Chapter Text
In the year 1901, the age of the Wild West was coming to a close. Roaming gangs disappeared under crackdowns from federal agents, local militia and Pinkertons. Civilization spread like a living thing—towns with law enforcement and the numbers to back it up cropped up seemingly overnight.
For law-abiding citizens, this was a sign of the times. It was a good thing—to watch from the comfort of their cities as it kept people fat and happy. Meanwhile, any of the folks taking a slice of the pie to themselves in a way the law didn’t quite like were chased out like nothing more than vermin.
Luxanna Crownguard knew better than to fight change. As her Ma used to say, there were three constants in life: change, death, and taxes. And the first came fastest with a badge.
Women’s rights were gaining steam nowadays, and when the Pinkerton Detective Agency came knocking with an offer to become a real agent—not a secretary, not a runner, but a gun-on-the-hip, chase-down-damnation agent—she didn’t hesitate.
It was progress, she guessed. Ugly and slower than molasses, but progress all the same. It was a better opportunity allotted to her than most, and she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
She wasn’t quite a bounty guard, and she wasn’t quite law either. She answered to a few bigwigs up cityside, and could call in reinforcements when needed, but they kept her out west where she couldn’t cause much trouble for the most part, and they left her alone.
When she was out here, with only Starfire—her proud stallion—and the horizon in front of her, it didn’t matter what those idiots thought of her. When the wind kicked up dust and the sun scorched the sand, the world boiled down to simple terms: ride, track, kill, return.
Tumbleweed was as grim as the damned plant the city was named after. As Lux trotted in on patrol—her second visit this month—she saw how time had chewed through the town. Buildings leaned like drunks after a long night, paint peeled back in jagged flakes, and the streets wore a silence like a second coat.
It was a lonely, god-forsaken place. Or perhaps god-forgotten. The people here didn’t care much either way. A church stood abandoned at the edge of town, its doors half-rotted, graveyard wild with weeds. The pastor had left long ago, taking with him whatever hope he hadn’t buried.
The new railroad to Armadillo had sucked the last breath from Tumbleweed’s lungs. That town thrived, bustling with traders and polished boots. It left Tumbleweed nothing but thieves and bandits to ransake what little remained.
Lux dismounted and tied Starfire to a rail outside the sheriff’s office. The stallion snorted, pawed the dust with his hooves, then huffed and settled. She gave him a pat on the flank and tipped her hat against the sun—its heat was oppressive, pressing down through her cotton overshirt and linen jacket until her skin felt baked.
The stillness of the place always gnawed at her. No voices, no dogs, not even the distant bang of a hammer. Just heat and dust and the faint whisper of wind moving through empty alleyways.
It was soon to be nothing more than a ghost town she passed on her patrols. But for while a good few folks remained, so did she, passing through.
The Del Lobo gang was a well-known problem around these parts. Good money in chasing them, though. The Pinkertons paid well for corpses and names scratched off wanted posters. Every time she brought in a new head her bosses sent her out further and further west to chase them down. Then she would bring in whichever new head honcho the idiots decided to put in charge and go home with a fat paycheck.
Not as good as what she might’ve made with a different name and the right skin, but better than what most women ever saw.
She counted her blessings.
Inside the sheriff’s office, it was dim and musty. The only sound came from the creak of her boots on the floorboards and the slow drip of a leaky pipe in the corner. A single, lonesome figure sat hunched behind his desk, a dark cloud clinging to his face. His fingers wrapped tight around a chipped mug, swirling what looked like yesterday’s coffee.
“Trouble?” Lux guessed as Sheriff Freeman looked up.
The man snorted, swishing the grinds of coffee beans around in his mug. “Miss Crownguard.” He gave her a tired once-over. “I suggest you keep on riding. This one’s too big for a woman like you.”
Lux forced herself to stop her hackles from rising. “You think it’s too big for the Pinkertons?”
She stepped closer, casting her gaze toward the back wall. The two jail cells stood empty—no surprise there. But the bounty board… that was new.
“‘The Loose Cannon,’” she read, trailing the pad of her fingertip over the hastily nailed-up poster. “That’s a mighty high reward, sheriff. Eight hundred dollars?”
The mug hit the desk with a thud. Freeman stood suddenly, face pale beneath the stubble.
“You don’t want that job,” he growled. “You barely kept pace with the Del Lobo scum. This ain’t a ride-along job, girl. You go after the Loose Cannon, and you’ll be ash by sundown.”
Lux ran her tongue along the seam of the inside of her mouth, thinking. The Loose Cannon had no picture or drawing attached to his poster, only a list of crimes so extensive one might think it was made up, along with a cost higher than she had even seen for a bounty in her damn life.
“Where’da get this kinda money?” Lux pressed, her eyes glancing back at the sheriff as he became increasingly squirrely. “Ain’t no business running well enough around these parts to bring in this type of prize. Saint Denis won’t pay that type if there was a serial killer that was after every damn customer.”
Freeman twitched, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “It’s... private. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Private,” she repeated, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “You mean dirty. Someone with deep pockets and blood on their shoes.”
His hand drifted to the butt of his revolver. She watched it calmly.
Lux licked her dry lips. “And who, mind you, would be the type with said dirty money, enough to help with such a bounty? Cause it sure ain’t the fine folks of Tumbleweed, I’ll tell you that.”
His fingers twitched, shifting his coat ever so slightly until the glint of the metal reflected the lantern.
“Think real hard, sheriff,” she murmured, voice dark as glass as she stepped forward. “A bullet might shut me up for a day, but Pinkertons don’t like loose ends. You know that.”
Freeman’s eyes danced around the room, calculating. Behind the sweat and nerves, he was still a man protecting something. Lux pressed her advantage.
“I’ll tell you what, Sheriff Freeman,” Lux drawled, circling the desk. Her spurs clicked against the wooden floor, slow and steady. “I’ll cut you a deal. I know you’ve been dancing with the Del Lobos. Don’t bother denying it—I got names, I got dates. Do you know why I haven’t reported you?”
His grip on the desk tightened, the wood creaking under his fingers.
The man didn’t bother to answer her question. His nose wrinkled with displeasure.
Lux stalked forward again, close enough to feel the heat of his nasty-ass breath as it hit her face. She snatched the mug from the table where he had slammed it and threw it back, the mud and coarse grains running down her throat bitterly.
She grimaced, swallowed, and placed the mug back down. The sheriff watched her every move like a hawk.
“I haven’t reported you,” she went on, “because I don’t care. I like my job. No one breathing down my neck, good pay, and the occasional free tip when your conscience gets itchy.”
Freeman gradually grew paler and paler with each step she took. Now she looked up passively at him, but for all sake of the moment she might as well have been looming over an ant.
“Now, you're going to tell me everything you know about the Loose Cannon. Otherwise...” She leaned in, her voice sweet as tea but sharp as glass, “we both go down today.”
Freeman swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a trapped fish.
She smiled, slow and venomous. “So let’s talk, Sheriff Freeman.”
The year was 1901. The age of the Wild West was comin’ to a close. But folks like Jinx? They didn’t fade easy. No going gentle into that good night for her.
Men who once ruled by gun and grit were now hunted like rats—but Jinx? She wasn’t some man . She wasn’t some dog to be put down. She was a damned wildfire , and no Pinkerton, no town marshal, and sure as hell no east coast banker in a silk tie was gonna snuff her out.
Civilization crawled west like a slug on fire—trailing nothing but bullshit laws, taxes, and train schedules with pigs behind it. But she wasn’t ready to make peace. Jinx was a relic, sure—she’d admit that with a grin if anyone asked—but she was a relic with fifty some-odd pounds of dynamite in her saddlebags and nothing to lose.
And god, she loved explosions.
The thunderous CRASH rolled across the valley as the black powder she’d packed under the railroad detonated, sending wooden beams and metal rails sky-high. The train shrieked as its front half careened off the busted tracks, wheels screaming, iron crumpling like paper. Cars behind it slammed into each other in a storm of sparks and screeching metal.
Steam hissed. Horses panicked. People inside the train screamed.
Jinx laughed—a wild, cackling noise that caught on the ends of the wind and carried down towards the survivors.
She rode up the slope on Fishbones, her mean little Appaloosa with a black-splattered hide and an attitude twice as nasty as hers. The rest of her gang followed—she brought with her five riders wild-eyed and hollering, scarves up, pistols blazing, the kind of crew Pinkertons stopped at the door to a saloon. They descended like vultures on the half-wrecked train, firing into the air and yanking open car doors.
“Open ‘er up, boys!” Jinx bellowed, leaping off Fishbones and tearing the lock off the freight car with a crowbar.
Inside was a neat room, now filled with dead bodies as she put lead between each of those idiots’ eyes. It was half cigar lounge, half office. She stalked through like a woman on a mission, retching open cabinets and popping open locked drawers until she found what she was looking for.
In a safe in the back. It took only half a stick to blow it clean through.
Gold. The kind that clanked pleasantly together and glowed like sunshine. Stacks of it, too. She’d bet good money on it being government transport.
She howled in delight, laughter bouncing around the car.
“Jackpot, you miserable sons’a bitches!” she cried, tossing a bar of gold to Sevika, who caught it with a grunt. “Grab what you can and move!”
The Zaun gang made fast work. Sacks were stuffed, pockets crammed with jewelry pulled from the dead, crates cracked open and gold tossed into saddlebags.
Jinx climbed atop the train car and raised her arms like some raggedy, bloody messiah.
“Who says the West is dead?” she shouted down the track, grinning down at the chaos like a bobcat in a coop. “Looks damn lively to me!”
Then she saw her.
Off in the distance, half-shadowed behind a stand of drybrush and rock, sat a rider. A woman , Jinx could tell even from this distance. Dressed in a tailored jacket, wide-brim hat pulled low, watching through field glasses like some silent sniper. Her horse stood steady—white-coated, sturdy, and proud. The woman didn’t wear the dusty drifter look. She had purpose in her spine. Pinkerton, if Jinx had to wager a bet. She could smell it from here.
But a woman ?
Jinx blinked, lips parting. “Well I’ll be damned,” she muttered to herself, licking her lips. “A lady Pinkerton. They really are letting just anybody in these days.”
She squinted, catching a glimpse of her face as the wind shifted. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Jinx would reckon that she was a real pretty thing, too. Hard-edged in the eyes, but soft around the mouth. The kind of soft that made Jinx’s grin curl wicked.
“Real cute,” she said to herself more than anything. “Shame she’s wearin’ the wrong badge.”
The train car was emptying out. The rest of the Zaun gang were mounting already, waiting only for her to give the final say.
Across the rolling hills and tracks, their eyes met. Blue and blue.
The woman stiffened, about to cast off towards her.
Jinx winked.
Then she drew her revolver in one smooth motion and fired.
The bullet didn’t aim to kill—it cracked into the dirt just inches from the Pinkerton’s mount. The stallion reared, panic flooding its limbs, and threw the rider clean off. Jinx cackled like a demon as the woman hit the dust hard.
“Oops!” she hollered, holstering her weapon as Fishbones sidled up. “Hope ya bounce, sweetheart!”
With a whistle and a shriek, she vaulted into the saddle, gold bars weighing down her bags, boots thumping against the Appaloosa’s flanks.
“Let’s ride!” Jinx cried, tearing off into the desert.
Behind her, her gang whooped like banshees, riding fast and loud through the settling smoke.
The desert wind screamed through the canyon, carrying dust and the stink of old gunpowder. Lux had chased the trail for three damn days—through scorching daylight and bone-chill nights, across broken wagon roads, scrub-brush, and dry riverbeds. She tracked the Loose Cannon like a ghost, always a step behind, until finally—
She had her.
Lux tackled her off Fishbones in a mess of limbs, swearing, dust, and fury. She didn’t have time to wonder why the woman was wandering alone.
They hit the ground hard. Jinx let out a grunt and tried to twist away, but Lux drove a knee into her gut and got the cuffs around one wrist before Jinx slammed an elbow into her ribs.
“You’re quick,” Jinx rasped, winded, “I’ll give you that.”
Lux yanked the other arm around and clicked the second cuff tight. “You’re done running.”
Seeing her up close was something. The woman had impossibly long braids that splayed across the dirt, half smudged blue and half dirty blonde, like someone had tried to dye it with chalk. Bullet casings were sewn expertly into each braid, each bit of metal engraved with details Lux barely had the time to look at.
She had wide, blue eyes, and an innocent smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. If Lux didn’t know any better, she would say the girl's face could pass for sweet and innocent. But after what the Sheriff told her…
“Mm.” Jinx smirked from where she lay in the dirt, cheek pressed to the canyon floor. “But was it a good chase, sweetheart? Did I make your heart race?”
Lux rolled her onto her back and crouched over her, panting as she recovered from the scuffle. “Shut it.”
The outlaw’s lip split into a grin—there was blood on her teeth, dust smeared across her cheek, and her eyes were wild and dark like gathering storm clouds. “You don’t really want me to shut up. You came all this way to hear what I’ve got to say!”
Lux grabbed her by the collar and hauled her upright. “I came here for justice. You killed the Sheriff’s wife, you bastard,” she snarled.
“Oh, justice ,” Jinx sang, as if the word tasted like bullshit. She spat onto the dust beside them, which nearly instantly evaporated in the heat. “That’s real fuckin’ cute. I thought you Pinkertons were in it for the money. Or am I wrong, Miss Crownguard?”
Lux shoved her against the base of a sunbaked boulder and drew her pistol, her fury brought to the surface like a snake about to strike. Jinx didn’t flinch. Her chest heaved, her wrists strained in the cuffs behind her back, but her sick grin never left her face.
The Sheriff was right. The Loose Cannon was truly mad.
“Who do you work for?” Lux demanded. “Who gave the order for the train job? Huh?!”
Jinx cocked her head, giggling innocently like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “Is it so hard to believe I work for no one?”
Lux narrowed her eyes.
“All you law dogs are the same,” Jinx went on, voice a lazy drawl. “You always need someone to follow, a cause to chase, a badge to kiss. Me? I just want freedom. That’s why I ride. I blow things up, I take what I need, and I leave the rest in the dust.”
“Freedom doesn’t mean leaving bodies in your wake.”
“Doesn’t it?” Jinx blinked innocently. “Freedom costs , songbird. I just don’t pretend mine’s clean.”
Lux’s jaw clenched.
“You think that badge makes you good ?” Jinx’s tone turned sharp and accusing, her wide eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ve seen better men rob trains, and worse ones wear gold stars. Don’tcha know about old Sheriff Freeman, or are you just going to keep pretending you’re stupid?”
The words hit harder than Lux expected. She stiffened, trying not to let the criminal see how disturbed it made her feel. “I don’t pretend I’m perfect,” she hissed between her teeth. “But I’m not a monster like you.”
“Oh, I know,” Jinx purred. “You’re better. All righteous and the like. Miss tight shoulders and clenched teeth. Must be exhausting .”
Lux stepped back slightly, pistol still raised, but her grip loosened.
Jinx took the opportunity to prop herself up, breathing hard, and looked skyward. Her voice dropped low, nearly a whisper now. “You know what the world does to women like me, don’t you? If I didn’t ride, I’d rot. Workin’ some saloon as a night girl till my teeth fell out. Or married off to some bastard who drinks more than he speaks.”
Lux had once faced the same fate. She managed to find another way around it. “You chose to kill. To steal,” she pointed out.
“Better than choosing to disappear into someone else,” Jinx remarked, eyes not leaving the mountains behind Lux.
That silenced Lux for a long second.
Jinx turned her eyes on her again, and her voice shifted once more—smooth as whiskey, warm and bold. “But you—Pinkerton girl— you surprised me. I saw you back there, all steely and mean in your eyes. I didn’t expect you to be so… pretty. Nor this dedicated. Followed me a long ways, you did.”
Lux blinked, caught off guard, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer audacity. “You’re bleeding from your mouth, handcuffed and held at gunpoint—and you still have time to flirt?”
“I flirt better when I’m bleeding,” Jinx snorted. “Besides, if you’re gonna cuff me, might as well buy me dinner first.”
The implications weren’t lost on her. Lux looked away, heat prickling up her neck. “You’re a rat bastard,” she said, but the venom was rapidly draining from her voice.
“You’re listening, though,” Jinx said softly, eyes narrowing. “Which means maybe you’re not like the rest of the law I’ve seen. Look, Blondie, I’ve got nothin’ but me, my gang, and a little taste of freedom. What makes you so different?”
Lux’s fingers tightened on the gun again. She ought to bring her horse around and start hogtying the woman, but something in her made her pause.
Lux wanted to debate with her. See what made the mad woman before her tick. See why she did the things she did. It felt like she was just… missing something. A key to the puzzle. A final piece to fit in to bring the full picture together.
Despite her rational thoughts, Lux decided to indulge the criminal’s questions. “I believe in order. That’s the difference.”
“And I believe in nothing,” Jinx said, “except that someday someone’s gonna catch me and shoot me in the back. But it ain’t gonna be today, and it ain’t gonna be you.”
Lux stepped closer, gun pointed right at Jinx’s chest. “Try me.”
Jinx laughed—low, rough and warm like gravel on a sunny day. “God, you’re fun. You know what makes gangs different from Pinkertons—besides the fundin’ y’all get?”
Lux slowly lowered her gun. “I’ll bite,” she said after a long heartbeat. “What?”
Jinx looked up at her from under long lashes. “Gangs have loyalty. And they don’t leave nobody behind.”
The last thing that Lux remembered was Jinx’s wild laughter, before there was a sharp crack against the side of her head, and it all went black.
The fire crackled low and lazy as the Zaunites lounged around it, passing bottles, checking guns, licking their wounds from the train hit. Fishbones was tethered nearby, twitchy and gleaming with sweat.
But none of that held Jinx’s attention.
No, she was fixated on the neat little package tied to a sprawling oak tree like some holiday gift. Luxanna Crownguard, or so said her silly little Pinkerton Detective Agency Badge. The woman had a sharp jaw and steely, cold eyes.
Or, at least, they’d been cold. Now they were all bruised and unfocused, her lips cracked, head lolling like a puppet with one too many strings snapped.
Jinx made her way from the fire to her side as the girl roused from her sleep more and more. Jinx crouched in front of her, testing Lux’s wrists’ restraints to the gnarled old oak.
The Pinkerton groaned, head lolling forward, blood trailing down her jaw.
“Hey, sunshine,” Jinx murmured, leaning in close. “Time to rise and shine.”
No answer. Looks like she was going to have to do this the hard way.
Jinx rolled her eyes before she slapped her—just enough to sting. “I said wake up , badge bunny!”
Lux’s head snapped sideways, sharp breath hissing in through her teeth. Her eyes blinked open, dazed and confused, then cold as ever once she saw the blue-haired devil kneeling in front of her.
Jinx grinned. “There she is. Thought I’d lost you to the heat. Or the concussion. Either way, woulda been a mad shame.”
Lux tried to sit up straighter, but the rope across her chest didn’t give. She gritted her teeth. “What… what the hell do you want?”
Jinx leaned in, her breath warm against Lux’s cheek. “Same thing I always want, sugar. A little taste of freedom. Maybe some fun along the way. Or, hell, maybe a bit of somethin’ more, if you're feeling generous.”
Jinx waggled her eyebrows, letting her gaze roam across the tied up figure in front of her so her intentions were quite clear.
Lux flinched slightly, face flushing— just enough to make it worth it.
God, she was pretty like this. Hair mussed, collar stained with blood and sweat, pride still bristling like a wounded cat’s hackles. Jinx had to bite back a laugh.
“Ol’ Vika asked me what I planned to do with you,” she said, letting her voice drift dreamily. “Told her I’d figure it out. Was thinking I’d trade you for something. Maybe I could ransom you back to those pretty boys you work for back in Saint Denis. But then I thought—hell. Maybe you’re the key to getting exactly what I need.”
Lux didn’t respond. She was watching Jinx closely, lips pressed thin, her eyes still calculating.
This woman was too smart for her own good. That just wouldn’t do. Jinx had to keep her off guard if she wanted to keep her honest.
So Jinx climbed into her space even more—straddling one thigh, boots planted firmly in the dirt, chin perched on her bound shoulder like they were sharing secrets.
“You know what we need, right, Luxie?” Jinx pressed closer, dragging her nose across the bound woman’s cheek and whispering hot air into her ear. “We need money . Westbound money. Far west. Where the law don’t reach no more. You know the type.”
“You already stole money,” Lux rasped. “You’ve got enough gold to make a rich man blush.”
Jinx wiggled her brows. “I know. Ain’t it grand? But that money’s only half of what I need. After you get me the rest of the money, I’m gonna need the law off my tail. You and your little badged-up friends? I need them gone, Birdie . ”
She tilted her head, feigning sweetness. She was so close that each inhale was a shot of the sharp iron scent from the blood still oozing from Lux’s temple, and something twisted inside Jinx loved it. “So, tell me, songbird—how does a Pinkerton make me disappear?”
Lux actually laughed this time, dry and humorless. “Come on. I don’t have that kind of pull. You’re too well known to just make this shit disappear.”
Jinx snorted. “See, that’s the difference between us. I lie for fun. You lie ‘cause you think it makes you noble.”
Lux glared, but her breath hitched just a touch as Jinx pressed closer, nose brushing the edge of the law woman’s jaw, lips ghosting over the junction of her neck.
“You think tying me up’s gonna change anything?” Lux asked, her voice low.
Jinx barely resisted pressing a hot kiss into her skin, only the cackling of the campfire behind her and the sounds of her gang’s laughter prevented her. “I think tying you up’s the most fun I’ve had all week.”
She waited for the fury to flare in Lux’s eyes— and there it was. Beautiful. Predictable. Fiery.
Lux was a wildfire in her own right. And Jinx loved watching fires.
“But really,” Jinx went on, tapping a finger to Lux’s chin, forcing her head up until her skull clacked dully with the wood behind it, “how’s it feel to be on the other side? Cuffed, tied up, no power, no badge to hide behind. Maybe a little exciting, hmm ?”
Lux stared back, refusing to blink. “You really are insane.”
“Mm-hm,” Jinx hummed, pulling back to inspect the other woman’s face.
That steel in her eyes, the fire in her heart, the violence in her veins… it all tasted familiar. Not familiar in a law-men way like Cait was, nor was it familiar in the violent, angry way her sister got.
No, no. Familiar in a way that a reflection in a window across the street was familiar.
“Why’d you become one of them?” Jinx asked after a beat of silence. “A Pinkerton, I mean. You strike me as someone who could’ve made a hell of a gang leader.”
Lux seemed to struggle for words. Jinx sat back on her knee, wiggling comfortably. After a moment, the woman settled on, “The world don’t stop changing for nobody. I figured I might as well be a part of that change, rather than dragged through the mud cause I’m too stubborn to try another way.”
Jinx gave a mock sigh. “And here I was, thinking you had a rebellious streak under that buttoned-up shirt. You’re even wearing pants, just like I do! Who knew us women had it in us.”
Jinx snorted self-deprecatingly, rolling her eyes. She had heard enough shit from other gangs as it was for how ‘manly’ she acted.
Lux seemed to hear past her words to the meaning. She stiffened. “I’m nothing like you,” she spat out.
Jinx’s smile softened a tad as she tilted her head. The firelight cast warm glows across Lux’s face, and harsh shadows down her cheekbones. She looked simultaneously like the most beautiful and the most terrifying woman Jinx had ever seen.
“You sure?” she murmured, reaching up and tracing a soft finger along the faint divots of smile lines forming in Lux’s cheeks.
She watched Lux, watched the struggle in her throat and the pulse in her neck.
Jinx went quiet, watching with deadly eyes.
Then she laughed—sharp and ragged—and stood, brushing her pants off. She turned toward the fire and the rest of the gang as they drank themselves blind, throwing a wink over her shoulder.
“Get some rest, songbird. Tomorrow, we play a little game I like to call truth or consequence. ”