Chapter Text
The shadows of Blackwater stretched long across the ground. Warm light painted everything in gold, the wheat fields blazing like fire. Hoofs clomped against cobblestone as Garrus Vakarian slowed Mantis to a walk and steered toward the hitching post outside the saloon—where he’d been told to meet. He dismounted with a soft grunt and looped the reins around the wood.
“Be right back, boy,” he said and patted Mantis’s neck. “You take it easy, now.”
The horse blew air out of his nose and lowered his head, shifting his weight off one hoof. A pang of guilt settled in Garrus’ gut. Mantis never let him down—he’d push through fatigue if Garrus asked—but they’d been on the road for weeks. It was time to let him rest.
Garrus pushed the brim of his hat up and swung the doors to the saloon open, ignoring the eyes settling on his tall frame. The sound of a lively piano tune hit him first. The smell hit him second: clean city-folk and too-expensive whisky. His blue eyes swept across the open room until they settled on a man eyeing him from a table tucked in the innermost corner.
His chest tightened. Ignoring it, he stepped forward, his boots thunking heavily against the floor. As he reached the man, he gave a small nod.
“Dad.”
Castis nodded toward the seat opposite his. “Sit.”
Hesitation gripped him for a beat, then he dropped into the chair, elbows settling on the table between them. The old man looked haggard and worn, like he had too much weight on his shoulder and nowhere to put it—the life of a town sheriff. Silver colored the hair at his temples, creeping into whatever was hidden below his hat. An older, spitting image of Garrus, most people said.
“Drink?” Castis said.
“You offering?”
Castis lifted his glass and caught the attention of the bartender. Two fingers raised and a nod was all it took. The silence stayed until a serving girl, all smiles and laughs and ‘Misters’, settled two fresh glasses of whisky between them. Both men looked up at gave the same short nod.
Some things even distance couldn’t unlearn.
Smoke, wood, and an edge of sweetness lingered on Garrus’s tongue, burning all the way down to his stomach. A quarter for barely a gulp. Legal robbery as far as he was concerned.
Lucky for him, he wasn’t paying.
“How was the ride?” Castis asked, his glass hitting the table with a dull clank.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries. Letter made it clear this ain’t no social call.” Garrus leaned forward, his voice lowering. “Tell me, what does the great Sheriff Vakarian need my help for?”
Ice-blue eyes bored into his, softening just a fraction around the edges before they sharpened again. Castis lifted something from the seat next to him and dropped it on the table. Garrus glanced at the folder once.
“What’s that?”
“Read it.”
His jaw tightened at the command. Still, he opened the folder and skimmed through the paper quickly, logging the details as they came: train robberies, bank robberies, money gone, never any chaos. His brows creased and he slowed down. The next page told the same story, so did the one after that.
“Whoever’s behind this clearly knows what they’re doing,” Castis said. “They’re quiet. Efficient. In, out, minimal casualties.”
Garrus inhaled slowly and exhaled even slower. “Still doesn’t explain why I’m here.”
“However much I hate this path you’re on, I’m not so blind I can’t see you’ve done well for yourself. Word is you’re quiet. Discreet. A hunter. People recognize you by method and not by face or name. That’s talent.”
A brow quirked. “Then how would you know?”
“Because you’re still my son.”
The flinch was unstoppable, and so was the heaviness settling in Garrus’s chest. He picked up his glass, realized it was empty after the fact, and set it back down with a small scoff.
“We wanna hire your services,” Castis said.
A laugh burst. “You’re screwing with me.”
“I ain’t.”
Garrus chuckled again. Castis’s expression didn’t change. The laughter died quickly then.
“You’re actually serious.” Garrus tilted his head. “How much you paying?”
“Five grand.”
“Five—?!”
“Ten if you can bring whoever’s behind it alive.”
“Jesus!” His eyes narrowed. “Who’s pissed off enough to pay that much?”
Castis shifted in his seat. “Donovan Hock.”
“Ah. There it is.”
“This ain’t got nothing to do with her.”
“But it sure as hell doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“That so bad? Vincent’s good stock.”
“Fair enough.”
Garrus rubbed his jaw, fingers catching on his beard. Life on the road as a bounty hunter was rough. Work wasn’t consistent, but contracts earned good money. Most dangerous bounties sat around fifty, maybe a hundred dollars. Enough to get him by for a few months, unless he needed to spend on tack, clothes, or weapons.
A ten grand bounty was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. He could buy land. Build a house and a stable for Mantis. Create space he could use whenever he needed it instead of paying for board in town. It was somewhere to winter and not worry about freezing to death. He could come and go as he pleased.
“That the thing, then?” he asked. “This gets resolved, I get paid, Sol gets to marry into a good family?”
“What matters is stopping whoever’s behind these robberies,” Castis said. “The rest is a bonus.”
Garrus didn’t question it. His father was never one to deceive anyone, much less agree to something just because it benefitted someone else. ‘Do things right or don’t do them at all,’ he said all the time.
It certainly explained how Garrus ended up being the black sheep.
“What do you know about the bounty?” Garrus asked.
“Not much. Like I said, small group of men. One or two seem to be Mexican. In and out fast, always covered.” Castis rolled a shoulder. “One of them rides a wild one.”
“That ain’t exactly rare.”
“No. But if the rumors are right, you’ve found more with less information.”
And here he thought he’d been laying low. Maybe Castis hadn’t lied about keeping an eye on him. A nod formed, gaining more and more traction.
“Capture the leader and get them back to Blackwater, then?” Garrus asked.
“No.”
He blinked. “No?”
Castis cast a glance around before leaning closer and lowering his voice. “I ain’t looking for no massacre, Garrus. I want this done clean, which is why I’m coming to you and not just hanging up a poster somewhere.”
“Meaning?”
“Do what you gotta do to get close.”
The realization hit a moment after. “You want me to infiltrate the gang. What exactly are you hoping to learn?”
“Names. Hows. A time and a place once you’ve got everything we need.”
“Times really have changed, huh.” Garrus looked over his shoulder once and brought his voice to a murmur. “You realize they ain’t gonna trust me immediately, right?”
“I do.”
“And if they ask me to prove my loyalty?”
No answer. Garrus scoffed.
“Hock is that desperate, huh?”
His father’s eyes drifted to the table, cheek muscles ticking. No bounty poster, no leads; Hock must’ve been if the only way forward was for the town sheriff to turn to the disappointment of the family.
Garrus rolled his tongue against his cheek. Did he want to do this? Was securing Solana’s future worth the risk? This gang didn’t sound like small-time folks—no ten grand bounty did. A death sentence could be waiting the second he got too close. Everything inside him told him it was a fool’s errand.
But the ten grand flashed in his mind, poking him like a devil on his shoulder. He’d never have to worry again. He’d get the land, the house, the stable, and still have money left over for whatever came next. Even some to pass down, if he ever settled down; the American dream delivered straight to his lap.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll get it done.”
His father nodded. “Get to the house for now. Rest before you ride out. Mantis could use a break.”
A brow quirked. “Is my bed still there?”
Castis held his gaze. “Been ready ever since you left.”