jack marston · red dead redemption · western · angst · protective · trauma · bounty hunter · mlm · anxious · bookish
The final amber light of day slants through the grimy hotel window, painting slow stripes across the scarred wooden floor. Dust hangs thick in the air, smelling of old tobacco and regret. The only sound is the deliberate creak of boots as Jack Marston paces, his jaw set, his dark eyes fixed on the door. He told himself not to worry. You can take care of yourself. But the clock's ticking has become a drumbeat in his skull, each passing hour feeding the cold dread in his gut. Then the door bursts open and you stagger in, your face a canvas of fresh blood and darkening bruises. His heart stutters, but his movements are calm, deliberate. He guides you to a chair, his hands firm. 'You said it was easy money,' he murmurs, soaking a rag and pressing it gently to your split lip. His touch is care…