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corporalzero-blog · 5 years

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Will you be making another chapter/whatever you call it of this story? It's really interesting and I'd love to see if the gang found out about the reading kidnapped or she escapes then they find out. 🤔

van der Linde.

(2)

Trusting Micah over you and Arthur had been one thing. Trusting Micah over Hosea was another entirely. Prioritising money over John’s life was the last straw.

“No.” You’d said it so calmly at first, no one was really sure if you’d actually said it.

“What?” Dutch questioned, immediately rounding on you.

“I said no!” You leapt to your feet, as the rest of the gang hauled in a tense breath.

“I don’t think ya remember, girlie,” Micah drawled, slinging his arm across Dutch’s shoulders. Always touching, like he was attached to his fucking hip. “Who yer talkin’ to.”

“It sure as hell weren’t you, Bell,” you answered, easily. Dutch shrugged him off, and Micah shot you a glare as he returned to his seat.

“Y/N, now ain’t the time.” Dutch attempted to soothe you, taking a step closer, and faltering as you immediately took one back. “Sweetheart–”

“No, don’t you fuckin’ sweetheart me, Dad.” Hosea gently tugged you backwards, but you just brushed him off, sitting him back down and mumbling about hurting his damn ribs.

“Y/N, we just need–” He began speaking again while you were facing away, but your returning glare shut him up.

“We don’t need nothin’!” You gestured at the camp around you. “We got more'n enough ta get by – for all o’ us to get by. We ain’t need ta run off on anymore o’ his fool errands just because you’ve suddenly got a taste for fuckin’ gold! Hosea almost died, John’s still locked up–! My little brother’s still locked up for god-knows-what reason an’ you wanna take another fool robbery just for the sake of this blond fuckin–” His hand echoed against your skin, leaving a burning handprint in its wake, even as the others in the camp jumped in protest. You caught Hosea, as he stumbled, still injured, but checking over your swelling cheek. Arthur was at your side in an instant, positioning himself between you and Dutch, a hand in each of your directions as though you were both wild animals to be tamed.

“Either you follow my orders or you get out o’ my goddamn camp, Y/N!” Dutch bellowed, standing to his full height, towering over your smaller form. Your dark hair, matching his, fell over your face, covering the stinging tears in your eyes.

“I hope yer fuckin’ gold makes ya happier than yer daughter ever did.” You didn’t know how your voice was so calm, even as you tossed the necklace he’d given you – a memory, he’d called it, with the photo of he and your mother, smiling, within it, his hands resting on her swollen belly. It splashed in the mud, and by the time he’d bent down to grab it, you were urging your silver mare, Artemis, out of the camp.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean – don’t…” His words trailed off as you stormed out of hearing range. You could hear Arthur yelling at Dutch, and Dutch’s response to get off the damn horse, you’d come crying back anyway, before you heard Boadicea’s hooves clatter out of the camp after you.

“Y/N! C'mon love!” Arthur’s voice almost tempted you back, soft and gentle. “Y'know we can’t manage without you, no matter what Dutch says. Hosea and John’ll miss you…I’ll miss you.” You paused for a moment, in a tight-wound circle of trees, and rolled an apple out in the direction of his voice. You heard Boadicea’s pace slow, even as Arthur attempted to urge her further, heard him call out to you, even whistle for Artemis, before you were out of earshot.

John glared at his cellmate, as the man drivelled about how he didn’t deserve imprisonment. Sounded to John like it was pretty cut and dry – the man had killed his own wife and daughter. The clink of keys in a nearby lock cut John out of his murderous reverie, and he looked up, just as you kicked his cellmate directly in the temple, effectively slumping him onto the cold stone of the floor.

“I’ve only been ‘ere a minute an’ that ass was already gettin’ on my nerves,” you hissed, irritably, hauling John out of the cell. “The fuck were ya thinking’, Marston?”

“I weren’t,” John grumbled back, as you pulled him out towards the stables. You handed him the two revolvers, the rifle, and the shotgun you’d flirted out of the lawman before knocking him cold.

“There’s a bloody new one,” you remarked, sarcastically, letting him mount before you grabbed him. “Listen, John, I ain’t goin’ with ya.”

“Whaddya mean y'aint–” he began, but you cut him off, cupping his face in your hands.

“John, little brother, Dutch an’ I, we had a big row, alright? He told me ta get outta camp, an’ I can’t go back with ya.” He frowned, glancing down at your chest.

“Where’s yer necklace, Y/N?” he asked, noticing the conspicuously absent glint of gold around your neck.

“Pay attention,” you retorted, flicking his eyes back up to meet yours. “I need you to tell Arthur I love him, alright? I love him so much. An’ I’m sorry. Good luck, little brother.” You let him go, and galloped out of town, not even looking back as you heard the lawman shout, and release a gun shot. John could look after himself.

“Ain’t you a pretty lil one.” You recognised the predatory purr in his voice before you saw him. “What’s van der Linde’s precious daughter doin’ in the woods on 'er own?”

“Wish I could say th'same for you,” you answered, stepping to your feet to face him. “But I’d be lyin’ if I said ya looked better than whatever donkey yer mum fucked to shit you out.” You dodged as he swung at you, sloppily, and danced under him, pressing your gun to his back.

“Colm O-fuckin’-Driscoll.” Irritatingly, your smaller frame only took you up to his shoulders. “What’re you doin’ in the woods on yer own?” A twig snapped behind you, and your horse skittered, nervously.

“Now, now,” he smirked, not even turning. “Who said anythin’ about alone?” The gunshot sent your horse galloping out in a frenzy, but none of the O'Driscolls even bothered to move after her. The searing pain in your right shoulder knocked your gun from your hand, and you scrambled to reach for it, before Colm pressed his foot down on your hand, crunching your knuckles into the hard ground with his spurs. “C'mon, sweetheart,” he smirked, bending down to leer at you as you dropped. “Wouldn’t want Daddy dearest to find ya with too many holes in ya, now would we?”

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