The Cost of Living

He'd told them to go but they wouldn't leave. So he lied, promised them that he would be right behind them. Told them there was a little "surprise" for their cattle rustlers. That part was true. But his confidence on being able to escape unscathed from the dynamite he placed on the boulders was not. The only satisfaction he got was knowing his beloved horse got away free and that Chris Larabee will still be alive intimidating rustlers and cowboys another day.

He had touched Larabee's departing silhouette with two fingers, standing on top of the cliff before he lit the match.

Ezra Standish wished he had the same courage lighting the match to also tell Chris Larabee his feelings. But what use are those feelings to a man who lived and breathe vengeance for his lost family?

The blast indeed caught him and in turn, they caught him. Angry, their numbers halved, the rustlers vowed their revenge, and promised the gambler he would suffer the same as his comrades.

That was the night before.

Suffering quietly amidst his cuts and bruises, Ezra wondered about the stare one particular cowboy was giving him. All night as they made the grueling trek across the desert to whatever hovel they were holed up in. Ezra could feel the stare through his torn back, a hand occasionally touching his backside as he laid in a humiliating slump over a horse. The rustlers didn't trust him to bolt and tied him instead like a sack of flour bouncing behind one of their saddles. He glowered at them as the men laughed. But despite his indignation, he was more than acutely aware of that stare from one cowboy straying behind the pack. Dirty blonde hair, almost like Larabee's except it was longer, unkempt, gray eyes instead of green yet just as intense. Always looking, like he was a windowpane and there was something interesting behind him. It was unnerving and despite his biting words to the rest of the gang, Ezra made a point not to look at that one. He wasn't sure he would like what he would see.

He was staring again.

Ezra suppressed a shudder when that stare suddenly became a hand rubbing at his hair.

"Soft," the man would just say, all hoarse and heavy with longing.

"Grist, get your ass over here. I need another watch!"

Ezra was relieved to feel the hot and gritty hand lift away from his head. He stiffened though when another hand, a different hand wandered to his side and down his back.

"Guess you caught Grist's perverted eye," a hot chuckle seared his ear. "Ole Grist tend to wander towards less rounder companions. Found him being driven out of town after one boy cried "Wolf" and he slit the boy from ear to ear for his second thoughts." The hand wandered lower and squeezed one rounded cheek. Then, out of the blue, he gave it a resounding smack. Someone in the dark laughed. Ezra clenched his teeth, pretending he was still out, but the soft rasping sound in his ear told him the man wasn't fooled.

"No use crying wolf here, dandy," the voice continued. "I might try it myself. See what gets ole Grist's stick a'stirring."

"Clemens! What you doing over there? Boss wants us to get some eyes over the sky. Be sure none of them crazy lawmen are following!"

A pat on his cheek and Clemens was gone as well.

Ezra swallowed, his stomach churning. The veiled threats gave him the first stirring of fear since he saw the cliff he stood on crumble under the blast he wrought.




Chris knew it was a bad sign when they found Ezra's horse wandering aimlessly around the blast site, saddle and stirrups dragging behind it.

Ezra lied to him. To his face before jauntily flicking off a salute off his black low brimmed hat. Son of a bitch.

He stared at the flecks of red on sand. Blood. Fresh in fact. His eyes drifted over to the gray hand jutting out of the rubble in an unnatural angle. Not Ezra's. Somehow he knew for certain. Ezra's fingers had a sort of…grace.

Chris frowned at himself. He forced himself to turn away and look towards Vin. The tracker was crouched down a few feet away, staring intently at whatever it was that caught his eye more than the hand out of rock.

"Ez's little surprise only got five of them." Vin rose to his feet, youth easily stretching his back out as he scanned the sky.

"Still got five out there," Vin drawled quietly. "Heading north towards Red Valley."

"JD," Chris bit out the words around his cheroot. "You, Nathan and Buck head back to town. Kotter's boys might head over there and stir up some trouble."

"But what about Ez-"

Green eyes burned under the shadow of his hat. "We'll find him," he vowed.

"Think he's still alive?" Still young, JD didn't realize the danger of asking the question.

Vin looked over to Chris but said nothing at the fist curled around the reins.

"He better be," Chris muttered. "Or I'll kill him." He wondered at the well of panic brewing under the anger. Anger that one of his men lied to him despite honorable reasons, anger that the enemy they hunted now had one of the hunters. But fear? Something cold settled in his belly at the thought of Ezra in their hands. It was ridiculous. Why was his mouth dry at the thought Ezra could be dead?

With a jerk of the reins, he ordered his horse to move, unwilling to dwell on it. And like a signal, the remaining six peacekeepers parted ways. Three and one extra horse back south to town, the other three up north, tracking the faint imprints of many horses leading away from the rubble and the dead.




Ezra jerked as he felt that same gritty hand on his head. The night shrouded everything despite the campfire. He thought he was safe, his back to the cliff overhang that the men used as a hideout but he felt a hand on his ankle pulling him away.

"Don't touch me," Ezra warned, bending his knee, his threat clear.

A chuckle floating in the dark above his head told Ezra he wasn't alone.

"Just be sure he don't scream, Grist." A pause and Clemens added, "Me and Rogers there might want a taste as well later, ya hear?"

Heavy breathing down by Ezra's ankle was the only response.

Ezra raised his head, tensing despite his body's aches. He would fight them all if he had to. He struggled in his bonds, wishing he could bring his sore arms up to undo the binds with his teeth. Damn ropes were still too tight for him to unravel.

"I will kill you if you touch me," Ezra hissed as he felt that hand wander further up to his thigh. "Best back off now or there will be hell to-" Ezra jerked, feeling a hand clamp down over his mouth.

"I don't like it when whores talk while ah ride them, and that goes for you too, dandy," Clemens warned. He grunted when he felt Ezra's teeth bit into his palm but he didn't let go. He got his satisfaction from the grunt back when he rapped sharply on the disheveled head with the butt of his six-shooter. "That's better," he cooed as he wrapped his bandana around Ezra's mouth, effectively muffling him.

Clemen's teeth gleamed as he listened to the panicked moans behind the gag when Standish realized Grist was tugging his trousers down.

Clemen's smile wavered at Grist's blank face, his hands saying something different as he ran them over Standish's bare thighs. The gambler couldn't move, his trousers now pooled around his knees, his empty gun belt tightened around the knees to eliminate any useless struggling.

"Leave us," Grist whispered. The usually silent rustler sounded harsh in the dark. And Clemens felt the first stirring of fear himself as he looked at Grist's mouth curled in a feral smile the more Ezra struggled, his muffled sounds both angry and fearful at the same time.

"You leave something for us," Clemens said in one last attempt of bravado.

"Maybe," Grist murmured, his eyes glazed over as his hand wandered up to the loose ends of the ruffled shirt.

Clemens didn't argue and backed away just enough his shadow melted into the night, but close enough to watch. He'll make sure he had a turn later. Clemens found himself wanting the same hungry look Grist now sported. He rubbed a palm across his crotch, the rough fabric brushing against his own erection. Soon, he thought, wincing as he heard buttons popping and the muffled cries rising higher despite the gag.