Page 6 of The Outlaw and the Heir

"Up!" came the bark of command from the familiar voice of the bailiff, deputy, or warden of the jail, whatever title he wanted to have for the day. Another voice rumbled quietly, and while I couldn't understand the words, I recognized the sheriff's voice. He was a decent sort. At least he hadn't beaten the crap out of me when he'd arrested me, which in these parts was practically a recommendation for sainthood. The holder of the keys in the jail was a different sort of nasty beast.

"You know," I said loudly as I pushed to my feet, using the bars of the cell because my stiff knees were no help. "I always wondered what separates a man from a beast. I guess it just requires bars."

"Shut it," the bailiff snarled as he and the sheriff appeared. There were two people behind him that I could see in the gloom of the jail, but it seemed like they were paying attention pretty intently. "Don't need to hear your smart mouth."

"Consider it a bonus," I said with a sigh, stretching my arms toward the ceiling with a groan. "You leave me in here for days with the absolutebestsort of company and expect I won't want to talk?"

One of the men in the back murmured something, but the sheriff spoke up. “All three of you, let's get you up and into the sun."

Broken Nose scowled, and his uglier-than-before nose, thick brows that seemed to threaten to overtake his entire face, fat, broken lips, and the pockmarks in his skin did precisely nothing to improve his appearance. Then again, I probably didn't look much better after the past couple of weeks. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair was the color of dirt rather than the 'gold' my mother had always called it. Really, it was just yellow.

My eyes, which normally drew attention with their bright gray color, probably looked more like faint pinpricks of light among the dark circles, along with the dirt. I guess my nose had once been pretty fair if you were into noses, but one too many scuffles over the years had broken it and left it crooked...twice. The last I’d seen, I had the face of someone forever stuck between a man and a boy, somehow soft and hard, but I’d bet the past year of hard living had thinned the child fat right out of my face, and now I probably looked gaunt.

As my mother would quote, if she weren't horrified at what had become of me, ‘Let he who is without sin?—'

"All three of us?" Broken Nose said after his ugly scowl. "There's more than that here."

"And that's all we're taking with us right now," the sheriff said, and despite being accused of being a talker, I could appreciate a straight shooter who didn't need to say much to get their point across.

"And so the Lord sayeth," I said with a snort. Authority was all well and good, but I'd had enough of it in my lifetime not to take it seriously all the time...or most of the time unless it was accompanied by a gun leveled at my face. That, at least, was pretty good at making me behave for a while.

To his credit, the sheriff eyed me but didn't feel the need to wave his self-appointed badge around to make me stop mouthing off as he motioned for the bailiff to unlock the cell door. I couldn't say if he knew it, but that kind of calm, steady attitude in the face of what would have been a challenge to his authority made him even more authoritative...and scary, for that matter. There were plenty of dense assholes out there who probably thought his lack of response was a sign of weakness, but I'd learned a long time ago that ego barked and power whispered.

Which was all I needed to realize to step out into the dim hallway, wondering what kind of person could make a building so goddamned dismal and dim in a place that was constantly sunny and bright. That had probably been the entire purpose of the place at the start, but damn, with how easy it could be to get locked up in these places, one had to wonder how evil someone like that had to be. At least it wasn't like the last jail I’d been in, which had been built at ground level rather than a few feet below so everyone inside would roast alive without actually dying...most of the time.

It took them a moment to wake up Knocked Stupid because he hadn't even bothered to stir to life during the whole conversation. Broken Nose looked as surly as ever as we marched out into the hallway. I couldn't blame him; he had a fighter's spirit, but he didn't seem to be all that stupid. You'd have to be practically brain-dead to try escaping from the law when you were stuffed into a narrow passageway with two people who were armed. Although I didn't know the strangers around these parts, it was always safe to assume that everyone was loaded with iron.

"Let's go," the sheriff rumbled once Knocked Stupid was awake and understood what was going on. "We don't have all day."

Which wasn't strictly true, as the three of us prisoners had all the time in the world. It wasn't as though we had anywhere to go, even if there was somewhere we’d rather be. It was funny, I'd broken out of jails before and in places with a lot more people than whatever town I’d been dragged to after my arrest. Yet this random, seemingly unimportant town managed to have a jail that was well-made, which was...interesting.

I was still wincing as I was led out into the baking heat, which told me it was the latter half of the afternoon because I wasn't sweating nearly as much as I could be. Dust billowed in the air,threatening to choke us, but thankfully, it wasn't that bad out today. The dozen buildings I could see had people standing near them as onlookers peered out to see what was going on.

It wasn't all that strange. Peopleloveda public display, especially when it involved criminals. After all, criminals weren't people. So you could observe and enjoy what was done to them—stupid...bars.

"Well," I said with a grunt. “I guess here we are in all our beauty."

That drew every pair of eyes to me, and every single one looked unimpressed with my attempted wit—something I was used to. I could see the other two people I hadn’t recognized. Both were men, one older, closer to the sheriff in age. Apparently, he’d seen just as much if the lines on his forehead were a sign. Maybe in his younger days, he’d been handsome, but now, all I could see was a coldness that detracted from his features.

Finally, the fourth member of what felt like an evaluation team was probably my age but slightly taller, which was a feat in itself. He was also slightly narrower in the shoulders but thicker. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to call him handsome. Maybe it was his serious expression that felt like home or that he appeared slightly weathered from years of hard work in the sun.

I was a sucker for a hardworking man, but there were worse vices I could have.

The resemblance between the two was noticeable so I took them to be father and son. The younger seemed slightly less cold than his father, which made him less intimidating. I wasn’t going to assume he was harmless. It struck me that he was trying for the same coldness, but it just came across as surly.

"What did I tell ya about that mouth?" the bailiff snarled, stepping toward me.

"I've been told a lot of things about my mouth. The two I hear the most are that it's pretty or annoying," I said, eyeing him. "Kind of hoping you're part of the second group."

I didn't know if he was taking me at my word, but he definitely recognized the insult for what it was and took a step toward me again. Only for the sheriff to put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. The bailiff glowered at me, and I wondered if perhaps goading the man who had already been withholding food and water from me was such a good idea.

"You," the sheriff said. "Quiet."

I sighed and gave him a helpless little shrug as if to say, 'What can you do?' His silent stare told me what I could do was shut my mouth and keep it that way. To which I could only raise a brow as if to say that I could keep my mouth shut, but don't bet on it lasting long. His lingering look before turning away said he was wondering how I had lived this long with a mouth like mine, and honestly, I didn't know.

Or at least that's how the conversation felt like it went. I wasn't a mind reader.

"These the best you got?" the older stranger grunted, staring over the three of us. He struck me as the kind of man with standards too high for anyone to reach and refusing to back down.

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