your hand.
Karen passed you the bottle, and you took a coupled of gulps, before passing it back.
"You can keep it, if you want," she offered.
"Nah, you're fine." You replied.
Karen took the bottle back, "You ain't really gonna leave, are ya?"
You nodded, "As soon as Dutch lets me, I'll be gone. Guess that'll be after he's done, whatever he's doing in Blackwater."
Karen looked down, she looked upset. "Wish you'd change your mind, your the best thing that's happened around here in ages."
You sighed, and threw your legs over the side of the cot, so you were sitting upright. You patted the cot, motioning for Karen to sit next to you.
"I like you Karen, and the rest of the girls. But I've had more shit happen to me, in the small space of time I've been here. Than I have in the rest of my life. If I stay, I'll probably be dead before I know it." You sniggered, "probably by Dutch or Micah. Seems I have an ability to piss the pair of 'em off, quite easily."
Karen, looked at you and smirked. "I shouldn't be sayin' this. But I think Dutch likes you, quite a lot. It's why he gets so angry with ya."
You shoved Karen in the arm. "That's only because you've got a thing in your head about it." You sniggered.
Karen smiled at you.
You put your arm around her. "I will miss you though."
Karen stood up and headed for the door. "You sure I can't get you somethin' to eat," she asked.
You shook your head, "I ain't got much of an appetite now.
Karen left the tent, and closed the flap behind her.
The sun was beginning to go down, giving the tent a warm glow. You took off your hat and your boots, and decided to call it a day.
As you lay down on the cot and closed your eyes, you wondered if Karen had asked you to stay because she wanted you to, or if someone else had asked her to try to persuade you. With that thought in your mind, you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.