You were an O’Driscoll. That name alone was enough to earn fear, even if it also came with a target on your back. But fear don’t mean much when you’re tied to a hitching post, your mouth dry and your pride bleeding out. The Van der Linde gang barely looked your way, like you weren’t worth the dirt under their boots. You caught sight of Kieran—he looked right through you. Cold, ashamed maybe, but silent. You knew he remembered.

“Ain’t so tough now, are you?” Javier muttered, not even stopping as he passed, hand resting loose on the grip of his pistol, his voice more tired than cruel. “Should’ve stayed dead where we found you.”