Outlaw's Prayer (ch. 17)
Title: Outlaw's Prayer (17/22)
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib), Cookson (David Cook/Kelly Clarkson), Kradam (Kris Allen/Adam Lambert), various others, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: For his entire life, Kyle Peek always longed for the thrill and adventure in the open lands of the wild West. He gets more than he ever bargained for when he joins up with the legendary outlaw gang known only as The Kings.
Notes: I really appreciate everyone who's stuck with this fic and I'm so glad people are enjoying it; I had a lot of fun writing it as well. A ginormous thank you goes out to dreamerren, for her work as beta and practically as the story's second author. Title credit goes to Nick Gibson for his song "Outlaw's Prayer."
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5, part one
Chapter 5, part two
Chapter 6
Chapter 7, part one
Chapter 7, part two
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15, part one
Chapter 15, part two
Chapter 16
"No matter how justified a man may be in killing another, he never gets over it." - Henry Van Sickle, after killing Charles Brown in self-defense
Adam placed his hands on his hips, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he mulled over the new information about Hope's prisoner. "Wow," he remarked, though Kris didn't think he sounded surprised at all. "You know, I thought so; but Alli said she saw him making eyes at Ramiele." He shook his head, the glint from the polished metal buttons on his jacket glittering even in the drab, gray dawn of the morning. "This is why she's never getting put into the business: no woman's intuition."
Normally Kris would have allowed Adam to ramble and digress from the subject, if only to listen to his voice just for a few seconds more in each day. But they had such little time to speak before the rest of the town awoke for their daily routines, and he had to avoid getting caught handing over information to anyone in town, especially the brothel owner, and especially in front of the sheriff's office. If any of those details managed to get caught upon the wind towards Sheriff Gokey's ears, it could prove to be disaster for all of them.
"Focus, Adam," he said with a sigh, making sure to keep his voice low to avoid any prying ears. Perhaps they should have stayed inside the sheriff's office to have this conversation instead of sneaking behind it, but they had already been caught by a deceivingly perceptive prisoner, and Kris had no idea if Andy would even want him revealing this secret to another soul...even if Adam was obviously of the same mind. "This is important."
An impatient cluck of Adam's tongue and a wave of his hand quelled Kris's worries he wasn't taking this seriously. On the contrary, Adam thought; if this plan eliminated the Lambert Inn's problems with the law he couldn't be more serious about it. "I know that," he said testily. "We're helping him get the hell out of here."
"And back to whoever's waiting for him," added Kris. That one flash of desperation and vulnerability Andy had showed in the jail cell that night endeared him to Kris, made him sympathize with the traveler's plight to return to his people, his love. Kris wasn't much for breaking laws--even Gokey's laws, rotten to their core--but if he were in the same situation, he would have prayed for any type of miracle to get him back to Adam in one piece.
A small, secret smile spread across Adam's face, blue gray eyes shining as he looked upon the deputy, whose passion for justice was only surpassed by his sentimental heart. If Adam had a say in the matter, the traveler would have been halfway to California by now, destroying Gokey's ambitions a pleasant side effect. He knew Kris would come around to the same decision eventually; he had just needed a push to get there.
"But first," Kris continued. "We've got to get word to his people. Make sure they know the situation." He took a deep breath, hesitant about the favor he was about to request. But this arrangement would benefit Adam as much as Kris, and there wasn't a soul in Hope he would trust more. "I need you to go out there for me, make sure we get this settled before we make any promises."
Adam's refined conduct expertly masked his surprise, an aghast expression nothing more than the quirk of an eyebrow and a glimmer in his eye. When he had returned to the sheriff's office to check on his lover and his charge, Adam wasn't expecting to be drafted into this plot. "Me?" he asked incredulously, fingers nervously fiddling with the long, sumptuous sleeves of his jacket, tarnishing the polished silver buttons with his touch. "If you haven't noticed, Kris, I'm not the law here, you are. I can't even remotely pass for a lawman." Standing a full head and shoulders taller than his companion even without boots, Adam cut an imposing shadow along the New Mexican landscape, but he never used might or size as a method to his success. Not one for the long, grueling hours of gunfighting training, he hired bodyguards who were more than capable of maintaining order inside the Lambert Inn, and prided himself on the sharp decrease in violence within recent years. Adam was a businessman, not a diplomat or an executioner; he preferred to be a lover, not a fighter. And the clothes on his tall and impressive frame--intricately tooled calfskin boots, a perfectly tailored shirt and pants underneath his silver-studded duster, all dipped in the the same blue-black dye as his hair--showed from miles away he made much more than a lawman's salary.
"I think that could work in our favor." Kris was persistent, despite the fact that he knew Adam Lambert stuck out like a mountain spring in the barren desert; he had many months and more than enough instances to notice everything about Adam. He hiked a thumb in the direction of the office's front door, indicating the wounded prisoner within. "It could just be that one of them shot him, but Andy doesn't seem too fond of lawmen. He's only giving me any notice because I saved his life." Kris shrugged, remembering to keep his voice low; if the gossiping residents of Hope typically tittered themselves into a frenzy over his feigned courtship with Brooke White, he couldn't even imagine what they would do with this information. "Maybe the people he's with feel the same way."
The deputy hadn't needed to work so hard to tease out Adam's assent, but it was a polite sign of respect for the other man; Kris knew that, so long as it was within his means, Adam would do anything for him. With a quick nod and a furrow of his brow--Kris would always tell when Adam devoted his full, serious attention to a topic, whether it be helping a man escape from jail, the future of his inn, or intently giving Kris the most pleasure he ever experienced from one man--Adam agreed to the meeting, the conspiracy complete.
"Andy said he'd give us their location once I talked it over with you," Kris continued, the shapes and shadows of Hope coming more into focus as the minutes passed, though any semblance of sun was blocked out by the heavy storm clouds that refused to budge. He wanted to get back into the sheriff's office as soon as possible, less concerned about a dramatic jailbreak from the unattended, wounded prisoner, than he was about prying eyes and ears noticing his whereabouts. It had only been one day since news broke out over the traveler's arrest; an innocent passer-by might consider Kris's presence as an invitation to gawk. "He's got a passphrase too he wants to tell you; something they all came up with, makes sure that his people know you're telling the truth."
Opening the door with a creak of iron joints wet and straining from the evening's storm, Adam and Kris were greeted by the sight of Andy's health progress, the traveler now up on his knees, one arm snaked around one of the iron bars of the cell, the other outstretched before him, fingers flexing tentatively. It was a marked improvement from the last time Adam laid eyes on the prisoner, his energy sapped, barely able to sit up against the back wall.
His mood had certainly improved as well: Andy's attentions remained engrossed with the meticulous movements of his right arm, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. It had been over a day since the shooting, the pain in his arm ebbing from unbearable to barely tolerable, and the traveler had decided to test its limits and see if the damage the bullet caused would be permanent.
"You're moving your arm!" Adam noted encouragingly, the first words spoken as the pair entered the one-room building, and the first words Adam had addressed to him since the day before, when the proposition was first approached.
Keeping his gaze on his arm, slowly extending each finger and bringing them back in again towards his palm to make a fist, Andy gave a low chuckle, physical strain evident in his voice. "That I am." He was pleased with his own progress, knowing his condition could have very easily taken a turn for the worst in the past two nights and he would have not been able to move at all. But the pain still resided in his right shoulder, the constant, stinging reminder of his injuries, and he was still rather weak from his body's continued efforts to heal, the arm holding onto the bars of the cell trembling from the exertion. It was progress but he wanted more; Andy wondered when his right arm would be strong enough to wield a gun again.
The deputy, however, noticed the newfound energy in the captive's legs, able to hold up his body weight to an extent, Andy's knees wobbly but secure. It was amazing, Kris thought, what one could will the body to accomplish when they had a reason to drive forward. "You planning on an escape there?" he joked.
Shooting Kris a wry, tight-lipped smile that indicated escaping might have only been prevented by his physical limitations, Andy played along, growing comfortable with his sympathetic jailer. "My goal for today," he deadpanned, accenting the impossibility of Kris's suggestion with a painful wince as he lowered himself back down to a seated position on the jail cell floor. "Is standing."
But as soon as the pain subsided in his joints Andy's face took on a serious expression, nodding his head towards Adam but his eyes squarely on the deputy. As friendly as he had become with the pair since his injury, Andy ensured them with his tone that it was nothing but business. "He in?"
Kris nodded, and imagined he could actually see the relief settle in Andy's shoulders, his goal of returning to his people one step closer. "I told him," he said, the deputy finding he didn't have much to do to convince Adam. The owner of the Lambert Inn had supported letting Andy go since the previous morning, purely to spite the sheriff, but now he saw the reasons for this escape were more personal than his own rivalry. "He knows what he's getting into."
Andy forced himself to control his reactions lest he give anything away to the pair; he knew fairly well these two hadn't the slightest clue what they were getting into. But it wouldn't be his place to set them straight, or they might back out of this agreement, never let Andy out of that cell; if he told them the truth about why he was in town they might hang him themselves. Kris believed there was someone special to Andy waiting for him outside of town, a man that he desperately needed to return to, and that was true enough, but certainly not the whole story. Andy's mouth fought to hide the smirk threatening to emerge; Neal was a whole lot more than just a man.
But before another word could be spoken Adam's face broke out in a grin, both lavicious and telling, and made Andy wonder just how much Kris had told him. "So," he asked brazenly, the daring and playfulness in his voice slathered on thick. "What's the safeword, loverboy?"
***
David didn't have a plan.
The entire night his mind had been a disaster of logic warring with emotion, of countless strategies conjured and dismissed because they weren't secure enough, their offenses not nearly strong enough for David's approval. The Kings, David specifically, had underestimated Hope ever since they laid eyes on their bank vault, and it had brought them here, walking the edge of a knife blade over Andy's capture. He wanted to make sure it wouldn't happen again; but in every plan he imagined he saw flaws, small specks of doubt that could easily fester and grow into fatal decisions. One choice he had made almost cost one of his men his life; he didn't want to decide upon another that would take more.
But he knew inaction wouldn't be acceptable to the rest of the Kings, most of all Neal, whose threat to desert David and Kyle and search for Andy on his own was the only thing David was sure would follow through. If David didn't devise a plan to get into Hope and get Andy out alive by morning, he knew the headstrong sharpshooter would make his own way to town without a lick of care for human life, even his own. The deadly serious look on Neal's face, more dire and emotionally wrought than David had ever seen him in their years of partnership, told him this was no idle ultimatum; that all the loyalty in the world Neal had for David and the Kings would mean nothing if David let Andy die.
These outlaws, these men of his that looked to David for leadership and strength...they depended upon him for this. More than anything now, David couldn't fail; he couldn't let them down.
"We ride out," were his curt orders after the gray, lifeless dawn broke over their heads, Kyle quickly nodding and scampering around camp in preparation for their move. Neal was still at his perch in front of the dead, cooling embers of the previous night's fire. His jaw was set, his hands wrung together tightly like a vise, but none of it held the vicious anger that coursed through his veins last night. His demeanor was solemn now, his hunched back and blue eyes fragile, so close to breaking, held together by willpower and something deeper, something that had not been there before. David made the order but couldn't look Neal in the eye; if he did, he feared, the sharpshooter would see through David's tough facade and know there was no substance to his plan.
And Kyle, the poor kid, wouldn't even look in David's direction, spooked by his own demons and silently worried that Hope would be the last ride for the Kings. If there were any power in his strength and will, David would not let that happen; as their leader he held a duty to the other men to keep them safe, and not ride them to their deaths. He held a particular responsibility for Kyle, the eager young ranch hand that had just wanted to experience some adventure in his life before it was too late; if it weren't for David's decision to welcome him as a member of the Kings he would be on that California ranch still, restless and bored but not in danger for his life. David was the one who brought Kyle to the life of an outlaw; he would make sure he came out of it alive.
Just how he would accomplish any of this, however, he hadn't a clue.
Setting their horses at a steady, moderate pace, Neal refusing to travel any slower than a trot, the three men made their way towards Hope, David hoping he would at least have the authority to stop Neal from a rampaging search the moment they caught sight of the town. Jailbreaks were decidedly not bank robberies: the Kings did not hold the element of surprise here, and indeed they were the ones who were left to be surprised about the unassuming town, the agent among them known for gathering data the very one they had to retrieve.
They were about a mile away from the town's outskirts, the quaint storefronts and homesteads not yet visible over the horizon, when Kyle let out a whoop from behind David, giving him a start. He flashed back a stern look in the kid's direction, but his ire soon turned to perplexity as he watched a relieved smile spread on Kyle's face.
"The trees," he said enigmatically, pointing a finger towards a grove of juniper trees in the distance. "The trees are bare."
Squinting to make out the condition of the small grove's branches, David saw gnarled, knobby boughs curling from each trunk, the trees reaching up towards the skies like naked, desperate peoples praying to gods in the heavens. Why the trees suddenly fascinated the young outlaw, he had no idea. "Storm probably knocked off all the leaves last night," he replied, eager to get their attentions off of trees and back to the task at hand. Already Neal was restless from this diversion, his jaw set, his eagle eyes forever watching the horizon.
But this insignificant detail seemed to enliven Kyle, who was nearly bouncing in his saddle from inexplicable joy. "The trees are bare!" he exclaimed again, laughing to himself once he saw David's confused face and his reluctance to join in on the mad laughter. Whatever had struck Kyle's funny bone, David thought bemusedly, he reckoned it had picked a damn wrong time and place to do it.
"I don't think I'm ever gonna understand you, kid," he said. He was about to elaborate on his observation when he spotted a swift movement and a glint of metal in his peripheral vision; David turned to see Neal drawing his revolver with a steely gaze on the landscape, something out of the ordinary catching his eye. In another moment David saw it as well, a lone rider rising up from a dip in the horizon, previously undetected by the outlaws and coming closer. He held himself high and uncomfortably in the saddle, a man unaccustomed to long journeys on horseback; a town settler. Appearing to be alone, he went along confidently, seemingly unaware that the men he approached were dangerous and, as Neal had just proven, readily armed.
Realizing the sharpshooter was very willing in his state of mind to shoot first and ask questions later, David stayed his hand, not wanting to start off their morning with a murder. "He's coming from town," he observed, noting the path of the horse's muddy hoofsteps. "He might know something."
"And what if he shoots us first?" Neal sneered. Kyle unconsciously gripped the reins of his mount tighter in his hands, digging into the leather until his knuckles were white.
But David was adamant about leaving the man unharmed; anyone passing their way with news of the commotion in Hope was worth more to them alive than dead. And something about the approaching figure told David this man was no gunslinger, and the dull glints of metal he spied on the horizon weren't from any weapons. "He can see us just fine," he explained. "If he was going to shoot us, he'd have already done it." Neal obliged the outlaw's orders, but held onto his revolver regardless, refusing to take any more chances.
As the approaching figure came closer David's suspicions were confirmed: with his expensive, fine clothes and the well-groomed but rather scrawny horse he rode upon, it was clear this man was no gunslinger. Adorned with more baubles and shining gems than David had ever sent Kelly during their correspondence, the man had to have been on a mission from town; he wouldn't have survived one minute in the open plains wearing that finery and being so daring as to ride up to strangers. But his confidence faltered as he drew nearer, the gait of his horse slowing as the features of the Kings gradually came into his focus, particularly the drawn revolver of the Dr. laying at the ready stop his saddle horn.
It appeared this man from Hope expected to come by three unassuming, innocent travelers on his journey; he had expected wrong.
"Care to share your business 'round these parts, friend?" David asked once he was within earshot--and close enough to render escape impossible if the man tried anything heroic.
The stranger's blue-gray eyes, outlined with kohl along his lids, shifted from one outlaw to the next, fear sinking in with each second. "Holy shit," the realization dawned on him as his horse took a step back, anticipating his hesitation. "You--you're--"
"We know who we are," David interrupted sternly, holding up a hand behind him, a second warning to Neal not to raise his gun at the man. "But it'd be mighty helpful to know more about you."
David stared down the other man with an unflinching glare, the other outlaws equally as menacing; with a nervous gulp the newcomer looked at each man, sensing that escape was impossible. There was no other alternative but to tell the truth. "My name's Adam," he said, his tone tense but true, keeping a mindful watch on any sudden movements from the outlaws, particularly the Dr.'s trigger hand. "Adam Lambert. I'm coming from Hope..."
"You run the inn there." David narrowed his eyes, remembering the name Lambert as a passing detail in Andy's report on the town the night before their heist. It hadn't been a vital observation, the shadow of the Kings merely using it as a background on Hope and to boast about the pampered comfort he was lodging in while gathering his information. But now, that useless detail came full circle.
Startled by the identification, Adam's brow creased, his confusion overstepping his fear. "Yeah, that's my inn; have you stayed there?" he asked on instinct before shaking his head, common sense answering his own question. The Lambert Inn had been a breeding ground for outlaws and thieves in his father's day, but Adam had tried to eradicate the inn's violent reputation; apart from the sex for sale, the place was a veritable family establishment. "Of course you haven't stayed there, I would have noticed you--oh, damn..." He tripped over his words, a rarity for the innkeeper, but then again he very rarely came across murderous outlaws who had just days ago robbed the town's bank. Adam considered himself quite composed considering the circumstances.
Running a shaky hand through his hair, Adam changed his tactic, hopefully looking to get away from the three men and continue with his duties unscathed. "I need to get a message to someone," he said, aiming to target whatever sympathy an outlaw gang may have. "I won't be any trouble to you, I swear."
But the grim look on David's face sent a fearful chill down Adam's spine; today was not the day for the Kings's mercy. "We don't have time for pleasantries today, Lambert," he said, his disinterested tone masking a great urgency, the outlaw learning well how to hide the fact he was distressed. The Kings could use any information Adam could give them--and David had no qualms about extracting that from him using whatever means necessary--but without knowing how dire Andy's situation was in Hope, they didn't have much time to shoot the shit with the owner of an inn.
Still Adam was firm in his resolve. "I'm looking for a group of men, they're supposed to be camped around here..." he explained, but trailed off as his mind worked, connecting supposed dead ends and useless details to come to a revelation. The Kings had cleaned out Hope's bank two days ago; they should have been miles away by now, eluding any posse scrounged up to capture them, not riding back towards the town they had robbed. And Andy's mysterious reluctance to reveal anything about himself to Adam or Kris, giving them only the barest information they asked for, had roused Adam's suspicions from the start that he was no simple traveler; a man sent by the rest of his group for supplies, Adam reevaluated, didn't spend three days staying at his inn to do it. Added to the fact that Andy set him on this very trail outside of Hope to find the group he rode with, the dubious proposition the prisoner gave to solve their problem of the pesky sheriff...
Adam's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him; he almost wanted to laugh if the situation hadn't been so terrifying. "No. Shit."
Now visibly bemused by the delay, David frowned, growing more impatient with the innkeeper by the moment. "I think it's time you--" he began, but Adam cut him off, in a stroke of mixed bravery and stupidity he thought he would never replicate.
"Wait." He held a hand up both as a sign of appeasement and diplomacy. If his hunches were correct, then the three men before him were going to want to hear what he had to say. "I have a message I'm supposed to give, from a man named Andy...and I think it's for you."
The name on Adam's lips struck shock into the three outlaws, their steely gazes momentarily lapsing to show their emotional reactions. The youngest of the three's jaw dropped open in surprise, while the blond maintaining the rear of the group tightened his grip on the revolver in his hand, a gesture that definitely gave Adam reservations about agreeing to this meeting. David faltered only slightly, his horse noticing the change in his stature and stomping restlessly on the ground; but his eyes gave everything away, a desperate recognition of the name Adam spoke that told the innkeeper he had found the right men.
"I don't believe you," was David's immediate response, a trigger based more on emotion than his controlled, well-balanced routine as leader. He was a skeptic until situations were proven otherwise, and he wasn't going to believe Adam Lambert just on his word; they had taken the town at face value once before, and it only left them with a captured partner and a wounded spirit.
A tiny smile caught the corners of Adam's mouth. "He said you'd say that." The wariness of letting outsiders know about himself and his group, the precautions Andy relayed to Adam before he left that morning...it was all glaringly obvious to Adam now, he could almost smack himself for not paying attention to the clues beforehand. Though Hope's prisoner could have given Adam little more warning about the nature of his friends' career...
The unmistakable click of a revolver's hammer snapped Adam's mind back to the present with dangerous force; looking up, he found himself staring down the barrel belonging to the most feared gun in the West, cocked and ready at David Cook's command. This was not expected. "You've got five seconds," David ordered, any spontaneous emotion in him completely gone, replaced by a newfound cold anger towards the man that represented all of Hope in that moment, represented the town itself that had their lives in such a tenuous hold.
Adam held up his hands in surrender, dropping the reins of his horse Zodiac and focusing only on the gun pointed towards him. "He definitely didn't say you'd do that," he mumbled, eyes widening.
The outlaw's patience was wearing thin; if Adam was lying, he would know soon enough. "Four," he counted down, his stare never wavering.
"Hey, you're supposed to start at five!" Adam protested, but it didn't even cause David enough hesitation to catch his breath.
"Three."
"Dave," the youngest member implored the outlaw, a worried crease forming on his brow that he would actually go through with his threat by the end of the countdown.
Thinking on his feet, Adam tried to remember the instructions Andy gave to him upon meeting with his people--people Adam now knew certainly needed particular care. "There was a special phrase," he recounted, his mind hearkening back to the conversation in the sheriff's office. "Break...break something." He snapped his fingers in an attempt to recharge his memory, but his time was running short.
"Two," was David's last warning, but as soon as the word fell from his lips Adam recalled the pass phrase that appeared so vital to his survival.
"Break...whatever needs to break."
The revolver dropped and returned to its holster; the stern, unflinching expression on David Cook's face softened in recognition, an unspoken acceptance of Adam's code. The innkeeper breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing how close he could have come to death. "You have met with Andy," he concluded.
Adam nodded, trying to catch his breath, not noticing how his heart had been racing when the outlaw's gun was trained on him. "He's in jail, in Hope right now," he explained, watching the reactions of each man very carefully. He wasn't looking for any more surprises coming his way. "The sheriff's arrested him, looking for someone to pin the bank robbery on, get all the credit. He's already sent for a judge from Santa Fe."
David gave a grim nod of recognition; any territory in the country would want to lay claim to arresting and convicting a King. The truth would eventually come out, and Andy's face was bound to be recognized once it was published by newspapers hungry for a story. "They're lookin' to try him," he concluded, his brow furrowing in frustration. If only he had told Andy to leave Hope as soon as possible...if only he hadn't been so damn confident, this might have all been different.
"The sheriff's looking to hang him," Adam corrected sadly. Gokey had already made it clear he didn't have a penny of pity for the man he shot in the back, and a proper trial would just make it look like he was wasting the territory's time. By the gunshot wound he inflicted or by decree of execution, Danny looked to gain much from Andy's death. The youngest member of the gang reacted with a small squeak in his throat that he tried to mask with an over-compensating cough; Adam supposed that even outlaws feared death just as he did.
"But we," he gave the alternative to a dreary fate for their companion, "are looking to get him out of here."
"Who's 'we'?" David asked suspiciously; Andy had said the Lambert Inn had a certain amount of power within the town but he didn't think that extended so far as to manage their prisoners. It was unorthodox, to say the least, that Adam came to them to discuss matters of the law at all.
There was no point in holding back his connection with Kris now; the Kings didn't need to know the nature of their relationship, but if they agreed to this arrangement they'd get to know Kris Allen well enough in time. "The deputy; we're working together. His name--"
"We know who the deputy is," David interrupted with a wave of his hand. For outsiders, Adam thought with a frown, they sure seemed to know a whole lot about the town. "Thought he was on the straight and narrow, though. Doesn't sound like a fellow who'd let a man out of his jail." More than the passing details on Hope and its decadent inn, David remembered from Andy's report that the deputy was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't his reputation that preceded him, but his love for the position and his loyalty towards the law, rendering him, as David assumed, dangerous and incorruptible. Perhaps he wasn't as incorruptible as David thought.
Adam couldn't help but snicker; even outlaws knew how much Kris Allen believed in justice. "That's my Kris, alright," he muttered under his breath, ducking his head to hide the smile he couldn't control whenever the other man crossed his mind. Kris didn't merely believe in standing up for what was legal; he believed in doing what was right, an unwavering philosophy that allowed Kris to see the best in people, to always give a stranger or a new friend a chance--just like he had when he and Adam first met. Even when he'd find out about Andy's connection to the Kings--which, Adam reflected with a nervous gulp, was going to be quite an interesting conversation--Kris would most likely want to set the prisoner free regardless, resenting the disrespectful method of the arrest more than the crime itself.
"He doesn't belong where he is right now," Adam said, referring not only to the jail cell at Hope but the pain Andy was in due to Danny's actions. No one deserved to go through that, not even the perpetrator himself. "He belongs back with you."
You're damn right he belongs with us, David thought but held his tongue. "What are you looking for here?" he said between gritted teeth, his guard automatically up ever since Adam said he was there on behalf of the deputy. David wasn't pleased, to say the least, at having to deal with a lawman in order to get Andy back. As loyal and righteous as this deputy might be, David knew he would want something in return; no good deed goes unpunished.
"The deputy wants to meet with you, discuss some arrangements," he explained, as the crease in David's brow deepened along with his suspicions. "We can get Andy back to you, and we want to, but we ask you to do something for us in return." Adam said, as he took a deep breath to calm both himself and the outlaws, understanding now by the waver in his voice and the flutter of fear in his heart why the prisoner had failed to mention that he was meeting with known murderers and thieves.
"How can we trust you?" spoke up the youngest outlaw, a blue-eyed gaze attempting to be as steely and intimidating as possible towards Adam. Almost as a testament to someone truly intimidating, David shot him a cold, admonishing glare over his shoulder, a clear indication that he was the spokesman for the gang--and wasn't searching for help from others in the process. David held his doubts about this chance meeting, especially since it involved the word of a lawman, but he couldn't make a decision yet based on the little knowledge they had.
But the moment Neal had heard the Kings's pass phrase out of Adam Lambert's mouth, he had made up his own mind about truth and trust. "We can," he said in a gruff, low voice, his eyes fixed on the newcomer, Adam's words ringing in his head. They were the first words Neal had directed towards anyone since the night before, when he threatened David with the promise of resentment and unforgiveness should Andy die, and each syllable was filled with a determination none of the men had ever heard in his voice. If this man said he had contact with Andy, then he was their best chance at getting him back, without resorting to an angry, violent mess. And although Neal was very willing to step over the dead bodies of every soul in Hope to get to Andy, even he realized the easier way to go about it was a peaceful one. Neal would trust this innkeeper and his lawman because he had to; because he would stop at nothing, even allying himself with enemies, to get Andy back.
"Andy's sent him here, with his blessing," David said, recalling the phrase Adam gave them as vividly as Neal had, remembering the time they had created their code and never thinking of the day they would have to use it. His face grew dark though his expression had not changed; perhaps Adam had just been imagining it, his eyes only accenting the trepidation he felt over his close brush with the Kings's violent side. "If he were in danger, or held against his will, he would have given a different code...one that would tell us to shoot Mr. Lambert here off his horse."
Adam gulped, knowing the threat from these outlaws was no laughing matter, and thanking all powers that be who cared to listen for getting on Andy's good side. This could have been quite a different kind of meeting had any of their encounters gone south, but Kris and Adam had gained the prisoner's trust through care and toil, and it appeared Andy repaid that in kind. He watched David's attentions turn back to him, feeling only marginally safer; despite David's words and the few but meaningful words of the Dr., Adam felt that the trust of the Kings could wear thin at any given moment.
"We're not looking for trouble," he repeated. "We just want to get everything back to normal, for all of us. This was Andy's plan to begin with; he sent me to make this whole arrangement. He said...once you speak with the deputy, you'll want to agree to the deal."
The outlaw set his jaw again, a resentment in his eyes: Andy knew extensively of his hatred towards lawmen, their self-righteous duplicity; their lies and cruelty far harsher than any death the Kings had ever caused. He would know David's hesitance to work with any of them, even in order to save one of his men from execution; every deal made with the law, just like every lawman himself, had a price. But through all this, Andy had made an alliance with Hope's deputy, and asked now to trust in a plan that would benefit every man involved. The shadow of the Kings was a good judge of character and would never put the others in danger even if it meant his own freedom. David felt the presence of his second in command behind him, Neal deadly quiet the entire morning, a silent obedience to go along with whatever plan meant getting Andy back. Andy wouldn't risk his life for his own freedom.
That fact helped make up David's mind on working with a man who, for all moral and personal desires, should want to get the Kings behind bars. He may have been the leader of the outlaws, but for this job it appeared a lawman would be calling the shots. "Where am I meeting your deputy," he asked, though refusing to bring himself to raising his voice into a question. He would agree to working with the law of Hope, but he wasn't planning on being pleased about it, either.
Adam told him of an old miner's shack four miles east of the town--the gold mine had been a bust even before he had been born, the cabin long abandoned, but Adam seemed to find an extra use for the place somehow. He assured the Kings their security in the area, the land too rocky for farmers and too barren for the stray cattle rancher, but even so David planned to take precautions, allowing the men from Hope to determine the location of the meeting but staying firm on the time. Sunset, he declared, and not a minute later, and no one present but the deputy, lest Hope hold one more trick up its sleeve. Adam gritted his teeth at the thought of Kris meeting the outlaws all alone, but David quickly promised no violence against the deputy unless it was provoked, reminding him that of the two sides the Kings had more to lose.
"We're gonna make sure he gets back to you," Adam confirmed, Zodiac uneasy underneath him, the beast picking up the restlessness in his bones, eager to be back within the town limits.
The stare returned to him told him there was no room for error or for lies; David Cook was serious about the welfare of his men, and if Kris or Adam played him at any point in the arrangement, there would be hell to pay. "You reckon he better."
Tugging on the reins of his horse, Adam turned to leave, when a voice he had heard little of that morning called him back. "Wait."
It was the sharpshooter, the deadly outlaw known throughout the West as the Dr., his face something to be feared by every man. But the expression that Adam saw was far from terrifying: the stone-faced man who glowered before with one hand always on the revolver at his belt had softened, a momentary lapse into emotion Adam doubted he allowed himself often. His pale brow furrowed, his blue eyes rimmed with deep sadness, and as he frowned his mouth hesitated to speak the words dying to escape his lips. If he spoke up, he'd break the Kings's inherent rule to allow David to do all the talking, but if he didn't he would be breaking his own heart.
Neal's lower lip trembled with hesitation, afraid of the answer as much as posing the question. But if Adam had been in contact with their fallen partner, he had to know; it would kill him not to ask. "Is...is he okay?"
Adam saw the sadness in the stranger's eyes, a sympathetic desperation and the glimmer of hope that not all was yet lost. There was a yearning in those eyes, that simple question, that a man did not naturally have for just a partner in crime. Adam reflected on the same anguished look the prisoner in Hope's jail cell held in his eyes ever since he arrived, and how he himself would feel should he ever experience this unfortunate separation from Kris.
This was the man Andy was dying to get back to, the one whose name Kris said he mumbled in feverish dreams, sought to stop at nothing to reunite with once again. From the look in the sharpshooter's eyes Adam knew he felt the same way. His heart went out to Neal, unguarded at that moment, emotions laid bare for an observant eye to see, and he decided he could not let even an outlaw stay in the dark about his lover, but he couldn't bring himself to lie, either.
"It was pretty bad for a while," he admitted with a sympathetic tone; Adam could almost sense the breath catch in Neal's throat, the grip on his horse's reins tightening. He remembered Kris's gruesome details about the first night caring for Andy's wounds, how the smell of fresh blood permeated the sheriff's office that next morning; Adam was surprised that Andy even lived through the night. Perhaps determination was a force to be reckoned with; perhaps it was pure stubbornness to see Neal again that kept Andy going. "But he's doing just fine now. Your friend's a fighter," he reassured Neal, the sigh of relief visibly escaping his body, Adam recalling how quickly Andy was regaining his strength back in Hope. "He'll be alright; I promise."
But as the two parties took their separate ways--the Kings off to the depths of the muddy plain to regroup, Adam back into town to tell a whopper of a tale to Kris--the deputy's common reproach echoed in his head, his frequent, realistic answer to Adam's tendency to dole out such frivolous guarantees. He couldn't promise, he couldn't ensure the future, and all of their fates were now held as tenuously as the word of an outlaw.
Chapter 18
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib), Cookson (David Cook/Kelly Clarkson), Kradam (Kris Allen/Adam Lambert), various others, both slash and het
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: For his entire life, Kyle Peek always longed for the thrill and adventure in the open lands of the wild West. He gets more than he ever bargained for when he joins up with the legendary outlaw gang known only as The Kings.
Notes: I really appreciate everyone who's stuck with this fic and I'm so glad people are enjoying it; I had a lot of fun writing it as well. A ginormous thank you goes out to dreamerren, for her work as beta and practically as the story's second author. Title credit goes to Nick Gibson for his song "Outlaw's Prayer."
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5, part one
Chapter 5, part two
Chapter 6
Chapter 7, part one
Chapter 7, part two
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15, part one
Chapter 15, part two
Chapter 16
"No matter how justified a man may be in killing another, he never gets over it." - Henry Van Sickle, after killing Charles Brown in self-defense
Adam placed his hands on his hips, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he mulled over the new information about Hope's prisoner. "Wow," he remarked, though Kris didn't think he sounded surprised at all. "You know, I thought so; but Alli said she saw him making eyes at Ramiele." He shook his head, the glint from the polished metal buttons on his jacket glittering even in the drab, gray dawn of the morning. "This is why she's never getting put into the business: no woman's intuition."
Normally Kris would have allowed Adam to ramble and digress from the subject, if only to listen to his voice just for a few seconds more in each day. But they had such little time to speak before the rest of the town awoke for their daily routines, and he had to avoid getting caught handing over information to anyone in town, especially the brothel owner, and especially in front of the sheriff's office. If any of those details managed to get caught upon the wind towards Sheriff Gokey's ears, it could prove to be disaster for all of them.
"Focus, Adam," he said with a sigh, making sure to keep his voice low to avoid any prying ears. Perhaps they should have stayed inside the sheriff's office to have this conversation instead of sneaking behind it, but they had already been caught by a deceivingly perceptive prisoner, and Kris had no idea if Andy would even want him revealing this secret to another soul...even if Adam was obviously of the same mind. "This is important."
An impatient cluck of Adam's tongue and a wave of his hand quelled Kris's worries he wasn't taking this seriously. On the contrary, Adam thought; if this plan eliminated the Lambert Inn's problems with the law he couldn't be more serious about it. "I know that," he said testily. "We're helping him get the hell out of here."
"And back to whoever's waiting for him," added Kris. That one flash of desperation and vulnerability Andy had showed in the jail cell that night endeared him to Kris, made him sympathize with the traveler's plight to return to his people, his love. Kris wasn't much for breaking laws--even Gokey's laws, rotten to their core--but if he were in the same situation, he would have prayed for any type of miracle to get him back to Adam in one piece.
A small, secret smile spread across Adam's face, blue gray eyes shining as he looked upon the deputy, whose passion for justice was only surpassed by his sentimental heart. If Adam had a say in the matter, the traveler would have been halfway to California by now, destroying Gokey's ambitions a pleasant side effect. He knew Kris would come around to the same decision eventually; he had just needed a push to get there.
"But first," Kris continued. "We've got to get word to his people. Make sure they know the situation." He took a deep breath, hesitant about the favor he was about to request. But this arrangement would benefit Adam as much as Kris, and there wasn't a soul in Hope he would trust more. "I need you to go out there for me, make sure we get this settled before we make any promises."
Adam's refined conduct expertly masked his surprise, an aghast expression nothing more than the quirk of an eyebrow and a glimmer in his eye. When he had returned to the sheriff's office to check on his lover and his charge, Adam wasn't expecting to be drafted into this plot. "Me?" he asked incredulously, fingers nervously fiddling with the long, sumptuous sleeves of his jacket, tarnishing the polished silver buttons with his touch. "If you haven't noticed, Kris, I'm not the law here, you are. I can't even remotely pass for a lawman." Standing a full head and shoulders taller than his companion even without boots, Adam cut an imposing shadow along the New Mexican landscape, but he never used might or size as a method to his success. Not one for the long, grueling hours of gunfighting training, he hired bodyguards who were more than capable of maintaining order inside the Lambert Inn, and prided himself on the sharp decrease in violence within recent years. Adam was a businessman, not a diplomat or an executioner; he preferred to be a lover, not a fighter. And the clothes on his tall and impressive frame--intricately tooled calfskin boots, a perfectly tailored shirt and pants underneath his silver-studded duster, all dipped in the the same blue-black dye as his hair--showed from miles away he made much more than a lawman's salary.
"I think that could work in our favor." Kris was persistent, despite the fact that he knew Adam Lambert stuck out like a mountain spring in the barren desert; he had many months and more than enough instances to notice everything about Adam. He hiked a thumb in the direction of the office's front door, indicating the wounded prisoner within. "It could just be that one of them shot him, but Andy doesn't seem too fond of lawmen. He's only giving me any notice because I saved his life." Kris shrugged, remembering to keep his voice low; if the gossiping residents of Hope typically tittered themselves into a frenzy over his feigned courtship with Brooke White, he couldn't even imagine what they would do with this information. "Maybe the people he's with feel the same way."
The deputy hadn't needed to work so hard to tease out Adam's assent, but it was a polite sign of respect for the other man; Kris knew that, so long as it was within his means, Adam would do anything for him. With a quick nod and a furrow of his brow--Kris would always tell when Adam devoted his full, serious attention to a topic, whether it be helping a man escape from jail, the future of his inn, or intently giving Kris the most pleasure he ever experienced from one man--Adam agreed to the meeting, the conspiracy complete.
"Andy said he'd give us their location once I talked it over with you," Kris continued, the shapes and shadows of Hope coming more into focus as the minutes passed, though any semblance of sun was blocked out by the heavy storm clouds that refused to budge. He wanted to get back into the sheriff's office as soon as possible, less concerned about a dramatic jailbreak from the unattended, wounded prisoner, than he was about prying eyes and ears noticing his whereabouts. It had only been one day since news broke out over the traveler's arrest; an innocent passer-by might consider Kris's presence as an invitation to gawk. "He's got a passphrase too he wants to tell you; something they all came up with, makes sure that his people know you're telling the truth."
Opening the door with a creak of iron joints wet and straining from the evening's storm, Adam and Kris were greeted by the sight of Andy's health progress, the traveler now up on his knees, one arm snaked around one of the iron bars of the cell, the other outstretched before him, fingers flexing tentatively. It was a marked improvement from the last time Adam laid eyes on the prisoner, his energy sapped, barely able to sit up against the back wall.
His mood had certainly improved as well: Andy's attentions remained engrossed with the meticulous movements of his right arm, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. It had been over a day since the shooting, the pain in his arm ebbing from unbearable to barely tolerable, and the traveler had decided to test its limits and see if the damage the bullet caused would be permanent.
"You're moving your arm!" Adam noted encouragingly, the first words spoken as the pair entered the one-room building, and the first words Adam had addressed to him since the day before, when the proposition was first approached.
Keeping his gaze on his arm, slowly extending each finger and bringing them back in again towards his palm to make a fist, Andy gave a low chuckle, physical strain evident in his voice. "That I am." He was pleased with his own progress, knowing his condition could have very easily taken a turn for the worst in the past two nights and he would have not been able to move at all. But the pain still resided in his right shoulder, the constant, stinging reminder of his injuries, and he was still rather weak from his body's continued efforts to heal, the arm holding onto the bars of the cell trembling from the exertion. It was progress but he wanted more; Andy wondered when his right arm would be strong enough to wield a gun again.
The deputy, however, noticed the newfound energy in the captive's legs, able to hold up his body weight to an extent, Andy's knees wobbly but secure. It was amazing, Kris thought, what one could will the body to accomplish when they had a reason to drive forward. "You planning on an escape there?" he joked.
Shooting Kris a wry, tight-lipped smile that indicated escaping might have only been prevented by his physical limitations, Andy played along, growing comfortable with his sympathetic jailer. "My goal for today," he deadpanned, accenting the impossibility of Kris's suggestion with a painful wince as he lowered himself back down to a seated position on the jail cell floor. "Is standing."
But as soon as the pain subsided in his joints Andy's face took on a serious expression, nodding his head towards Adam but his eyes squarely on the deputy. As friendly as he had become with the pair since his injury, Andy ensured them with his tone that it was nothing but business. "He in?"
Kris nodded, and imagined he could actually see the relief settle in Andy's shoulders, his goal of returning to his people one step closer. "I told him," he said, the deputy finding he didn't have much to do to convince Adam. The owner of the Lambert Inn had supported letting Andy go since the previous morning, purely to spite the sheriff, but now he saw the reasons for this escape were more personal than his own rivalry. "He knows what he's getting into."
Andy forced himself to control his reactions lest he give anything away to the pair; he knew fairly well these two hadn't the slightest clue what they were getting into. But it wouldn't be his place to set them straight, or they might back out of this agreement, never let Andy out of that cell; if he told them the truth about why he was in town they might hang him themselves. Kris believed there was someone special to Andy waiting for him outside of town, a man that he desperately needed to return to, and that was true enough, but certainly not the whole story. Andy's mouth fought to hide the smirk threatening to emerge; Neal was a whole lot more than just a man.
But before another word could be spoken Adam's face broke out in a grin, both lavicious and telling, and made Andy wonder just how much Kris had told him. "So," he asked brazenly, the daring and playfulness in his voice slathered on thick. "What's the safeword, loverboy?"
***
David didn't have a plan.
The entire night his mind had been a disaster of logic warring with emotion, of countless strategies conjured and dismissed because they weren't secure enough, their offenses not nearly strong enough for David's approval. The Kings, David specifically, had underestimated Hope ever since they laid eyes on their bank vault, and it had brought them here, walking the edge of a knife blade over Andy's capture. He wanted to make sure it wouldn't happen again; but in every plan he imagined he saw flaws, small specks of doubt that could easily fester and grow into fatal decisions. One choice he had made almost cost one of his men his life; he didn't want to decide upon another that would take more.
But he knew inaction wouldn't be acceptable to the rest of the Kings, most of all Neal, whose threat to desert David and Kyle and search for Andy on his own was the only thing David was sure would follow through. If David didn't devise a plan to get into Hope and get Andy out alive by morning, he knew the headstrong sharpshooter would make his own way to town without a lick of care for human life, even his own. The deadly serious look on Neal's face, more dire and emotionally wrought than David had ever seen him in their years of partnership, told him this was no idle ultimatum; that all the loyalty in the world Neal had for David and the Kings would mean nothing if David let Andy die.
These outlaws, these men of his that looked to David for leadership and strength...they depended upon him for this. More than anything now, David couldn't fail; he couldn't let them down.
"We ride out," were his curt orders after the gray, lifeless dawn broke over their heads, Kyle quickly nodding and scampering around camp in preparation for their move. Neal was still at his perch in front of the dead, cooling embers of the previous night's fire. His jaw was set, his hands wrung together tightly like a vise, but none of it held the vicious anger that coursed through his veins last night. His demeanor was solemn now, his hunched back and blue eyes fragile, so close to breaking, held together by willpower and something deeper, something that had not been there before. David made the order but couldn't look Neal in the eye; if he did, he feared, the sharpshooter would see through David's tough facade and know there was no substance to his plan.
And Kyle, the poor kid, wouldn't even look in David's direction, spooked by his own demons and silently worried that Hope would be the last ride for the Kings. If there were any power in his strength and will, David would not let that happen; as their leader he held a duty to the other men to keep them safe, and not ride them to their deaths. He held a particular responsibility for Kyle, the eager young ranch hand that had just wanted to experience some adventure in his life before it was too late; if it weren't for David's decision to welcome him as a member of the Kings he would be on that California ranch still, restless and bored but not in danger for his life. David was the one who brought Kyle to the life of an outlaw; he would make sure he came out of it alive.
Just how he would accomplish any of this, however, he hadn't a clue.
Setting their horses at a steady, moderate pace, Neal refusing to travel any slower than a trot, the three men made their way towards Hope, David hoping he would at least have the authority to stop Neal from a rampaging search the moment they caught sight of the town. Jailbreaks were decidedly not bank robberies: the Kings did not hold the element of surprise here, and indeed they were the ones who were left to be surprised about the unassuming town, the agent among them known for gathering data the very one they had to retrieve.
They were about a mile away from the town's outskirts, the quaint storefronts and homesteads not yet visible over the horizon, when Kyle let out a whoop from behind David, giving him a start. He flashed back a stern look in the kid's direction, but his ire soon turned to perplexity as he watched a relieved smile spread on Kyle's face.
"The trees," he said enigmatically, pointing a finger towards a grove of juniper trees in the distance. "The trees are bare."
Squinting to make out the condition of the small grove's branches, David saw gnarled, knobby boughs curling from each trunk, the trees reaching up towards the skies like naked, desperate peoples praying to gods in the heavens. Why the trees suddenly fascinated the young outlaw, he had no idea. "Storm probably knocked off all the leaves last night," he replied, eager to get their attentions off of trees and back to the task at hand. Already Neal was restless from this diversion, his jaw set, his eagle eyes forever watching the horizon.
But this insignificant detail seemed to enliven Kyle, who was nearly bouncing in his saddle from inexplicable joy. "The trees are bare!" he exclaimed again, laughing to himself once he saw David's confused face and his reluctance to join in on the mad laughter. Whatever had struck Kyle's funny bone, David thought bemusedly, he reckoned it had picked a damn wrong time and place to do it.
"I don't think I'm ever gonna understand you, kid," he said. He was about to elaborate on his observation when he spotted a swift movement and a glint of metal in his peripheral vision; David turned to see Neal drawing his revolver with a steely gaze on the landscape, something out of the ordinary catching his eye. In another moment David saw it as well, a lone rider rising up from a dip in the horizon, previously undetected by the outlaws and coming closer. He held himself high and uncomfortably in the saddle, a man unaccustomed to long journeys on horseback; a town settler. Appearing to be alone, he went along confidently, seemingly unaware that the men he approached were dangerous and, as Neal had just proven, readily armed.
Realizing the sharpshooter was very willing in his state of mind to shoot first and ask questions later, David stayed his hand, not wanting to start off their morning with a murder. "He's coming from town," he observed, noting the path of the horse's muddy hoofsteps. "He might know something."
"And what if he shoots us first?" Neal sneered. Kyle unconsciously gripped the reins of his mount tighter in his hands, digging into the leather until his knuckles were white.
But David was adamant about leaving the man unharmed; anyone passing their way with news of the commotion in Hope was worth more to them alive than dead. And something about the approaching figure told David this man was no gunslinger, and the dull glints of metal he spied on the horizon weren't from any weapons. "He can see us just fine," he explained. "If he was going to shoot us, he'd have already done it." Neal obliged the outlaw's orders, but held onto his revolver regardless, refusing to take any more chances.
As the approaching figure came closer David's suspicions were confirmed: with his expensive, fine clothes and the well-groomed but rather scrawny horse he rode upon, it was clear this man was no gunslinger. Adorned with more baubles and shining gems than David had ever sent Kelly during their correspondence, the man had to have been on a mission from town; he wouldn't have survived one minute in the open plains wearing that finery and being so daring as to ride up to strangers. But his confidence faltered as he drew nearer, the gait of his horse slowing as the features of the Kings gradually came into his focus, particularly the drawn revolver of the Dr. laying at the ready stop his saddle horn.
It appeared this man from Hope expected to come by three unassuming, innocent travelers on his journey; he had expected wrong.
"Care to share your business 'round these parts, friend?" David asked once he was within earshot--and close enough to render escape impossible if the man tried anything heroic.
The stranger's blue-gray eyes, outlined with kohl along his lids, shifted from one outlaw to the next, fear sinking in with each second. "Holy shit," the realization dawned on him as his horse took a step back, anticipating his hesitation. "You--you're--"
"We know who we are," David interrupted sternly, holding up a hand behind him, a second warning to Neal not to raise his gun at the man. "But it'd be mighty helpful to know more about you."
David stared down the other man with an unflinching glare, the other outlaws equally as menacing; with a nervous gulp the newcomer looked at each man, sensing that escape was impossible. There was no other alternative but to tell the truth. "My name's Adam," he said, his tone tense but true, keeping a mindful watch on any sudden movements from the outlaws, particularly the Dr.'s trigger hand. "Adam Lambert. I'm coming from Hope..."
"You run the inn there." David narrowed his eyes, remembering the name Lambert as a passing detail in Andy's report on the town the night before their heist. It hadn't been a vital observation, the shadow of the Kings merely using it as a background on Hope and to boast about the pampered comfort he was lodging in while gathering his information. But now, that useless detail came full circle.
Startled by the identification, Adam's brow creased, his confusion overstepping his fear. "Yeah, that's my inn; have you stayed there?" he asked on instinct before shaking his head, common sense answering his own question. The Lambert Inn had been a breeding ground for outlaws and thieves in his father's day, but Adam had tried to eradicate the inn's violent reputation; apart from the sex for sale, the place was a veritable family establishment. "Of course you haven't stayed there, I would have noticed you--oh, damn..." He tripped over his words, a rarity for the innkeeper, but then again he very rarely came across murderous outlaws who had just days ago robbed the town's bank. Adam considered himself quite composed considering the circumstances.
Running a shaky hand through his hair, Adam changed his tactic, hopefully looking to get away from the three men and continue with his duties unscathed. "I need to get a message to someone," he said, aiming to target whatever sympathy an outlaw gang may have. "I won't be any trouble to you, I swear."
But the grim look on David's face sent a fearful chill down Adam's spine; today was not the day for the Kings's mercy. "We don't have time for pleasantries today, Lambert," he said, his disinterested tone masking a great urgency, the outlaw learning well how to hide the fact he was distressed. The Kings could use any information Adam could give them--and David had no qualms about extracting that from him using whatever means necessary--but without knowing how dire Andy's situation was in Hope, they didn't have much time to shoot the shit with the owner of an inn.
Still Adam was firm in his resolve. "I'm looking for a group of men, they're supposed to be camped around here..." he explained, but trailed off as his mind worked, connecting supposed dead ends and useless details to come to a revelation. The Kings had cleaned out Hope's bank two days ago; they should have been miles away by now, eluding any posse scrounged up to capture them, not riding back towards the town they had robbed. And Andy's mysterious reluctance to reveal anything about himself to Adam or Kris, giving them only the barest information they asked for, had roused Adam's suspicions from the start that he was no simple traveler; a man sent by the rest of his group for supplies, Adam reevaluated, didn't spend three days staying at his inn to do it. Added to the fact that Andy set him on this very trail outside of Hope to find the group he rode with, the dubious proposition the prisoner gave to solve their problem of the pesky sheriff...
Adam's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him; he almost wanted to laugh if the situation hadn't been so terrifying. "No. Shit."
Now visibly bemused by the delay, David frowned, growing more impatient with the innkeeper by the moment. "I think it's time you--" he began, but Adam cut him off, in a stroke of mixed bravery and stupidity he thought he would never replicate.
"Wait." He held a hand up both as a sign of appeasement and diplomacy. If his hunches were correct, then the three men before him were going to want to hear what he had to say. "I have a message I'm supposed to give, from a man named Andy...and I think it's for you."
The name on Adam's lips struck shock into the three outlaws, their steely gazes momentarily lapsing to show their emotional reactions. The youngest of the three's jaw dropped open in surprise, while the blond maintaining the rear of the group tightened his grip on the revolver in his hand, a gesture that definitely gave Adam reservations about agreeing to this meeting. David faltered only slightly, his horse noticing the change in his stature and stomping restlessly on the ground; but his eyes gave everything away, a desperate recognition of the name Adam spoke that told the innkeeper he had found the right men.
"I don't believe you," was David's immediate response, a trigger based more on emotion than his controlled, well-balanced routine as leader. He was a skeptic until situations were proven otherwise, and he wasn't going to believe Adam Lambert just on his word; they had taken the town at face value once before, and it only left them with a captured partner and a wounded spirit.
A tiny smile caught the corners of Adam's mouth. "He said you'd say that." The wariness of letting outsiders know about himself and his group, the precautions Andy relayed to Adam before he left that morning...it was all glaringly obvious to Adam now, he could almost smack himself for not paying attention to the clues beforehand. Though Hope's prisoner could have given Adam little more warning about the nature of his friends' career...
The unmistakable click of a revolver's hammer snapped Adam's mind back to the present with dangerous force; looking up, he found himself staring down the barrel belonging to the most feared gun in the West, cocked and ready at David Cook's command. This was not expected. "You've got five seconds," David ordered, any spontaneous emotion in him completely gone, replaced by a newfound cold anger towards the man that represented all of Hope in that moment, represented the town itself that had their lives in such a tenuous hold.
Adam held up his hands in surrender, dropping the reins of his horse Zodiac and focusing only on the gun pointed towards him. "He definitely didn't say you'd do that," he mumbled, eyes widening.
The outlaw's patience was wearing thin; if Adam was lying, he would know soon enough. "Four," he counted down, his stare never wavering.
"Hey, you're supposed to start at five!" Adam protested, but it didn't even cause David enough hesitation to catch his breath.
"Three."
"Dave," the youngest member implored the outlaw, a worried crease forming on his brow that he would actually go through with his threat by the end of the countdown.
Thinking on his feet, Adam tried to remember the instructions Andy gave to him upon meeting with his people--people Adam now knew certainly needed particular care. "There was a special phrase," he recounted, his mind hearkening back to the conversation in the sheriff's office. "Break...break something." He snapped his fingers in an attempt to recharge his memory, but his time was running short.
"Two," was David's last warning, but as soon as the word fell from his lips Adam recalled the pass phrase that appeared so vital to his survival.
"Break...whatever needs to break."
The revolver dropped and returned to its holster; the stern, unflinching expression on David Cook's face softened in recognition, an unspoken acceptance of Adam's code. The innkeeper breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing how close he could have come to death. "You have met with Andy," he concluded.
Adam nodded, trying to catch his breath, not noticing how his heart had been racing when the outlaw's gun was trained on him. "He's in jail, in Hope right now," he explained, watching the reactions of each man very carefully. He wasn't looking for any more surprises coming his way. "The sheriff's arrested him, looking for someone to pin the bank robbery on, get all the credit. He's already sent for a judge from Santa Fe."
David gave a grim nod of recognition; any territory in the country would want to lay claim to arresting and convicting a King. The truth would eventually come out, and Andy's face was bound to be recognized once it was published by newspapers hungry for a story. "They're lookin' to try him," he concluded, his brow furrowing in frustration. If only he had told Andy to leave Hope as soon as possible...if only he hadn't been so damn confident, this might have all been different.
"The sheriff's looking to hang him," Adam corrected sadly. Gokey had already made it clear he didn't have a penny of pity for the man he shot in the back, and a proper trial would just make it look like he was wasting the territory's time. By the gunshot wound he inflicted or by decree of execution, Danny looked to gain much from Andy's death. The youngest member of the gang reacted with a small squeak in his throat that he tried to mask with an over-compensating cough; Adam supposed that even outlaws feared death just as he did.
"But we," he gave the alternative to a dreary fate for their companion, "are looking to get him out of here."
"Who's 'we'?" David asked suspiciously; Andy had said the Lambert Inn had a certain amount of power within the town but he didn't think that extended so far as to manage their prisoners. It was unorthodox, to say the least, that Adam came to them to discuss matters of the law at all.
There was no point in holding back his connection with Kris now; the Kings didn't need to know the nature of their relationship, but if they agreed to this arrangement they'd get to know Kris Allen well enough in time. "The deputy; we're working together. His name--"
"We know who the deputy is," David interrupted with a wave of his hand. For outsiders, Adam thought with a frown, they sure seemed to know a whole lot about the town. "Thought he was on the straight and narrow, though. Doesn't sound like a fellow who'd let a man out of his jail." More than the passing details on Hope and its decadent inn, David remembered from Andy's report that the deputy was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't his reputation that preceded him, but his love for the position and his loyalty towards the law, rendering him, as David assumed, dangerous and incorruptible. Perhaps he wasn't as incorruptible as David thought.
Adam couldn't help but snicker; even outlaws knew how much Kris Allen believed in justice. "That's my Kris, alright," he muttered under his breath, ducking his head to hide the smile he couldn't control whenever the other man crossed his mind. Kris didn't merely believe in standing up for what was legal; he believed in doing what was right, an unwavering philosophy that allowed Kris to see the best in people, to always give a stranger or a new friend a chance--just like he had when he and Adam first met. Even when he'd find out about Andy's connection to the Kings--which, Adam reflected with a nervous gulp, was going to be quite an interesting conversation--Kris would most likely want to set the prisoner free regardless, resenting the disrespectful method of the arrest more than the crime itself.
"He doesn't belong where he is right now," Adam said, referring not only to the jail cell at Hope but the pain Andy was in due to Danny's actions. No one deserved to go through that, not even the perpetrator himself. "He belongs back with you."
You're damn right he belongs with us, David thought but held his tongue. "What are you looking for here?" he said between gritted teeth, his guard automatically up ever since Adam said he was there on behalf of the deputy. David wasn't pleased, to say the least, at having to deal with a lawman in order to get Andy back. As loyal and righteous as this deputy might be, David knew he would want something in return; no good deed goes unpunished.
"The deputy wants to meet with you, discuss some arrangements," he explained, as the crease in David's brow deepened along with his suspicions. "We can get Andy back to you, and we want to, but we ask you to do something for us in return." Adam said, as he took a deep breath to calm both himself and the outlaws, understanding now by the waver in his voice and the flutter of fear in his heart why the prisoner had failed to mention that he was meeting with known murderers and thieves.
"How can we trust you?" spoke up the youngest outlaw, a blue-eyed gaze attempting to be as steely and intimidating as possible towards Adam. Almost as a testament to someone truly intimidating, David shot him a cold, admonishing glare over his shoulder, a clear indication that he was the spokesman for the gang--and wasn't searching for help from others in the process. David held his doubts about this chance meeting, especially since it involved the word of a lawman, but he couldn't make a decision yet based on the little knowledge they had.
But the moment Neal had heard the Kings's pass phrase out of Adam Lambert's mouth, he had made up his own mind about truth and trust. "We can," he said in a gruff, low voice, his eyes fixed on the newcomer, Adam's words ringing in his head. They were the first words Neal had directed towards anyone since the night before, when he threatened David with the promise of resentment and unforgiveness should Andy die, and each syllable was filled with a determination none of the men had ever heard in his voice. If this man said he had contact with Andy, then he was their best chance at getting him back, without resorting to an angry, violent mess. And although Neal was very willing to step over the dead bodies of every soul in Hope to get to Andy, even he realized the easier way to go about it was a peaceful one. Neal would trust this innkeeper and his lawman because he had to; because he would stop at nothing, even allying himself with enemies, to get Andy back.
"Andy's sent him here, with his blessing," David said, recalling the phrase Adam gave them as vividly as Neal had, remembering the time they had created their code and never thinking of the day they would have to use it. His face grew dark though his expression had not changed; perhaps Adam had just been imagining it, his eyes only accenting the trepidation he felt over his close brush with the Kings's violent side. "If he were in danger, or held against his will, he would have given a different code...one that would tell us to shoot Mr. Lambert here off his horse."
Adam gulped, knowing the threat from these outlaws was no laughing matter, and thanking all powers that be who cared to listen for getting on Andy's good side. This could have been quite a different kind of meeting had any of their encounters gone south, but Kris and Adam had gained the prisoner's trust through care and toil, and it appeared Andy repaid that in kind. He watched David's attentions turn back to him, feeling only marginally safer; despite David's words and the few but meaningful words of the Dr., Adam felt that the trust of the Kings could wear thin at any given moment.
"We're not looking for trouble," he repeated. "We just want to get everything back to normal, for all of us. This was Andy's plan to begin with; he sent me to make this whole arrangement. He said...once you speak with the deputy, you'll want to agree to the deal."
The outlaw set his jaw again, a resentment in his eyes: Andy knew extensively of his hatred towards lawmen, their self-righteous duplicity; their lies and cruelty far harsher than any death the Kings had ever caused. He would know David's hesitance to work with any of them, even in order to save one of his men from execution; every deal made with the law, just like every lawman himself, had a price. But through all this, Andy had made an alliance with Hope's deputy, and asked now to trust in a plan that would benefit every man involved. The shadow of the Kings was a good judge of character and would never put the others in danger even if it meant his own freedom. David felt the presence of his second in command behind him, Neal deadly quiet the entire morning, a silent obedience to go along with whatever plan meant getting Andy back. Andy wouldn't risk his life for his own freedom.
That fact helped make up David's mind on working with a man who, for all moral and personal desires, should want to get the Kings behind bars. He may have been the leader of the outlaws, but for this job it appeared a lawman would be calling the shots. "Where am I meeting your deputy," he asked, though refusing to bring himself to raising his voice into a question. He would agree to working with the law of Hope, but he wasn't planning on being pleased about it, either.
Adam told him of an old miner's shack four miles east of the town--the gold mine had been a bust even before he had been born, the cabin long abandoned, but Adam seemed to find an extra use for the place somehow. He assured the Kings their security in the area, the land too rocky for farmers and too barren for the stray cattle rancher, but even so David planned to take precautions, allowing the men from Hope to determine the location of the meeting but staying firm on the time. Sunset, he declared, and not a minute later, and no one present but the deputy, lest Hope hold one more trick up its sleeve. Adam gritted his teeth at the thought of Kris meeting the outlaws all alone, but David quickly promised no violence against the deputy unless it was provoked, reminding him that of the two sides the Kings had more to lose.
"We're gonna make sure he gets back to you," Adam confirmed, Zodiac uneasy underneath him, the beast picking up the restlessness in his bones, eager to be back within the town limits.
The stare returned to him told him there was no room for error or for lies; David Cook was serious about the welfare of his men, and if Kris or Adam played him at any point in the arrangement, there would be hell to pay. "You reckon he better."
Tugging on the reins of his horse, Adam turned to leave, when a voice he had heard little of that morning called him back. "Wait."
It was the sharpshooter, the deadly outlaw known throughout the West as the Dr., his face something to be feared by every man. But the expression that Adam saw was far from terrifying: the stone-faced man who glowered before with one hand always on the revolver at his belt had softened, a momentary lapse into emotion Adam doubted he allowed himself often. His pale brow furrowed, his blue eyes rimmed with deep sadness, and as he frowned his mouth hesitated to speak the words dying to escape his lips. If he spoke up, he'd break the Kings's inherent rule to allow David to do all the talking, but if he didn't he would be breaking his own heart.
Neal's lower lip trembled with hesitation, afraid of the answer as much as posing the question. But if Adam had been in contact with their fallen partner, he had to know; it would kill him not to ask. "Is...is he okay?"
Adam saw the sadness in the stranger's eyes, a sympathetic desperation and the glimmer of hope that not all was yet lost. There was a yearning in those eyes, that simple question, that a man did not naturally have for just a partner in crime. Adam reflected on the same anguished look the prisoner in Hope's jail cell held in his eyes ever since he arrived, and how he himself would feel should he ever experience this unfortunate separation from Kris.
This was the man Andy was dying to get back to, the one whose name Kris said he mumbled in feverish dreams, sought to stop at nothing to reunite with once again. From the look in the sharpshooter's eyes Adam knew he felt the same way. His heart went out to Neal, unguarded at that moment, emotions laid bare for an observant eye to see, and he decided he could not let even an outlaw stay in the dark about his lover, but he couldn't bring himself to lie, either.
"It was pretty bad for a while," he admitted with a sympathetic tone; Adam could almost sense the breath catch in Neal's throat, the grip on his horse's reins tightening. He remembered Kris's gruesome details about the first night caring for Andy's wounds, how the smell of fresh blood permeated the sheriff's office that next morning; Adam was surprised that Andy even lived through the night. Perhaps determination was a force to be reckoned with; perhaps it was pure stubbornness to see Neal again that kept Andy going. "But he's doing just fine now. Your friend's a fighter," he reassured Neal, the sigh of relief visibly escaping his body, Adam recalling how quickly Andy was regaining his strength back in Hope. "He'll be alright; I promise."
But as the two parties took their separate ways--the Kings off to the depths of the muddy plain to regroup, Adam back into town to tell a whopper of a tale to Kris--the deputy's common reproach echoed in his head, his frequent, realistic answer to Adam's tendency to dole out such frivolous guarantees. He couldn't promise, he couldn't ensure the future, and all of their fates were now held as tenuously as the word of an outlaw.
Chapter 18