It is a cold day… Strangely cold for the time of year. It hasn't rained in so long. So, what's the cause?
I wrapped my shawl tightly around myself as the wind whipped up again, blowing my fiery red coiled hair around my head and directly into my face. The hem of my dress also blowing wildly in the breeze, of all things exposing my spats.
"The Scandal." I thought to myself in a sarcastic tone. Does anyone else do this? Speak to themselves? Just me? Okay. I kept walking at my clipped pace. "Why the hell is it so bloody cold?" I ask the wind, eyes scanning the gray cloud streaked sky. The clouds flew overhead like they were gonna catch fire. "Hhmm. There's gonna be a storm tonight." I turned my eyes back to the dusty road. Just a bit further, then I'd be at the dress shop. My place of work. My one anchor in a town that never quite stops shifting beneath one's boots.
It's strange to have a dedicated dress shop in a dusty old town like ours. But then, nothing really surprises me anymore. Things are progressing faster and faster everyday it seems. That was when it happened. Despite knowing better, I allowed myself to become completely distracted.
A large hand suddenly clamped itself over my mouth, another grabbed me tightly around my waist, dragging me off down a side street and into the desert. Just far enough from town that there wasn't going to be anyone to hear me if I screamed. There, in the middle of the emptiness stood a crusty old shack, barely hanging on for dear life.
Before I could piece together what was happening, I was being gagged and tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the moldy smelling shack.
My assailants stood in the shadows at the far corner of the room, hired muscle, sent by the bastard whose boot pressed me into this hell. Then I heard it. A sound that stalked through my nightmares. Footsteps aren't usually something you remember—unless the devil walking's got a hitch in his gitalong.
The boots hit the boards with a slow, groaning rhythm, like the house itself was protesting every step. In an instant, he stood before me, his identity unmistakable. As soon as my eyes fell on him, I knew: the devil hung over my shoulder. From the rim of his black cowboy hat to the curl of his boots, he was polished clean. But his soul was as filthy as they come. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black. Except for the whites, they barely registered in the room's dim light. He tipped his hat with a twisted smile, teeth yellowed from smoke and whiskey.
My eyes narrowed with mistrust. Silas "Silver Grip" Crowe. Who is he? Someone I regret ever getting tangled up with. If it hadn't been so damn important, I swear I never would've crossed his path. But more than that, he's powerful. The kind of power that swallows towns whole. He owns ninety-five percent of this place. The only pot he doesn't have a hand in is Mr. Guinn's mercantile, and even that might be a matter of time. Anyone with a lick of sense is afraid of him. I'm no exception. Sometimes, necessity outruns reason.
It's for my Sammy. He's the only reason I'd ever crawl to a man like Silas Crowe. Not for myself, not in a hundred lifetimes. But I'd do anything for Sammy. He's my little brother. The only family I've got left in this godforsaken world. He deserves more than I could ever give him. So, the least I could do was pay off his school debt. Which, unfortunately, brings us to my dealings with Crowe. Ever since he was a kid, Sammy dreamed of becoming a doctor. We worked hard—sacrificed, scraped, bled—to make that happen. But it wasn't just about money. There were other barriers. The kind you don't see in brochures. The kind that stick to your skin and whisper that you don't belong. Sammy? He fought through every damn one of them.
"What do you want, Crowe?" I asked, though we both knew the answer.
"You know what I'm here for, Anna. Where is it?" His voice was sandpaper on wood, coarse, dry, and grating.
"Where is what?" I asked, trying for wide-eyed innocence. Foolish, maybe, but not unexpected.
His hand struck like lightning, fast and brutal. My head whipped to the side, cheek ablaze. I tasted iron.
"Don't play stupid, girl! Where's my money?! It's a month past due. I've been more than patient. Time to pay up."
I turned away and spit blood and saliva onto the floor next to his boots. My cheek throbbed. Probably split open inside.
"I almost have it all" I said, voice trembling just enough. "I just need a little more time."
"You almost have it all," he mocked.
Like I'd been out dancing every night instead of busting my ass. "I've been working every hour I can. Ain't much call for fancy dresses in a town like this. But give me a week, and I'll have it. All of it. I promise."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. For a second, I thought Maybe I'd gotten through. "No, there ain't much use for those things…" he said slowly. "But there are some other things this town needs…"
My stomach turned.
"You need a week? Fine. You've got it. But if you don't have the money?" He paused, his eyes glinting. "Then I've got other ways you can pay. Deal?"
Something inside me screamed run. But what choice did I have? I was his prisoner.
"I've got most of it now. Can I give you that? The rest, by the end of the week?"
That sick, twisted smile spread across his face. A snake in boots. "Now now… If I make an exception for you, I'd have to make one for everyone."
I looked down. Angry, but not surprised. "I suppose so…"
"That's right…" He said.
He stepped closer. Too close. His breath brushed my ear. "So again, I ask… Do we have a deal?"
My skin crawled. My whole body screamed. I couldn't run.
"We have a deal, Crowe," I whispered.
He leaned in and sniffed my neck. I flinched.
Then the sound—his knife unsheathing. "Oh God, he's going to kill me." My breath came short. My heart galloped. I squeezed my eyes shut… waiting… Nothing. I blinked. The rope fell from my wrists. My waist. I was free. Not dead. But free.
Crowe stepped back, laughing. "That's a good girl…" He scratched his cheek with the blade before sheathing it. "You're lucky I'm sweet on you." He licked his lips.
My heart dropped. Lucky. God help me. "Yeah," I muttered, rising slowly from the chair. "I know." He opened the door for me. I slipped past him, a chill running down my spine. I was free.