Better Outrun My Gun
Erik's head snaps back. He would have fallen if the men hadn't pulled him upright.
“I thought I recognized the gun.” Shaw says conversationally, eying the weapon in his hands.
“You told me to find you when I learned how to shoot.” Erik's lips are bleeding.
Shaw's mouth curves into a smile. “So I did.” He moves in close, studying Erik. “It's a pleasure to see you again, Erik.” He nods to his men. “Tie him up.”
They tie him, leaving him lying there on the back porch as Shaw decides what to do with his prisoner. Erik lies there, bound hand and foot, wishing...no he wouldn't change anything. He should have simply killed Shaw the moment he saw him, but Charles had to be there in that saloon of all places. That moment when Erik had decided to save Charles had changed everything, and even now...Erik wouldn't have changed it back, even if it meant his life. His time with Charles was too precious.
“Now what am I going to do with you?” Shaw murmurs, settling back in his chair. “I could drag your ass back into town and hang you, maybe. Right in front of that saloon you're so fond of protecting. Or maybe it'd be worse if they never knew what happened to you. Let them wonder, think maybe you left them alone and unprotected while your body rots in some gulch.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Ah, well. We've got time to decide. I haven't really had any good entertainment for a while. This town isn't exactly the most lively. But you...” He grins at that. “Maybe you'll be just as much fun as your mama. In a different way, of course.” Shaw laughs.
Erik keeps his mouth shut. He knows there's no point in responding.
Shaw reaches out a boot to rest on Erik's hip. “All the fight goes out of you pretty easy, eh? Must take after your daddy more than that sweet mother of yours.”
“Or maybe,” Shaw leans forward, the boot digging harder into Erik's skin. “You just need the right influence to bring out the best in you.” He removes his foot and stands. “Something tells me the two of us are gonna need to get caught up.”
Shaw's ranch is a nice set-up. The veranda runs all the way around the back of the house, creating a pleasant, shaded area. It would do very nicely for an evening party. Beyond the veranda there's a stretch of dirt where Shaw gentles his horses and beyond that barn and the corrals. They string Erik up between two posts halfway between the porch and the barn. The ropes pull taut, keeping him upright. Blood's trickling down his face where Shaw struck him with the pistol. Erik licks at his dry lips and waits.
It's mid-morning when Shaw graces him with his presence.
Emma pours Shaw a drink and they go out on the patio. Az and Janos are already there, keeping watch.
“It took me a while,” Shaw begins. “But eventually I figured out who you were. You're the scrawny little kid from that ranch up in the pines. You couldn't shoot worth a hill of beans.” Shaw actually sounds nostalgic. “You must have practiced a while.”
“Some.” Erik mutters tersely.
“Some.” Shaw guffaws. “You practiced a hell of a lot, didn't you? You're good, you know. I know good shooting when I see it, and you're good.”
“Little Erik,” Shaw shakes his head. “I gave him a perfectly good chance to help his mother, and he failed. Yet here he is years later, still trying,” He leans forward in his chair. “Still failing. I thought you were smarter than that, Erik. Guess I was wrong.”
He steps back and nods to the two men who approach. The blows are hard, but concise. They're bruising him in preparation for the worse pain. Somehow this is poor consolation. Erik sags on the ropes when they're done. His wrists ache, but it's a numb pain at the back of his mind, compared to his torso.
“Az,” Shaw drawls. “Don't you have that new whip you were wanting to try out. I'm sure Erik will give us a fair and honest evaluation.”
The whip hurts worse, biting into already tender skin. It hardly matters that he's wearing a shirt any more. The whip cuts through it almost gracefully. The leather is well-oiled and smooth, snapping into his skin with the speed of a jungle cat. Erik clamps his mouth shut, refusing to scream.
Think of anything else, anything. Think of the ocean, calm, blue, endless. That's no good, Erik finds himself thinking of Charles. Charles who tried so hard, Charles's smile, Charles's body touching his...
“Hey, hey,” Shaw's standing in front of him, slapping him across the face. “Don't go anywhere.” He holds Erik's jaw, examining him almost gently. “You could have been so great, Erik.” He mused. “Your persistence, your tenacity, your skill with a gun. I could have used you at my side a hundred times.” His fingers dance along Erik's jaw, smearing the blood on his skin. “I don't suppose you'd consider joining me.”
“Now?” Erik lifts his head to stare at him incredulously. He can't believe what he's hearing. That this man would ever trust him enough to do such a thing. He's insane.
“Why not?”
“You'd trust me to stand by your side now, after I just tried to kill you?”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Erik.” Shaw says almost fondly. “Even you.”
To his surprise, Erik laughs. The sound escapes his torn lips. He laughs at Shaw. “Shaw, I'd rather shoot myself in the head then work with you.”
Shaw's eyes narrow, but he's still smiling. “You just might get that chance.” He moves away. “Cut him down.”
They tie Erik to a stake in the dirt and leave him there for the night. He aches all over. The night air bites through his torn clothing. At last he curls into a ball and falls into a fitful sleep.
In the morning, Erik's woken by a kick to the stomach. Janos places a bowl by his head.
“Aren't you the lucky one. You get first choice of the pig slops.”
Erik reaches for the bowl and flings it at the man's face. Bread crumbs, potato peelings, meat scraps, drip down Janos's face.
“Why you cocksucking asshole!” Janos drags Erik up by his hair and punches him hard in the throat. Erik crumples, wheezing, gasping for air. Janos kicks him again before leaving him alone.
It occurs to Erik as he lies there, struggling for breath, that he might already be in hell and nobody told him.
Shaw ignores him during the day. They leave him out in the sun until Emma finally unfastens the chain and brings it closer to the patio that lies in shade. She refastens it and goes inside, only to come back with a bowl of water. Erik drinks it gratefully. He's too tired to reason out why she's being kind now. It doesn't really matter. Eventually he has to relieve himself. He pisses as close to Shaw's chair as he can. Feeble victories as they go...
Shaw isn't pleased. “Guess we're going to have to train you better.” He nods to the two, who jerk Erik upright, holding him.
“Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?” Erik asks wearily.
Shaw just smiles. “Oh, Erik, you should know me better than that.”
He's right. Erik does know better. But he can't help hoping that each blow will be the last, even though knows perfectly well it won't be.