We could stop it for good. Standing there under the stars, looking at her, brave, unshaken, I felt something shift deep inside me. This wasn't just about saving a caravan anymore. This was justice. For Cairo, for every soul Holt had broken, for the life we were trying to build together.
All right, I said. We do it. But promise me something. What? If things go sideways, you run.
Don't try to be a hero. Get out alive and leave Holt to me. She smiled, fierce and unyielding. I promise to be careful, she said. But I won't promise to run if you're in danger.
"We're partners now, Dax," she said. "Partners don't leave each other behind." When she kissed me that time, it felt like a promise and a goodbye. At dawn, we would ride straight into the heart of darkness to face one of the most dangerous men in the territory. But that night, we still had each other, and that was enough.
The morning we rode out for Dead Horse Canyon came cold and clear, the kind of air that made every detail of the land stand sharp. Rook had done his work well. The setup looked real. Sihaya's hands were bound with rope that appeared tight, but could be slipped free if needed. Her dress had been torn just enough to sell the story.
Remember, Rook said as we neared the canyon, you have to look defiant, but beaten, angry, but not foolish. Holt needs to believe he's broken you enough to control you, while still enjoying the fight. I understand, Sihaya said. There was steel in her voice, enough to make me believe she could pull it off. I split off from their path about 2 miles from the canyon entrance, taking a longer, quieter route that led me to higher ground overlooking Holt's camp.
I moved carefully, avoiding the lookouts Rook had warned about, until I found a narrow perch among the rocks. From there, I could see everything. Through the binoculars, I studied the camp spread out below. Rough shelters and makeshift lean-tos circled a natural spring. Horses were penned in a crude corral, and I counted at least 20 men moving between tents.
Varick Holt was easy to pick out. Big man, graying hair, the kind of presence you could feel even at a distance. He stood near what looked like the main tent, talking with two others like he owned the ground beneath his boots. Then Rook Vatcher rode in with Sihaya tied behind his saddle. Even from where I was perched, I could see the ripple it caused.
Men stopped what they were doing. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. Holt's attention snapped toward them instantly. I couldn't hear a word, but I didn't need to.
Holt was pleased. Too pleased. And Rook, he played it perfectly, pointing, talking, gesturing like he was explaining exactly how he'd caught her, like he was handing over a prize. For the next hour, I watched as Holt questioned Sihaya while his men gathered around. This wasn't just curiosity.
This was a show, something important to their leader. Through the glass, I saw her hold steady, tall, controlled, proud. She gave him just enough, but never more than she had to. Then Holt gave an order. Two men stepped forward and took her away toward one of the larger shelters.
Cold hit my chest like a blade. They were separating her from Rook, cutting off any chance of coordination. This was the most dangerous part of the plan. For the next few hours, Sihaya would be alone, right in the heart of Holt's operation. No backup, no signal, no way out if things turned bad.
All I could do was watch and wait, trusting that the woman I was falling for was as strong and as sharp as I believed. But as the afternoon dragged on and shadows stretched across the canyon floor, something started to feel wrong. Holt paced back and forth, arguing with his lieutenants, pointing again and again toward the shelter where they'd taken Sihaya. Whatever she'd told him, or refused to tell him, it was rattling him bad. And then I saw it, the moment everything changed.
Holt started barking orders. His men began gathering weapons, supplies, but they weren't getting ready for an ambush. They were packing to move now, and they were taking Sihaya with them. The plan didn't just go bad, it went catastrophic. I had to make a choice, and fast.
Stick to the plan, wait for Rook to signal when he had what we needed, or break cover, create a distraction, give them a chance to get out alive. Through the binoculars, I saw the urgency in every movement. They'd be riding out in less than an hour. Whatever had spooked Holt, it was big enough to make him abandon his own camp. Then I spotted Rook near the horse corral.
Even from that distance, I could see it in him, the tension, the way he tried to look calm, but kept glancing toward the shelter where Sihaya was held. Something had gone wrong. Real wrong. I was still weighing my options when the decision got made for me. One of Holt's men, a thin, dangerous-looking bastard I'd seen earlier, walked up to Rook, his hand resting on his gun.
I didn't hear a word. Didn't need to. Rook's cover was blown. Holt had figured it out. Rook wasn't there for revenge.
He wasn't delivering Cairo's sister, and that meant, in a matter of minutes, both Rook Vatcher and Sihaya would be dead. I'd been behind a rifle long enough to know when quiet had to give way to action. Sometimes the best plan was the simplest one. Start shooting and don't stop until the bad men are down or running. I checked my weapons one last time.
Two Colt.45s, both cylinders full. A Winchester rifle, loaded and ready, with enough rounds for a small war. It would have to be enough. My first shot dropped the lookout posted high on the canyon ridge, silent, clean, before he could raise the alarm. The second shot was for the man standing over Rook Vatcher.
It spun him around and slammed him face-first into the dirt of the corral. After that, hell broke loose. The Holt Syndicate scattered like startled quail. Some dove behind wagons and crates. Others scrambled for their guns.
I'd caught them off guard, and it took them a few precious seconds to figure out where the fire was coming from. I used every second. The rifle bucked against my shoulder as I poured shots into the camp, picking off anyone trying to rally the others. Years as a hired gun had taught me one thing. Shoot fast, shoot true, and don't hesitate.
Those lessons were keeping me alive. In the middle of the chaos, I saw Rook break free and sprint toward the shelter where they were holding Sihaya. Down below, Varick Holt was shouting orders, trying to pull his men together, but the surprise had already torn his camp apart. Then I saw her. Sihaya burst out of the shelter, no longer bound, gun in hand.
Even in the middle of the gunfight, something hit me hard. Relief and pride. She wasn't just alive, she was fighting. But Holt saw her, too, and he moved fast, cutting her off with what men he had left. I shifted my fire, covering her path, trying to keep the distance clear, but I was running low on ammunition, and there were still too many of them between her and freedom.