Page 75 of Outlaws of Tulsa

I wake throwing up.

Did they poison me?

Oh God.

My stomach muscles clench violently as I lose every bit of the food I consumed earlier. Tears leak down my face as I gag and heave. I’m dying. They’re killing me.

Why?

Because they think I had some torrid affair with the enemy?

Fuck them.

I need to get the hell out of here. But it feels like a useless endeavor. I’m being watched round the clock—this time by Katana. It was hard enough trying to get off Koyn’s property when people weren’t breathing down my neck twenty-four-seven. When I was healthy and able-bodied.

It feels like a pipe dream now.

I’m destined to die on a mattress in a slaughterhouse.

Cold. Hungry. Sick. Alone.

I wipe the vomit from my lips and turn away from the puddle of it on the bed beside me.

Death feels close and I welcome it.

Koyn

We don’t get much snow in Oklahoma, but when we do, the whole goddamn state closes down. It was a miracle we made it back from Dallas without getting detoured until the roads cleared. Copper drives like a bat out of hell. He would’ve found us a way back anyway.

My land is eerily quiet as I trek through the snowdrifts toward the trail that leads to the slaughterhouse. Gibson is on watch, but even if I didn’t know that, I would’ve guessed it by the sounds coming from the building. “House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals plays a haunting tune on his acoustic guitar. A dark lullaby.

Time to wake up, baby girl.

I slide open the door and step inside. The music dies down and Gibson stands. His features are stony. I get it. I really do. Babysitting fucking sucks. Lucky for them, it’s time to shake shit up a little, which means I’m taking over.

“I’ve got this,” I tell him with a nod.

Gibson, normally a playful and easygoing guy, clenches his teeth as though he’s trying to hold his words in.

“What?” I bite out.

“Nothin’, Prez.”

“Your attitude says fucking something.”

His nostrils flare. “She’s just a kid.”

“Genworth’s kid,” I remind him, squaring my shoulders.

He winces at the reminder. “I know. I just…never mind.”

Soft fucker. Always has been.

“Get out of here,” I grunt out. “Let me worry about all this.”

After a heavy sigh, he nods in resignation before exiting the slaughterhouse. The moment the door is closed shut, I turn to look at her.

The fire blazes bright and her small form remains curled up under a blanket. I can smell vomit and a pang of worry cuts through me before I have a chance to push it away.

---