Chapter 6

Morning light seeped through the cracks in the wooden boards that made up the walls of the room, casting a warm glow over their tangled limbs. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a reminder of the night’s rebellion. Billy’s eyes flickered open, the sight of Mrs. Herring’s peaceful face bringing a soft smile to his lips. He knew they couldn’t stay here forever, but for now, this moment was theirs.

With a gentle sigh, he untangled himself from her embrace and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he padded over to the washbasin, splashing cold water on his face to wash away the last vestiges of sleep. His gaze fell on the mirror above the basin, the sight of their reflection a stark contrast to the bruised and abused figures from the night before. They had found something beautiful in the chaos of Dreadworth, a spark of hope amidst the darkness.

As Billy pulled on his trousers, Mrs. Herring stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet his in the mirror. He offered her a reassuring smile, one that was reflected in her own tired, yet determined expression. They had a mission, a purpose that transcended the squalor of their current lives.

The two of them descended the creaking stairs of the Booty Bo Brothel, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the dimly lit hallway. The air was thick with the scent of cigar smoke and the lingering musk of sex, a potent reminder of the lives they were fighting to escape. As they approached Mrs. McConnell’s room, the muffled sound of sobs grew louder.

The door was slightly ajar, revealing Mrs. McConnell’s bruised and naked form sprawled across the bed, her hand clutching her battered pussy. Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving a glittering trail on her flushed skin. There is a pile of money on the small table beside her, a testament to the night’s toll. Mrs. Herring’s heart clenched at the sight, her own recent experiences with Billy a stark contrast to the degradation that had just unfolded in this very room.

Billy’s eyes scanning Mrs. McConnell’s body for signs of serious injury. He was no stranger to the bruises and marks that came with the territory, but he was also a man who knew the value of care and caution. Mrs. Herring watched him, his concern for Mrs. McConnell’s well-being painting him in a new light, one of protection and tenderness amidst the brothel’s harshness.

“Let me see,” he said softly, approaching the bedside. Mrs. McConnell flinched at his touch, her eyes swollen with unshed tears. Billy’s gentle probing revealed no signs of severe damage, just the usual bruises and swelling that came with the kind of rough treatment the madam often allowed. Mrs. Herring felt a pang of pity for the woman she had come to consider an ally in this twisted world.

Billi cradles mcconnelll and tell herring to take all the money on small table.

Billi cradles mcconnelll and tell herring to take all the money on small table.

Billy’s strong arms enveloped Mrs. McConnell, lifting her gently from the bed and cradling her against his chest. Her body felt fragile, her sobs a testament to the weight of the night’s torments. Mrs. Herring moved to the table, her eyes on the pile of bills and coins that lay scattered across the worn wooden surface. She knew the value of such a sum in Dreadworth - it was a fortune that could buy a ticket out of this hell, if they played their cards right.

With trembling hands, she gathered the money, her mind racing with the possibilities it presented. Each bill was a step closer to freedom, a declaration of their defiance against the town that had claimed them. She counted the total with a sense of awe, the numbers blurring together as she tried to comprehend the magnitude of their winnings.

Mrs. Herring slipped the makeshift purse into the folds of her dress, the weight of it reassuring against her hip. Billy gently laid Mrs. McConnell back on the bed, tucking the threadbare blanket around her. He kissed her forehead, a gesture that spoke volumes in the silent language of shared suffering and hope.

“You need to rest,” he told her firmly, his voice a balm to her raw nerves. “You’ve done enough for one night.”

Mrs. McConnell nodded, her hand still clutching at her sore pussy, the gesture a silent acknowledgment of the pain she endured. The tender flesh was swollen and bruised, a stark reminder of the brutality she had suffered at the hands of her patrons. Billy’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, a mix of anger and pity swirling in his eyes. He knew that Mrs. McConnell’s body was a map of the town’s depravity, each mark a testament to her strength and endurance.

With a final, lingering look, Billy turned and followed Mrs. Herring out of the room, leaving Mrs. McConnell to her solace. The hallway was empty, the other girls no doubt busy with their own patrons or resting in the rare moments of peace that the brothel allowed. They descended the stairs, the creaks echoing through the building like a mournful sigh.

The Coffee Cantina was a stark contrast to the brothel’s dark, oppressive atmosphere. The early morning sun slanted through the dusty windows, casting a warm glow over the wooden tables and chairs. The scent of brewing coffee and frying bacon filled the air, a tantalizing promise of sustenance and a brief respite from their troubles. Billy pushed open the swinging doors, his hand protectively at the small of Mrs. Herring’s back as they stepped inside.

Edna looked up from her seat by the counter, her eyes lighting up at the sight of them. Despite the early hour, she looked as sharp and put-together as ever, her hair pinned back in a neat bun and her apron spotless. The lines around her eyes deepened as she took in their disheveled appearance, but she said nothing, instead sliding two steaming mugs of coffee across the counter towards them.

Billy nodded his thanks, his hand curling around the warm ceramic. He took a seat beside Mrs. Herring, his thigh brushing against hers in a silent gesture of comfort. “We’ll have the usual,” he told Edna, his voice gravelly from the night’s exertions. “And add some extra bacon for Mrs. Herring here.”

Edna’s gaze sharpened, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I see you’ve had quite the night,” she said, her voice low so only they could hear. “A big win at the tables, I heard.”

Mrs. Herring took a sip of the hot, bitter coffee, the warmth spreading through her chest. She felt a blush creep up her neck at the knowing look in Edna’s eyes, but she held the woman’s gaze, her own filled with a newfound confidence. “Yes,” she said simply, her voice steady. “We’ve had a profitable evening.”

Edna’s smile grew, a twinkle in her eye. “I knew you had it in you, Billy,” she said, patting his hand. “And you, Mrs. Herring, you’re a real trooper. Not many could handle what you’ve been through and come out stronger.”

The words filled Mrs. Herring with a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt seen, acknowledged for her strength rather than her submission. “Thank you, Edna,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Edna’s gaze grew more serious as she leaned in closer. “I’ve got something that might interest you both,” she whispered, her eyes flicking towards the saloon’s main room. “There’s a wrestling match, down at the Whispering Dame. I’ve heard some whispers that the stakes are high, and the odds might just be in your favor.”