Page 16 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Sure," he said, almost surprising me. "Go right on ahead. I'm sure you remember how to get back to town. They probably remember your faces o'course, but hell, you might be able to snag a horse before they realize. Then ya might run into a few issues once ya leave Rapture, though, namely where you don't have food or water to survive to the next town...if ya even know how to find it."

My mood soured, but my face remained impassive as I shrugged. “And I'm sure plenty of the same things were said to slaves. Why sure, you can get off this here plantation, you just gotta make it past all the people who will kill you, beat you, and throw you to the wolves, and then you have to get through a land you can't survive in...but you're sure to be free."

"It's not the same thing!"

"Why? Sounds the same to me."

"Probably because you went and broke the law and?—"

"So that means we're lower than dirt and don't deserve the slightest dignity or fairness," I finished for him. "Funny, you ever read a history book?"

"A few. Why?" he asked, sounding even more irritated. "What does that matter?"

"Because history has always been written by the ones who came out on top, but if you're smart enough, you can figure out what isn't being said," I told him in a bored voice. "And it's funny, every time a group of people get fucked over, it's because whoever's in charge decided they didn't deserve to be treated right. So, for you, it's outlaws you don't know a thing about other than someone told you they were wrong, and for others, it's all because their skin ain't the right color and so?—"

"Shut your damned mouth right now," Ambrose snarled, and I grunted as a hand gripped my arm and yanked me down onto the hard ground.

"Yes sir," I emphasized between gritted teeth as I tasted the grit on my tongue from the dirt. "I'll be...a good boy."

And I thought Garrett was the teeth grinder.

"Get up," Ambrose managed to growl. Not that it mattered because the other two were slow to stand up, and I took even longer. I might be at his mercy, at his beck and call, if I wanted to get through this in one piece, but I was not and would forever not be his willing slave.

"And what can we do for you?" I asked once I was on my feet and facing him. His expression exploded with frustration and fury, but despite his tight jaw and narrowed eyes, he turned his face away with a huff.

"Ain't no one getting anything done without food in their bellies, so get some food," he said, using his blunt chin to point in a direction opposite us. If I thought him capable, I would have said he was feeling a twinge of guilt at the idea of potentially enslaving other human beings on the sole basis of his beliefs. But as it stood, so far, he was only capable of feeling a measure of guilt if his daddy was the one who made him feel it. Much like how he only seemed capable of doing something worthwhile if he thought his dad would give him credit for it.

"If you can call it food," I said, rolling my shoulders as I stood up.

"Is there ever a time when you don't have something to say?" he shot at me.

Garret, never one to miss an opportunity to insult me, snorted. "No."

"Just like the two of you never miss a chance to complain about everything," I said, knowing I had won the battle when I heard Frank give a soft snort that would have been lost in thenoise around us if there hadn't been a brief lull. I didn't miss the glance Garret gave him, and for a moment, I got a glimpse of the man he was under all his bluster and anger. In that one glance, there was a fondness and exasperation that came from only three places, fraternity, family, or a love that would have gotten them strung up if anyone even suspected it was happening.

Well, anyone that wasn't me. I didn't think they were more than close friends and brothers, but I also wouldn't care if they were the type to share their beds and cots with other men. Maybe it was because I was one of those men, and I wasn't going to throw the first stone when my own hands were 'dirty.' It was probably that, but I also considered myself open-minded about things that weren't 'normal' or 'right.'

Then again, maybe that was because I’d turned out to be neither of those things. Personal experience had a way of making people more understanding, though sometimes it made them close their hearts to others in the interest of preserving and hiding their own abnormalities.

Now that our escort had returned, we made our way toward where we could get fed. To Ambrose, I'm sure I sounded ungrateful, considering they were feeding us the same food as the non-criminal workers.

"We could always feed you scraps," he grumbled from behind me, and not for the first time, I wondered if our minds worked along the same paths. It wasnota comforting thought. "Or figure out what they were feeding you in jail and give you that."

"If I'm honest?—"

"Are you ever?"

"Usually, but people always seem to think I'm lying."

"I can't imagine why."

"And I can't imagine why you would feed your workers, the onesnotaccused of being outlaws, the kind of gruel that’s only a step above what I've been given in jail."

"I wouldn't have thought Rapture would serve you gruel...and it's not gruel."

"I never said it was Rapture," I said as we reached the tented area where long tables sat in rows, another where the workers could grab their plates or bowls and a serving of food. "And it might not be gruel here, but it's pretty close. Or have you been having lunch too often in your house with your own cook to notice?"

His shoulders stiffened, hunching over the food table to grab his portion. “I eat here."

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