Outlaw's Prayer (ch. 1)
Title: Outlaw's Prayer (1/?)
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Skibmann, 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 have been working on this story for the past six months and I am SO excited to finally be posting it :D What started out as a fledgling idea grew to be a huge AU and I'm very grateful to share it with you. 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."
"I was only twenty-two years old. I was good-looking, desperate, discouraged, and ready for anything that might come." - Pearl Hart
Kyle Peek didn't imagine that his first day trying to be a genuine outlaw would end with him being killed by one.
He couldn't help but think to himself--in this, the last few moments of his young life, if he didn't talk fast and talk soon--that the revolver pointed underneath his chin was remarkably well cared for, cleaned and polished like it had never left the munitions store. Clearly it had been used before, Kyle was no fool: David Cook didn't get the reputation as one of the most ruthless outlaws in the West by waving a gun around and politely asking for your valuables. The sun's waning rays through the darkening sky glinted off the barrel, each chamber loaded and ready to decorate the Nevada desert with Kyle's brains, and at the base of the barrel Kyle could see the faint yet distinct markings of "AC" tooled into the metal.
"Just shoot him already, Dave," came a voice from behind them--Kyle didn't look in the direction of the voice, wasn't planning on turning his eyes away from the highly dangerous weapon pointed at his face or the highly dangerous man wielding it. "He's seen all of us; he's seen Andy. We can't just let him go -"
"He hasn't done anything, Neal," came a voice of reason, one who seemed to effectively cut off Neal's murderous train of thought. "We can't kill him if he hasn't done anything."
David wasn't paying attention to any of the voices around them, focusing his thoughts and his gaze on the young man in his grip, the one with his face in the way of his revolver's path. He cocked an eyebrow at Kyle, wondering what possessed him to even attempt approaching them in broad daylight--or, what was left of it for the night. Far better men had tried it, and their bones lay in the settled dust. "What's your name, kid?" he asked, his voice calm and metered, fearing nothing from Kyle.
With a nervous gulp he answered, wondering if it was standard fare for the legendary outlaw to discover the name of his victims before he shot them down--not like there was anyone left to tell those kinds of tales. "K-Kyle....Kyle Peek." David raised his chin, scrutinizing the younger man steadily, giving no indication if he approved. Hell, Kyle would have told him he was the Queen of England if it'd get the gun away from his head. He rolled over the past few minutes in his mind: watching the four men slow their horses' long, arduous pace from riding all day in order to set up camp at dusk, the desolate terrain empty for miles but for these outlaws and himself. He had quickly tethered his own horse, Gangles, in anticipation; waiting for the right moment to approach them, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like he had never experienced back on the ranch. He left his guns with Gangles because he didn't want to appear to be a threat; now, he was reconsidering that train of thought.
"And where are you from?" the questions continued, with no sign of David loosening his grip on the collar of Kyle's shirt nor squeezing the revolver's trigger.
"California," he stuttered, his mind harkening back to the grassy fields and idyllic skies of his hometown; for a brief moment he wondered why he ever left. He would have never had a gun aimed at his head there, that surely wouldn't have happened; but then again, it was more likely nothing would have ever happened had he stayed, and that prospect terrified Kyle more than the business end of David Cook's revolver.
David took a pause, and Kyle swore he saw a hint of amusement in his steely eyes. "You're quite a ways from home, kid," he snickered. David had to give this kid some credit: he looked scared shitless at that moment, blue eyes wide and focused, like he had never seen a Colt before much less stared one down, but he held his own, giving nothing away that he hadn't planned on in the first place. The last man to stare down this gun, an ambitious bounty hunter by the name of Constantine who was more into the prestige of taking down David and his gang than the actual work behind it, buckled faster than railroad rivets in the desert heat; if he hadn't unholstered his gun while David wasn't looking, the four men might have even spared his life. Might. "You sure you belong here?"
Well, this was it, Kyle surmised; it was now or never. He could take a humiliating licking, back out peacefully and carefully with his tail between his legs, and return back to California to live and die on some ranch that wasn't even his...or he could stand up and do what he came here to do, what he had been wanting for his entire life: to reach for something more. And if it meant getting shot in the process...well, at least it'd say on his tombstone that he tried. He straightened up as best he could when a feared outlaw had him by the collar, and spoke with confidence. "More than anything," he said, "I think I do."
"What do you want, kid?" asked the voice from before, the man they called Neal who had wanted David to shoot the young man and be done with it. That nickname seemed to be sticking. The other three men surrounding Kyle and David had stayed silent for a while, obviously deferring to the man they considered their leader, but David's collected patience proved to be too slow for those who liked results.
Kyle took in a deep breath, feeling the cold metal of David's gun shift along with his intake of air. He stared David cold in the eyes, his face unflinching, and dead serious. "I want to join you."
He didn't particularly get the reaction he was expecting, but the day wasn't going the way he had anticipated to begin with; this was just another quirk, he supposed. The three men surrounding him and David broke out into a medley of laughter, from an amused snicker coming from the lithe man dressed all in black to a hearty giggle from the figure beside him, a shorter man with untamed hair the color of hay, to a great bark of laughter from the blond known as Neal, holding his sides with unmistakable tattooed hands.
Neal...Neal Tiemann, Kyle guessed, from what he had heard about the gang's exploits through hushed whispers like ghost stories in the towns he visited and the newspapers he picked up along his travels. He was known more notoriously throughout the West as the Dr., a name many feared but few gave explanation for; Kyle had believed he'd warm himself to Neal and the others in David's gang if he learned their actual names instead of what the sensationalized papers called them. Neal was the most dangerous one of the group, with a lightning quick draw and an even quicker temper. Kyle swallowed hard; he hoped in his bluntness he didn't make a rash mistake.
"We're not taking applications," joked the Dr. between peals of laughter, and Kyle thought that was the end of this endeavor and possibly the end of his existence until David flashed a stern look over his shoulder, quickly silencing the other three with no more than a glance. Kyle marveled at the power of that, the authority and sway he held over other men he valued as his equals. Seeing it so up-close left any newspaper's description of it in the dust.
David scrutinized the young man again, and that steadfastness, the damn gall he saw in his eyes to ride up to the four of them during daylight and ask to join still impressing the outlaw. Neal was quick to dismiss him but that was to be expected; David wanted to hear him out. "Why?" he asked, regretting that his voice gave away the hint of something that was beyond curiosity. He met many a man along his travels who fell into the life of an outlaw, far too deep to ever get out; it was rare to meet a man who would risk his life to get in.
"You guys...you're the best," Kyle focused his attentions on David, knowing he'd get no sympathy from the others, and knowing David was the one to appeal his case to; he was his only hope. "Most feared gang anywhere in the Territories, it's known all over. Every man, woman and child in every town from here to West Virginia's heard of the Kings."
A smile played upon David's face; as complicated as his relationship with his outlaw career was, it never ceased to amuse him when told of the notoriety of the Kings. "And I..." Kyle continued, a look of wonder crossing his face. "I want to be a part of that."
"You want the money," the man with the unruly hair assumed with a knowing nod of his head. They were feared and renowned, there was no doubt about that, but the one thing that made the Kings the name on everyone's lips were their payouts. Hitting the small, unguarded banks of fledgling towns throughout the West instead of big cities with high risks and heavy security, they managed to rack up a hefty bankroll into the tens of thousands. Though with their well-worn, dusty clothes and the looks of their horses, Kyle couldn't tell where the money was going.
The younger man shook his head vehemently, keeping his eyes on David. "It's not about the money," he insisted, and it was true: he had been comfortable back in California, more than most folks could ever say, and he had left all of it for a life of uncertainty and so much more. David quirked an eyebrow; it was yet another thing about this kid that surprised and impressed him. "It's the thrill; it's the adventure. I want the successes, I want the danger; I want everything."
"You don't want the danger, trust me," Neal piped.
"I want...to feel alive," Kyle's voice couldn't have been more earnest, couldn't have held more desire for this kind of life, David could tell from the spark in his blue eyes. There was no doubt the kid had the desire, the drive, but the skills had yet to be tested. Nevermind that asking politely wasn't the typical way to join a gang of murderous outlaws.
David said nothing but lowered his gun silently, uncocking the revolver and feeling the tension drain out of Kyle's body as the cold gunmetal departed from his body. David didn't plan to kill him, not anymore, and he didn't have any inclination the younger man was going to bolt towards the closest telegraph station and give notice of their whereabouts; not when he wanted to become one of them.
There wasn't anything threatening about this kid, this Kyle Peek. Nothing menacing or dubious, and maybe that was the problem after all.
"We don't need a fanclub," David half-joked, taking a step back to fully assess the young man. When they had first saw him approaching, a shadowy figure in the gathering darkness of dusk, the outlaw's instincts kicked in faster than any other sensory perception; they all knew there were always mere seconds between kill and be killed, and one could get a very good look at a lawman or bounty hunter after they were splayed out on the ground, dead. But now that David could get a good look at him, he could see Kyle's youth was exaggerated by his enthusiasm and naivety. He had a decent build, and the tan about his face and hands told David he was no stranger to the great outdoors: a laborer, possibly, someone who got tired of the drudgery of working for someone else's dime at best, or at worst, an escapee from a fate far more sinister than hard labor. He had potential, David supposed, but he knew better than anyone, all the potential in the world didn't stop a bullet with your name on it.
"I'm not useless," Kyle insisted as he felt guns being drawn behind his back: three of them, the quiet man with unruly hair, the mysterious man in black who Kyle thought existed only in legend, and the Dr., whose reputation declared he never missed. Panic started to sink in as Kyle's brow broke out into a cold sweat: was David Cook stepping back to further scrutinize him, size him up for recruitment...or was he just giving his partners a clear shot?
His voice was faster now, more frantic; Kyle believed he was literally pleading for his life to be spared. He quickly listed off the skills he had gained while on the ranch, never knowing when he gained them that they could be the difference between life and death. "I can ride, and fast; I've yet to find the man that can beat me and Gangles in the open plains. I'm great at not being traced: I set up camp, break it down in record time, you'd never even know someone was there. I can track, I can shoot -" he didn't want to mention the only targets he had shot at before were rabbits, not people, or that before tracking the four outlaws that day he used that skill only to find wayward cattle dogs who wandered off the ranch. Those details would endear him to no one. "I'm small, but I'm tough, I can pull my own weight, and...and I want this. I tend horses -"
"You tend horses?" David's ears perked up at the last remark, and while it looked like his mind had wandered during Kyle's laundry list of qualifications, he had actually been listening intently, brow furrowed in concentration. The kid made some good points and while he sounded more equipped for menial ranch jobs, they might be able to make it work somehow. He cocked his head to the right in the darkening gloom. "My horse hasn't had a rest all day. She needs water, and food; maybe even a good rub-down, get the desert out of her coat." He raised an eyebrow again as an indication of his request, not needing to verbally ask for Kyle to get the point. Another advantage in the kid's direction.
Kyle nodded enthusiastically, ready to take off like a shot towards the horses, anything to get away from the menacing barrels of the guns directed at him. But before he took one step, he casually asked, "What's her name?"
The question took David aback; it was the first time Kyle had seen the outlaw less than collected and completely prepared for whatever the world had to throw at him. From the looks of it, surprise wasn't a sensation David Cook came across very often. "What did you say?" he eked out, bewildered.
"Her name," Kyle repeated, an uneasy smile spreading across his face despite himself. He just needed to get to the horses; at least with them, you had good warning beforehand that they were going to stomp the life out of you. "Can't just walk up to a stranger's horse without expecting a good kick in the face. I've got to know her before she'll let me touch her."
It took a moment before David realized Kyle wasn't fooling, or trying to stall for time; he honestly wanted to know the horse's name, and no one had ever asked that of David before, simply marking down the failures of previous horse groomers as the old girl's infamous stubbornness. This kid must really know how to deal with horses, treating them more like friends, like members of a family, than as lowly animals--it was the mark of a true traveler to respect and trust in one's horse in such a way. David hoped his expression didn't give away to Kyle just how impressed he was with him. "Sugarfoot," he replied with a smirk.
With a quick and determined nod, Kyle was off in a flash into the growing darkness of the desert, allowing the stars and the sound of restless hoof beats against the dust to guide him to the horses. He could hear the murmur of voices behind him as he retreated; the group wanted to talk without Kyle in the way, obviously, though his heart was beating too loudly in his ears to make out any discernible words in the conversation. Now that the guns were holstered and far away from him the adrenaline that kept him relatively lucid while facing the gang drifted away, leaving his limbs shaking from the shock. He couldn't decide if he should grin like a madman, hoot and holler out of the jubilation of survival, or turn and run fast as he could towards the closest town just in case the four men changed their minds about shooting him.
But no; he was far enough in already and he'd never forgive himself if he backed out now. He settled on a subdued version of the former, his blue eyes shining in a grin as he approached Sugarfoot, an oddly tender name for the horse of a noted and ruthless outlaw, and cooed over to her gently as he had learned to do on the ranch. David Cook's horse... it was a wonder enough that he had met the man, stared the barrel of his gun down and could live to tell the tale--or not tell it, Kyle wasn't foolish enough to give any of this away--but to actually tend his horse, and be considered as a member of the Kings...the beginning of their conversation hadn't gone the way Kyle expected, but the end result was more than he could have dreamed.
As the snorts and hoofbeats from the men's other horses slowly surrounded his senses, Kyle thought of the other secret he now held, the one most townspeople he talked to wrote off as unsubstantiated legend but his eyes and his mind now proved to be fact.
"There really is a fourth rider," he marveled, and Sugarfoot gave an exhausted snort in response.
***
"You can't seriously be considering this."
Andy saw that look in David's eyes, even in the darkening dusk that was slowly fading to a black, cloudless night; saw the concentration behind the daring expression and knew him far too long not to know what he was thinking. The three men gathered around their unofficial leader, a gang meeting certainly in order. The opinions of the four Kings usually agreed and when they didn't the differences weren't so stark: never before had David wanted to bring a new member into the fold when Neal wanted instead to shoot him.
Truly it was never something they had to bring up before: they had brought in a new member before--Andy remembered when Joey Clement first came to them, but it had been under different circumstances and Joey had never acted like a gobsmacked fan or gawker with them. He had proven himself immediately capable with his shotgun, something Andy doubted this Kyle Peek could ever do. He wasn't so keen on murdering the kid, but they couldn't very well just induct him into the fold; this wasn't some university fraternity or bridge club here.
But now Kyle had seen their faces, had a good, clear look of all four of the outlaws. All four of us, Andy thought with a sinking feeling in his gut; the kid had taken a good look at his face as well. He didn't want to go so far as Neal and shoot Kyle, but if he knew about Andy's identity--if he could identify the shadow of the group, the man that was not supposed to exist--they couldn't let him leave alive.
David's plan, however--the plan Andy could see formulating behind those mischievous eyes a mile away--was completely out of the question.
He threw his hands up, his one burst of frustration over the circumstance he'd allow himself; Neal's extreme emotions usually spoke loudly enough for the both of them. "What, are we going to take in every runaway kid who dreams of being Jesse James?" he retorted to David's peaceful expression, the look of a contemplative man who knew how to grift a mark seven times over and each time execute it with intelligence and proper elocution.
The leader of the Kings raised his gloved hand to his chin, scratching at a deliberately scruffy beard, his interest piqued: it certainly wasn't every day Andy, level-headed, logical, quiet Andy Skib raised his voice to him. Kid's hit a nerve. "He does have some skills, Andy," he shrugs coolly, playing nonchalant while his mind raced on the possibilities, the pros and cons of Kyle Peek.
Shaking his head, Neal interjected; he didn't often disagree with David, but even rarer than that did he disagree with Andy. "He's green, Dave," he was most offended by Kyle's inexperience, how he goggled with wide-eyed wonder even when their guns were drawn and he was unarmed. If the kid wanted adventure, he should pick up a dime novel; Neal Tiemann was no babysitter. "He's so green."
But David was quick to the draw on the Dr.'s accusation, nearly as fast with his wit and sharp intellect as he was with his revolver. "He was able to find us," he reminded him. Kyle said he was a tracker, and the Kings made sure they weren't the easiest men to find; if he had followed them for God only knows how long, waiting for the right moment to reveal himself, then he possibly had more talent than the others were giving him credit for.
Andy had a different answer for that: the pair seemed to have an answer for every one of David's reasons. David would have appreciated if Joey could come in with his own opinion on either side of the argument any day now. "He could be a lawman, or hired by one to find us," he suggested, the one word that was cursed beyond all others within the group; even the slight mention of the profession brought a sneer to David's lips. On the opposite spectrum of crime and diligence in the treacherous West, lawmen were just as relentless and dangerous as the outlaws they hunted, caring for nothing between them and their prey. Many lawmen along the plains had become outlaws, finding the chase more thrilling and profitable than the pursuit, and vice versa: the blending of the roles, the bent rules and broken promises of the West always stunk to David of lawmen. Bounty hunters were clumsy, lazy and manageable: they were in it for the money, the rewards stacked atop the Kings' heads with each town they visited, each bankroll they lifted. Lawmen didn't want David and his men for their bounty: they wanted to gun them down simply to watch them die.
David held no love for lawmen, and the other Kings knew it well. But when he had stared down Kyle he saw nothing like the cold, unflinching gazes of lawmen he had the misfortune to confront in the past, no notion of the kid biding his time in order to gain David's trust only to gun him down when his back was turned, the fate of many outlaws who were too careless or greedy. And he didn't have the feeling Kyle was about to run off to a higher-up with information on the Kings or their whereabouts: there was fear in his eyes, yes, but when staring down David Cook's revolver it was to be expected there'd be a little healthy fear. What he didn't see was the underlying tension he'd seen before in the informants and lackeys of lawmen, the ones who feared their bosses more than the outlaws they faced. Besides, if the kid was going to turn tail and run back to whomever hired him, he would have done so already--and by the complacent sounds of Sugarfoot within earshot, David knew Kyle Peek was keeping true to his word.
He frowned. Convincing the rest of his crew of what he saw in Kyle's eyes wasn't going to be easy.
Neal dismissed Andy's suggestion with a shake of his head; he didn't trust Kyle so far as he could spit, but he didn't put enough faith in him to be much of a threat, either. "He's too young for all that," he told Andy.
Andy's voice dropped to a softer tone as he shrugged, a voice meant just for Neal to contemplate, to remember. "I was young, too," he shot back, a look between them flashing something David learned long ago not to attempt to decipher. Neal's eyes narrowed and in the ever-growing gloom of night David thought he saw the slightest of nods from his head, but he said nothing more; there had been something in Andy's words and his gaze that stopped him, reminded Neal that not all men's experience or skill should be judged by their age.
"He's not trying to rat us out," said David, a little too loud for comfort, but he wanted to catch the other men's attention and perhaps let Kyle by the horses hear it as well. "I got a look at him, long and hard, and...that's just not what I see in him." He admitted with a shrug that his base was on nothing substantial, that his decision to trust the young man was based solely on his gut instinct; but the three men that rode with him trusted daily in that instinct, that gut, sometimes with their very lives. It may not have been enough to convince them of Kyle's trustworthiness, but it was never overlooked.
Finally Joey spoke up with an easygoing tone to his voice, one hand rummaging through his unruly curly hair to scratch at his scalp, the other resting on his shotgun. Even in times like this, when crucial decisions were about to be made for the Kings, he was breezy and nonchalant, and typically complacent with letting the other three men hash out the details. "Well, are we keeping him or are we shooting him?" he asked; David responded negatively to the latter choice almost immediately, but still the dissension on Neal's face told him this meeting was not over simply because Joey willed it so. "'Cause if we're shooting him, I kinda don't want him near my horse."
The leader turned again to his trusted men, their faces contrary and skeptical when they saw the look in David's eyes, a glint of mischief added with his resolve, like Kyle was a puppy that followed David Cook home and he was requesting permission to keep him. Andy knew many a saloon girl up and down the great plains fell for that expression, gave the outlaw anything and everything he desired for it; but common saloon girl, he was not. "No, Dave; no," he shook his head, but with less bite than before; he already knew the other man had made up his mind.
Indeed, David had decided what he personally wanted to do with the wayward ranch hand obviously far from home, but he never dared pull rank in the group: everyone may have considered him the leader, came to him for guidance and split decisions on the road, but something as important as this required everyone to agree. "Tending the horses alone is a huge asset." David depended on Sugarfoot for more than merely transportation and while he knew the other Kings loved their horses like he cared for Sugarfoot, none of them had the time, patience, or expertise to groom them or keep them in top condition. Kyle's trusted hands would not only be helpful and kind to their horses, but could mean the difference between a safe, speedy getaway and death.
"If he can build and strike camp as fast as he says he can," he continued despite the sour looks on Andy and Neal's faces, "he could shave off hours of our time; God knows we could use it." He gave a quick snicker in Joey's direction. "Hell, maybe we can even get him to cook some good food for us, I'm gettin' kinda tired of Joey making damn beans all the time."
"Hey!" exclaimed Joey, feigning offense. "My beans are delicious, dammit!"
David wanted to laugh, break the tension of the coming night with a hearty laugh from his belly--when Joey wasn't giving his silent yet supportive assent to the gang, he painted himself the joker of the group, always providing much-needed levity on a dangerous road with little to find pleasure in. But he saw that Andy and Neal were in no laughing mood at all. "Yeah, so he could be helpful with camp," Neal conceded, which considering his near-legendary stubbornness David knew was a milestone. At least he convinced him Kyle wouldn't be completely useless. "But we're not out here to camp, Dave."
He could tell what he meant before Neal ever had to elaborate: there was a reason these four men were out in the middle of the Nevada desert, camping at night, leaving before dawn, making sure there was no trace left of their existence as they rode closer on their never ending travels to their next destination. The other aspect of their lives was far more dangerous, and sinister, and wasn't something Kyle could come to them with prior experience. "We've got no way of knowing how he'll react during a job. Are we just gonna let him shoot because he says he can?" It took a certain kind of man to keep their cool during a bank heist; the four Kings learned that through experience, hearing the stories along their journey of failed robbers and outlaws who buckled under pressure, broke and burst when the time was crucial and hesitated when one second of hesitation could cost your life. They knew they were made of sterner stuff; Neal doubted completely that Kyle had it in him. "I don't know about you, but I'm not too sure I want this kid watching my back."
"We're fine the way we are," Andy chimed in.
It was an uphill battle to convince Andy and Neal to any changes, particularly something as important as this, and when they agreed upon a subject with fervor, David knew there was almost no stopping them. Theirs was a partnership steeped in history, predating David's own knowledge, and they understood each other's mindsets more than David sometimes understood his own. He didn't want to bring Kyle into the business end of their life quite yet: the kid had to prove himself, allow some time for the other men to feel him out and know when he would be ready--if he'd ever be ready--to take that extra leap as an outlaw. But Neal and Andy seemed set on never even giving Kyle that chance: it was all of their lives, after all, they were handling, preparedly yet precariously juggling each time they rode into a town with the intent of cleaning it out.
David wasn't winning this battle, and it seemed more and more likely Kyle Peek would be revisiting the sight of the Kings' guns drawn on him very soon.
"But, the last time?" Joey piped up once again, his voice startlingly serious, such a rarity that everyone turned to look. He held his shotgun tighter, a stricken look flashing upon his face, remembering moments from the last heist he'd rather forget. "We cut it close. I mean, we got out fine, but we weren't expecting there to be reinforced doors and if the sheriff's posse had come but two minutes earlier..." Joey shook his head as the other men recalled the events, the shouting and gunfire Joey heard inside the bank that he knew were not part of any of their plans; it was the only time panic had ever set into David's bloodstream during a job, the only time he wasn't sure Joey's backup at the bank's entrance and Andy lingering in the shadows would be enough to get them all out alive. "...We cut it close."
They all knew it had not been a smooth heist: the planning was wrong, the execution had gone awry, and they had escaped with their sizeable payout, but only just. No one man had been to blame but they all silently mulled over their actions in their heads, how they could have done things differently; how one small mistake and their success rate could have plummeted. And in their line of work, just one failure was too many. As the leader David had felt the brunt of this regret--although decisions were made by all of the Kings, he felt the most responsible when things went wrong, and he had spent days torturing himself over what could have tragically been.
Andy nodded silently, his eyes to the ground in thought, while Neal said nothing but kicked at the pebbles by his boots, the wind out of their sails. Neither of them could deny what had transpired in the last town, and they were no fools about needing someone else for added security. The Kings could have certainly benefited from another man on their side, another gun protecting their backs, and David didn't want to risk being unprepared again; but he wasn't sure he wanted to risk the kid's life to save their own skins.
"We can keep him as lookout for now," he negotiated, receiving both a satisfied nod from Joey and a noncommittal grunt from Neal. "Nothing serious. But none of us can say--" he glanced at Neal, who David learned early in their partnership was more stubborn than Sugarfoot, but wasn't bull-headed enough to lack common sense when he needed it. "--that we couldn't use the backup."
David made his case as best he could, though even he couldn't understand why he advocated so strongly for this kid; he could have just as easily shot him as he approached, or listened to his words and found them false or insincere, and left him in the wilds of the desert to die. But he saw something in him, this Kyle Peek, that he deemed worthy enough to keep around. He hoped this time he could continue to trust his instincts. "Just give him one chance," he solicited his men; they could grant Kyle that much, David thought, they had all received their fare share of chances.
It took a moment of consideration but finally Andy assented, his lips a thin line as he nodded once, eyes on their leader. David returned the nod, a gratitude in his eyes that no words could express nor were the words ever needed. It was only up to Neal now, David's second in command, who had wanted to shoot Kyle the moment he saw him. He took a glance over at Andy; their eyes locked again, David noticed, and something intangible passed between the two friends that the other man had no hope to decipher. Neal's eyes grew dark and he turned back to David, a reluctant scowl on his face.
David knew he had won.
"One chance," the Dr. reasoned, pointing with his revolver into the darkened night, towards their tethered horses and the Kings' new recruit. His narrowed eyes told David this kid was his responsibility, that while Neal would dole out the praise to David should the young man succeed, if something were to go wrong he would also know where to place the blame. And if he died, Neal's eyes said as a warning to the other man, that burden would be on him.
David's eyes followed the invisible path Neal's gun barrel made into the night, wondering how much of their meeting Kyle had heard and seen. He hoped, for the kid's own sake, that he was up for the challenge.
Chapter 2
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Skibmann, 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 have been working on this story for the past six months and I am SO excited to finally be posting it :D What started out as a fledgling idea grew to be a huge AU and I'm very grateful to share it with you. 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."
"I was only twenty-two years old. I was good-looking, desperate, discouraged, and ready for anything that might come." - Pearl Hart
Kyle Peek didn't imagine that his first day trying to be a genuine outlaw would end with him being killed by one.
He couldn't help but think to himself--in this, the last few moments of his young life, if he didn't talk fast and talk soon--that the revolver pointed underneath his chin was remarkably well cared for, cleaned and polished like it had never left the munitions store. Clearly it had been used before, Kyle was no fool: David Cook didn't get the reputation as one of the most ruthless outlaws in the West by waving a gun around and politely asking for your valuables. The sun's waning rays through the darkening sky glinted off the barrel, each chamber loaded and ready to decorate the Nevada desert with Kyle's brains, and at the base of the barrel Kyle could see the faint yet distinct markings of "AC" tooled into the metal.
"Just shoot him already, Dave," came a voice from behind them--Kyle didn't look in the direction of the voice, wasn't planning on turning his eyes away from the highly dangerous weapon pointed at his face or the highly dangerous man wielding it. "He's seen all of us; he's seen Andy. We can't just let him go -"
"He hasn't done anything, Neal," came a voice of reason, one who seemed to effectively cut off Neal's murderous train of thought. "We can't kill him if he hasn't done anything."
David wasn't paying attention to any of the voices around them, focusing his thoughts and his gaze on the young man in his grip, the one with his face in the way of his revolver's path. He cocked an eyebrow at Kyle, wondering what possessed him to even attempt approaching them in broad daylight--or, what was left of it for the night. Far better men had tried it, and their bones lay in the settled dust. "What's your name, kid?" he asked, his voice calm and metered, fearing nothing from Kyle.
With a nervous gulp he answered, wondering if it was standard fare for the legendary outlaw to discover the name of his victims before he shot them down--not like there was anyone left to tell those kinds of tales. "K-Kyle....Kyle Peek." David raised his chin, scrutinizing the younger man steadily, giving no indication if he approved. Hell, Kyle would have told him he was the Queen of England if it'd get the gun away from his head. He rolled over the past few minutes in his mind: watching the four men slow their horses' long, arduous pace from riding all day in order to set up camp at dusk, the desolate terrain empty for miles but for these outlaws and himself. He had quickly tethered his own horse, Gangles, in anticipation; waiting for the right moment to approach them, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like he had never experienced back on the ranch. He left his guns with Gangles because he didn't want to appear to be a threat; now, he was reconsidering that train of thought.
"And where are you from?" the questions continued, with no sign of David loosening his grip on the collar of Kyle's shirt nor squeezing the revolver's trigger.
"California," he stuttered, his mind harkening back to the grassy fields and idyllic skies of his hometown; for a brief moment he wondered why he ever left. He would have never had a gun aimed at his head there, that surely wouldn't have happened; but then again, it was more likely nothing would have ever happened had he stayed, and that prospect terrified Kyle more than the business end of David Cook's revolver.
David took a pause, and Kyle swore he saw a hint of amusement in his steely eyes. "You're quite a ways from home, kid," he snickered. David had to give this kid some credit: he looked scared shitless at that moment, blue eyes wide and focused, like he had never seen a Colt before much less stared one down, but he held his own, giving nothing away that he hadn't planned on in the first place. The last man to stare down this gun, an ambitious bounty hunter by the name of Constantine who was more into the prestige of taking down David and his gang than the actual work behind it, buckled faster than railroad rivets in the desert heat; if he hadn't unholstered his gun while David wasn't looking, the four men might have even spared his life. Might. "You sure you belong here?"
Well, this was it, Kyle surmised; it was now or never. He could take a humiliating licking, back out peacefully and carefully with his tail between his legs, and return back to California to live and die on some ranch that wasn't even his...or he could stand up and do what he came here to do, what he had been wanting for his entire life: to reach for something more. And if it meant getting shot in the process...well, at least it'd say on his tombstone that he tried. He straightened up as best he could when a feared outlaw had him by the collar, and spoke with confidence. "More than anything," he said, "I think I do."
"What do you want, kid?" asked the voice from before, the man they called Neal who had wanted David to shoot the young man and be done with it. That nickname seemed to be sticking. The other three men surrounding Kyle and David had stayed silent for a while, obviously deferring to the man they considered their leader, but David's collected patience proved to be too slow for those who liked results.
Kyle took in a deep breath, feeling the cold metal of David's gun shift along with his intake of air. He stared David cold in the eyes, his face unflinching, and dead serious. "I want to join you."
He didn't particularly get the reaction he was expecting, but the day wasn't going the way he had anticipated to begin with; this was just another quirk, he supposed. The three men surrounding him and David broke out into a medley of laughter, from an amused snicker coming from the lithe man dressed all in black to a hearty giggle from the figure beside him, a shorter man with untamed hair the color of hay, to a great bark of laughter from the blond known as Neal, holding his sides with unmistakable tattooed hands.
Neal...Neal Tiemann, Kyle guessed, from what he had heard about the gang's exploits through hushed whispers like ghost stories in the towns he visited and the newspapers he picked up along his travels. He was known more notoriously throughout the West as the Dr., a name many feared but few gave explanation for; Kyle had believed he'd warm himself to Neal and the others in David's gang if he learned their actual names instead of what the sensationalized papers called them. Neal was the most dangerous one of the group, with a lightning quick draw and an even quicker temper. Kyle swallowed hard; he hoped in his bluntness he didn't make a rash mistake.
"We're not taking applications," joked the Dr. between peals of laughter, and Kyle thought that was the end of this endeavor and possibly the end of his existence until David flashed a stern look over his shoulder, quickly silencing the other three with no more than a glance. Kyle marveled at the power of that, the authority and sway he held over other men he valued as his equals. Seeing it so up-close left any newspaper's description of it in the dust.
David scrutinized the young man again, and that steadfastness, the damn gall he saw in his eyes to ride up to the four of them during daylight and ask to join still impressing the outlaw. Neal was quick to dismiss him but that was to be expected; David wanted to hear him out. "Why?" he asked, regretting that his voice gave away the hint of something that was beyond curiosity. He met many a man along his travels who fell into the life of an outlaw, far too deep to ever get out; it was rare to meet a man who would risk his life to get in.
"You guys...you're the best," Kyle focused his attentions on David, knowing he'd get no sympathy from the others, and knowing David was the one to appeal his case to; he was his only hope. "Most feared gang anywhere in the Territories, it's known all over. Every man, woman and child in every town from here to West Virginia's heard of the Kings."
A smile played upon David's face; as complicated as his relationship with his outlaw career was, it never ceased to amuse him when told of the notoriety of the Kings. "And I..." Kyle continued, a look of wonder crossing his face. "I want to be a part of that."
"You want the money," the man with the unruly hair assumed with a knowing nod of his head. They were feared and renowned, there was no doubt about that, but the one thing that made the Kings the name on everyone's lips were their payouts. Hitting the small, unguarded banks of fledgling towns throughout the West instead of big cities with high risks and heavy security, they managed to rack up a hefty bankroll into the tens of thousands. Though with their well-worn, dusty clothes and the looks of their horses, Kyle couldn't tell where the money was going.
The younger man shook his head vehemently, keeping his eyes on David. "It's not about the money," he insisted, and it was true: he had been comfortable back in California, more than most folks could ever say, and he had left all of it for a life of uncertainty and so much more. David quirked an eyebrow; it was yet another thing about this kid that surprised and impressed him. "It's the thrill; it's the adventure. I want the successes, I want the danger; I want everything."
"You don't want the danger, trust me," Neal piped.
"I want...to feel alive," Kyle's voice couldn't have been more earnest, couldn't have held more desire for this kind of life, David could tell from the spark in his blue eyes. There was no doubt the kid had the desire, the drive, but the skills had yet to be tested. Nevermind that asking politely wasn't the typical way to join a gang of murderous outlaws.
David said nothing but lowered his gun silently, uncocking the revolver and feeling the tension drain out of Kyle's body as the cold gunmetal departed from his body. David didn't plan to kill him, not anymore, and he didn't have any inclination the younger man was going to bolt towards the closest telegraph station and give notice of their whereabouts; not when he wanted to become one of them.
There wasn't anything threatening about this kid, this Kyle Peek. Nothing menacing or dubious, and maybe that was the problem after all.
"We don't need a fanclub," David half-joked, taking a step back to fully assess the young man. When they had first saw him approaching, a shadowy figure in the gathering darkness of dusk, the outlaw's instincts kicked in faster than any other sensory perception; they all knew there were always mere seconds between kill and be killed, and one could get a very good look at a lawman or bounty hunter after they were splayed out on the ground, dead. But now that David could get a good look at him, he could see Kyle's youth was exaggerated by his enthusiasm and naivety. He had a decent build, and the tan about his face and hands told David he was no stranger to the great outdoors: a laborer, possibly, someone who got tired of the drudgery of working for someone else's dime at best, or at worst, an escapee from a fate far more sinister than hard labor. He had potential, David supposed, but he knew better than anyone, all the potential in the world didn't stop a bullet with your name on it.
"I'm not useless," Kyle insisted as he felt guns being drawn behind his back: three of them, the quiet man with unruly hair, the mysterious man in black who Kyle thought existed only in legend, and the Dr., whose reputation declared he never missed. Panic started to sink in as Kyle's brow broke out into a cold sweat: was David Cook stepping back to further scrutinize him, size him up for recruitment...or was he just giving his partners a clear shot?
His voice was faster now, more frantic; Kyle believed he was literally pleading for his life to be spared. He quickly listed off the skills he had gained while on the ranch, never knowing when he gained them that they could be the difference between life and death. "I can ride, and fast; I've yet to find the man that can beat me and Gangles in the open plains. I'm great at not being traced: I set up camp, break it down in record time, you'd never even know someone was there. I can track, I can shoot -" he didn't want to mention the only targets he had shot at before were rabbits, not people, or that before tracking the four outlaws that day he used that skill only to find wayward cattle dogs who wandered off the ranch. Those details would endear him to no one. "I'm small, but I'm tough, I can pull my own weight, and...and I want this. I tend horses -"
"You tend horses?" David's ears perked up at the last remark, and while it looked like his mind had wandered during Kyle's laundry list of qualifications, he had actually been listening intently, brow furrowed in concentration. The kid made some good points and while he sounded more equipped for menial ranch jobs, they might be able to make it work somehow. He cocked his head to the right in the darkening gloom. "My horse hasn't had a rest all day. She needs water, and food; maybe even a good rub-down, get the desert out of her coat." He raised an eyebrow again as an indication of his request, not needing to verbally ask for Kyle to get the point. Another advantage in the kid's direction.
Kyle nodded enthusiastically, ready to take off like a shot towards the horses, anything to get away from the menacing barrels of the guns directed at him. But before he took one step, he casually asked, "What's her name?"
The question took David aback; it was the first time Kyle had seen the outlaw less than collected and completely prepared for whatever the world had to throw at him. From the looks of it, surprise wasn't a sensation David Cook came across very often. "What did you say?" he eked out, bewildered.
"Her name," Kyle repeated, an uneasy smile spreading across his face despite himself. He just needed to get to the horses; at least with them, you had good warning beforehand that they were going to stomp the life out of you. "Can't just walk up to a stranger's horse without expecting a good kick in the face. I've got to know her before she'll let me touch her."
It took a moment before David realized Kyle wasn't fooling, or trying to stall for time; he honestly wanted to know the horse's name, and no one had ever asked that of David before, simply marking down the failures of previous horse groomers as the old girl's infamous stubbornness. This kid must really know how to deal with horses, treating them more like friends, like members of a family, than as lowly animals--it was the mark of a true traveler to respect and trust in one's horse in such a way. David hoped his expression didn't give away to Kyle just how impressed he was with him. "Sugarfoot," he replied with a smirk.
With a quick and determined nod, Kyle was off in a flash into the growing darkness of the desert, allowing the stars and the sound of restless hoof beats against the dust to guide him to the horses. He could hear the murmur of voices behind him as he retreated; the group wanted to talk without Kyle in the way, obviously, though his heart was beating too loudly in his ears to make out any discernible words in the conversation. Now that the guns were holstered and far away from him the adrenaline that kept him relatively lucid while facing the gang drifted away, leaving his limbs shaking from the shock. He couldn't decide if he should grin like a madman, hoot and holler out of the jubilation of survival, or turn and run fast as he could towards the closest town just in case the four men changed their minds about shooting him.
But no; he was far enough in already and he'd never forgive himself if he backed out now. He settled on a subdued version of the former, his blue eyes shining in a grin as he approached Sugarfoot, an oddly tender name for the horse of a noted and ruthless outlaw, and cooed over to her gently as he had learned to do on the ranch. David Cook's horse... it was a wonder enough that he had met the man, stared the barrel of his gun down and could live to tell the tale--or not tell it, Kyle wasn't foolish enough to give any of this away--but to actually tend his horse, and be considered as a member of the Kings...the beginning of their conversation hadn't gone the way Kyle expected, but the end result was more than he could have dreamed.
As the snorts and hoofbeats from the men's other horses slowly surrounded his senses, Kyle thought of the other secret he now held, the one most townspeople he talked to wrote off as unsubstantiated legend but his eyes and his mind now proved to be fact.
"There really is a fourth rider," he marveled, and Sugarfoot gave an exhausted snort in response.
***
"You can't seriously be considering this."
Andy saw that look in David's eyes, even in the darkening dusk that was slowly fading to a black, cloudless night; saw the concentration behind the daring expression and knew him far too long not to know what he was thinking. The three men gathered around their unofficial leader, a gang meeting certainly in order. The opinions of the four Kings usually agreed and when they didn't the differences weren't so stark: never before had David wanted to bring a new member into the fold when Neal wanted instead to shoot him.
Truly it was never something they had to bring up before: they had brought in a new member before--Andy remembered when Joey Clement first came to them, but it had been under different circumstances and Joey had never acted like a gobsmacked fan or gawker with them. He had proven himself immediately capable with his shotgun, something Andy doubted this Kyle Peek could ever do. He wasn't so keen on murdering the kid, but they couldn't very well just induct him into the fold; this wasn't some university fraternity or bridge club here.
But now Kyle had seen their faces, had a good, clear look of all four of the outlaws. All four of us, Andy thought with a sinking feeling in his gut; the kid had taken a good look at his face as well. He didn't want to go so far as Neal and shoot Kyle, but if he knew about Andy's identity--if he could identify the shadow of the group, the man that was not supposed to exist--they couldn't let him leave alive.
David's plan, however--the plan Andy could see formulating behind those mischievous eyes a mile away--was completely out of the question.
He threw his hands up, his one burst of frustration over the circumstance he'd allow himself; Neal's extreme emotions usually spoke loudly enough for the both of them. "What, are we going to take in every runaway kid who dreams of being Jesse James?" he retorted to David's peaceful expression, the look of a contemplative man who knew how to grift a mark seven times over and each time execute it with intelligence and proper elocution.
The leader of the Kings raised his gloved hand to his chin, scratching at a deliberately scruffy beard, his interest piqued: it certainly wasn't every day Andy, level-headed, logical, quiet Andy Skib raised his voice to him. Kid's hit a nerve. "He does have some skills, Andy," he shrugs coolly, playing nonchalant while his mind raced on the possibilities, the pros and cons of Kyle Peek.
Shaking his head, Neal interjected; he didn't often disagree with David, but even rarer than that did he disagree with Andy. "He's green, Dave," he was most offended by Kyle's inexperience, how he goggled with wide-eyed wonder even when their guns were drawn and he was unarmed. If the kid wanted adventure, he should pick up a dime novel; Neal Tiemann was no babysitter. "He's so green."
But David was quick to the draw on the Dr.'s accusation, nearly as fast with his wit and sharp intellect as he was with his revolver. "He was able to find us," he reminded him. Kyle said he was a tracker, and the Kings made sure they weren't the easiest men to find; if he had followed them for God only knows how long, waiting for the right moment to reveal himself, then he possibly had more talent than the others were giving him credit for.
Andy had a different answer for that: the pair seemed to have an answer for every one of David's reasons. David would have appreciated if Joey could come in with his own opinion on either side of the argument any day now. "He could be a lawman, or hired by one to find us," he suggested, the one word that was cursed beyond all others within the group; even the slight mention of the profession brought a sneer to David's lips. On the opposite spectrum of crime and diligence in the treacherous West, lawmen were just as relentless and dangerous as the outlaws they hunted, caring for nothing between them and their prey. Many lawmen along the plains had become outlaws, finding the chase more thrilling and profitable than the pursuit, and vice versa: the blending of the roles, the bent rules and broken promises of the West always stunk to David of lawmen. Bounty hunters were clumsy, lazy and manageable: they were in it for the money, the rewards stacked atop the Kings' heads with each town they visited, each bankroll they lifted. Lawmen didn't want David and his men for their bounty: they wanted to gun them down simply to watch them die.
David held no love for lawmen, and the other Kings knew it well. But when he had stared down Kyle he saw nothing like the cold, unflinching gazes of lawmen he had the misfortune to confront in the past, no notion of the kid biding his time in order to gain David's trust only to gun him down when his back was turned, the fate of many outlaws who were too careless or greedy. And he didn't have the feeling Kyle was about to run off to a higher-up with information on the Kings or their whereabouts: there was fear in his eyes, yes, but when staring down David Cook's revolver it was to be expected there'd be a little healthy fear. What he didn't see was the underlying tension he'd seen before in the informants and lackeys of lawmen, the ones who feared their bosses more than the outlaws they faced. Besides, if the kid was going to turn tail and run back to whomever hired him, he would have done so already--and by the complacent sounds of Sugarfoot within earshot, David knew Kyle Peek was keeping true to his word.
He frowned. Convincing the rest of his crew of what he saw in Kyle's eyes wasn't going to be easy.
Neal dismissed Andy's suggestion with a shake of his head; he didn't trust Kyle so far as he could spit, but he didn't put enough faith in him to be much of a threat, either. "He's too young for all that," he told Andy.
Andy's voice dropped to a softer tone as he shrugged, a voice meant just for Neal to contemplate, to remember. "I was young, too," he shot back, a look between them flashing something David learned long ago not to attempt to decipher. Neal's eyes narrowed and in the ever-growing gloom of night David thought he saw the slightest of nods from his head, but he said nothing more; there had been something in Andy's words and his gaze that stopped him, reminded Neal that not all men's experience or skill should be judged by their age.
"He's not trying to rat us out," said David, a little too loud for comfort, but he wanted to catch the other men's attention and perhaps let Kyle by the horses hear it as well. "I got a look at him, long and hard, and...that's just not what I see in him." He admitted with a shrug that his base was on nothing substantial, that his decision to trust the young man was based solely on his gut instinct; but the three men that rode with him trusted daily in that instinct, that gut, sometimes with their very lives. It may not have been enough to convince them of Kyle's trustworthiness, but it was never overlooked.
Finally Joey spoke up with an easygoing tone to his voice, one hand rummaging through his unruly curly hair to scratch at his scalp, the other resting on his shotgun. Even in times like this, when crucial decisions were about to be made for the Kings, he was breezy and nonchalant, and typically complacent with letting the other three men hash out the details. "Well, are we keeping him or are we shooting him?" he asked; David responded negatively to the latter choice almost immediately, but still the dissension on Neal's face told him this meeting was not over simply because Joey willed it so. "'Cause if we're shooting him, I kinda don't want him near my horse."
The leader turned again to his trusted men, their faces contrary and skeptical when they saw the look in David's eyes, a glint of mischief added with his resolve, like Kyle was a puppy that followed David Cook home and he was requesting permission to keep him. Andy knew many a saloon girl up and down the great plains fell for that expression, gave the outlaw anything and everything he desired for it; but common saloon girl, he was not. "No, Dave; no," he shook his head, but with less bite than before; he already knew the other man had made up his mind.
Indeed, David had decided what he personally wanted to do with the wayward ranch hand obviously far from home, but he never dared pull rank in the group: everyone may have considered him the leader, came to him for guidance and split decisions on the road, but something as important as this required everyone to agree. "Tending the horses alone is a huge asset." David depended on Sugarfoot for more than merely transportation and while he knew the other Kings loved their horses like he cared for Sugarfoot, none of them had the time, patience, or expertise to groom them or keep them in top condition. Kyle's trusted hands would not only be helpful and kind to their horses, but could mean the difference between a safe, speedy getaway and death.
"If he can build and strike camp as fast as he says he can," he continued despite the sour looks on Andy and Neal's faces, "he could shave off hours of our time; God knows we could use it." He gave a quick snicker in Joey's direction. "Hell, maybe we can even get him to cook some good food for us, I'm gettin' kinda tired of Joey making damn beans all the time."
"Hey!" exclaimed Joey, feigning offense. "My beans are delicious, dammit!"
David wanted to laugh, break the tension of the coming night with a hearty laugh from his belly--when Joey wasn't giving his silent yet supportive assent to the gang, he painted himself the joker of the group, always providing much-needed levity on a dangerous road with little to find pleasure in. But he saw that Andy and Neal were in no laughing mood at all. "Yeah, so he could be helpful with camp," Neal conceded, which considering his near-legendary stubbornness David knew was a milestone. At least he convinced him Kyle wouldn't be completely useless. "But we're not out here to camp, Dave."
He could tell what he meant before Neal ever had to elaborate: there was a reason these four men were out in the middle of the Nevada desert, camping at night, leaving before dawn, making sure there was no trace left of their existence as they rode closer on their never ending travels to their next destination. The other aspect of their lives was far more dangerous, and sinister, and wasn't something Kyle could come to them with prior experience. "We've got no way of knowing how he'll react during a job. Are we just gonna let him shoot because he says he can?" It took a certain kind of man to keep their cool during a bank heist; the four Kings learned that through experience, hearing the stories along their journey of failed robbers and outlaws who buckled under pressure, broke and burst when the time was crucial and hesitated when one second of hesitation could cost your life. They knew they were made of sterner stuff; Neal doubted completely that Kyle had it in him. "I don't know about you, but I'm not too sure I want this kid watching my back."
"We're fine the way we are," Andy chimed in.
It was an uphill battle to convince Andy and Neal to any changes, particularly something as important as this, and when they agreed upon a subject with fervor, David knew there was almost no stopping them. Theirs was a partnership steeped in history, predating David's own knowledge, and they understood each other's mindsets more than David sometimes understood his own. He didn't want to bring Kyle into the business end of their life quite yet: the kid had to prove himself, allow some time for the other men to feel him out and know when he would be ready--if he'd ever be ready--to take that extra leap as an outlaw. But Neal and Andy seemed set on never even giving Kyle that chance: it was all of their lives, after all, they were handling, preparedly yet precariously juggling each time they rode into a town with the intent of cleaning it out.
David wasn't winning this battle, and it seemed more and more likely Kyle Peek would be revisiting the sight of the Kings' guns drawn on him very soon.
"But, the last time?" Joey piped up once again, his voice startlingly serious, such a rarity that everyone turned to look. He held his shotgun tighter, a stricken look flashing upon his face, remembering moments from the last heist he'd rather forget. "We cut it close. I mean, we got out fine, but we weren't expecting there to be reinforced doors and if the sheriff's posse had come but two minutes earlier..." Joey shook his head as the other men recalled the events, the shouting and gunfire Joey heard inside the bank that he knew were not part of any of their plans; it was the only time panic had ever set into David's bloodstream during a job, the only time he wasn't sure Joey's backup at the bank's entrance and Andy lingering in the shadows would be enough to get them all out alive. "...We cut it close."
They all knew it had not been a smooth heist: the planning was wrong, the execution had gone awry, and they had escaped with their sizeable payout, but only just. No one man had been to blame but they all silently mulled over their actions in their heads, how they could have done things differently; how one small mistake and their success rate could have plummeted. And in their line of work, just one failure was too many. As the leader David had felt the brunt of this regret--although decisions were made by all of the Kings, he felt the most responsible when things went wrong, and he had spent days torturing himself over what could have tragically been.
Andy nodded silently, his eyes to the ground in thought, while Neal said nothing but kicked at the pebbles by his boots, the wind out of their sails. Neither of them could deny what had transpired in the last town, and they were no fools about needing someone else for added security. The Kings could have certainly benefited from another man on their side, another gun protecting their backs, and David didn't want to risk being unprepared again; but he wasn't sure he wanted to risk the kid's life to save their own skins.
"We can keep him as lookout for now," he negotiated, receiving both a satisfied nod from Joey and a noncommittal grunt from Neal. "Nothing serious. But none of us can say--" he glanced at Neal, who David learned early in their partnership was more stubborn than Sugarfoot, but wasn't bull-headed enough to lack common sense when he needed it. "--that we couldn't use the backup."
David made his case as best he could, though even he couldn't understand why he advocated so strongly for this kid; he could have just as easily shot him as he approached, or listened to his words and found them false or insincere, and left him in the wilds of the desert to die. But he saw something in him, this Kyle Peek, that he deemed worthy enough to keep around. He hoped this time he could continue to trust his instincts. "Just give him one chance," he solicited his men; they could grant Kyle that much, David thought, they had all received their fare share of chances.
It took a moment of consideration but finally Andy assented, his lips a thin line as he nodded once, eyes on their leader. David returned the nod, a gratitude in his eyes that no words could express nor were the words ever needed. It was only up to Neal now, David's second in command, who had wanted to shoot Kyle the moment he saw him. He took a glance over at Andy; their eyes locked again, David noticed, and something intangible passed between the two friends that the other man had no hope to decipher. Neal's eyes grew dark and he turned back to David, a reluctant scowl on his face.
David knew he had won.
"One chance," the Dr. reasoned, pointing with his revolver into the darkened night, towards their tethered horses and the Kings' new recruit. His narrowed eyes told David this kid was his responsibility, that while Neal would dole out the praise to David should the young man succeed, if something were to go wrong he would also know where to place the blame. And if he died, Neal's eyes said as a warning to the other man, that burden would be on him.
David's eyes followed the invisible path Neal's gun barrel made into the night, wondering how much of their meeting Kyle had heard and seen. He hoped, for the kid's own sake, that he was up for the challenge.
Chapter 2