Chapter 11
I head to the indoor shooting range after leaving the Temple, and the moment I enter, I feel right at home. I breathe in the familiar scent of metal and gunpowder and can’t help smiling.
I approach the large weapons cage by the entrance, where I’m greeted by an older man in black trousers and a gray sleeveless shirt. Intricate black tattoos wind from his wrists all the way to the base of his neck.
“You must be Darlington.” He gives me a welcoming smile. “I’m Zak. I basically run this place.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Come. Let me show you around.” He leads me into the cage, where he’s quick to explain their weapons protocols.
“We store all the range firearms in here. When you’re done with a weapon, it goes back in the locker until it’s checked out again.
And this always stays locked. If someone wants a gun we don’t have on-site, you can send a comm to the armory and they’ll bring it over. ”
That’s simple enough. I follow him back out, and he shows me where to find ear protection, safety glasses, and other equipment.
Zak is personable and easy to talk to, and I find myself quickly relaxing in his presence.
When I admit I prefer long-range shooting, he tells me about an Old Era rifle they keep in the armory, then regales me with an entire history of the sniper rifle in general, emphasized by dramatic hand gestures and a lot of enthusiasm.
Eventually, he wanders off to train with a dark-haired guy I’m told is a new operative at the Dagger.
I’m tasked with training a teenage boy who’s just out of upper school.
His name is Wells and he’d recently been recruited by the Uprising.
He walks into the range, wearing a loose shirt and worn jeans, his gaze darting around nervously.
“This your first time shooting?” I ask him.
With a shy smile, Wells nods. “Yeah. Never even held a gun before.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it.”
I grab a handgun from the cage. Nine-mil, lighter than I’d usually pick for myself. We gear up and go to the first stall, where I demonstrate how to hold the gun and the proper stance.
“Keep your arms slightly bent,” I advise, repositioning him. “And copy my stance. You want it to be a bit wider than that.”
He copies me, albeit awkwardly.
“All right, let’s line up your target.” I chuckle when he closes one eye. “Nope, keep both eyes open. And make sure to keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
I teach him how to aim, then take a step back as the eighteen-year-old gets ready to fire his first shot ever. I took mine when I was five years old. Uncle Jim wasted no time weapons-training me.
“Deep breath,” I tell him when he glances at me for reassurance. “Then exhale and fire.”
On a slow exhalation, Wells squeezes the trigger, jolting back from the recoil. The shot rings out, and I smile with pride when I see he hit the target. The very edge of it, barely a graze, but it still counts.
He smiles back, his entire face lighting up. “I hit it!”
“Killed it,” I praise. “Now do it again.”
I spend the next several hours at the range, leaving it only for lunch, then returning to get my own training in.
Zak and I have an impromptu shooting competition, and when I beat him, he seems more amused than angry.
It’s refreshing. Growing up, whenever I outshot the boys in my village, they griped and complained afterward, their sad little egos bruised.
By the time I return to my room, I’m in such a good mood that I link with Cross just so I can tell him about my day. For the first time since I got here, I actually feel like I have something to offer the Uprising. Like I can be a real asset to them.
I curl up in the cushioned armchair across from my bed, eager to hear Cross’s voice, but when he responds, I instantly sense something is off.
“You sound distracted,” I tell him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“You’re lying. What is it?”
There’s a long pause. He hasn’t severed the link, though. I still feel him inside my head. I feel his resistance, too. Something’s happened and he doesn’t want me to know.
“Cross. Don’t make me come over there,” I warn.
“What are you gonna do? Spank me?”
His husky taunt makes my thighs clench together. Asshole. He knew exactly what would happen if he said that. As in, I’m beyond turned on now.
“Stop trying to distract me with dirty talk.”
“Just…don’t be mad, keen?”
“I will never promise to not be mad.”
I can practically feel him grinning. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you. But, ah, well, you know…I’ve spent the last week shackled in the stockade.”
I blink in shock, as his words sink in.
“I’m sorry—what?”
He repeats himself. Reluctantly. “I was in a cell. Courtesy of my brothers.”
“You were in a cell?” I don’t even care that I’m shouting in his head. “They shackled you? What in the hellfuck, Cross!”
“See? This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d react like that.”
Anger continues to ripple through me. Cross and I have been in constant contact since I got to the Dagger, and he didn’t feel the need to tell me he was talking to me from a cell?
How am I supposed to be keen with that? What the hell else has he been keeping from me while I’ve been giving him banal updates about my day?
“You lied to me,” I say flatly.
“I didn’t lie. I just left out some details.”
I clench my fists, pressing them against my thighs. “Don’t pull that omission shit on me, Wolf. We promised we’d never lie to each other.”
“Fuck.” I can hear the remorse now. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
“Was it because of me?”
Guilt rips a hole in my chest when he says, “Yes. Roe’s been trying to convince Travis that I helped you escape, so they detained me in the hope that I’d own up to it.”
“I’m going to kill them,” I growl.
His soft chuckle tickles my ear. “It wasn’t that bad. I promise. They just strung me up from the ceiling and sent Roe in a few times a day to knock me around and annoy me.”
“Great. I’ll kill Roe first.”
“Don’t waste your energy on him. On either of them. Travis was just trying to teach me a lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“I think he wanted me to acknowledge I’m not invincible and that even the almighty Cross can make mistakes.”
“And did you acknowledge that?” I ask in amusement.
“Fuck no.”
“Of course not, because the almighty Cross doesn’t make mistakes.”
“What do you want me to say? That I regret helping you escape? I don’t. Saving your life wasn’t, and will never be, a mistake.”
Some of my irritation thaws. “You should’ve told me you were being tortured.”
“I wasn’t being tortured.”
“You had to listen to Roe bitch at you every day. I consider that torture.”
“You had enough on your plate. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I want you to worry me. I need to know this stuff, Cross.” My frustration bubbles over. “We’re supposed to be a team.”
“We are.”
“Well, that means you don’t have to handle everything on your own anymore. You can come to me for support. You can talk to me. And you need to fucking tell me if you’re strung up in a cell somewhere. Promise me.”
“Dove—”
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” he says gruffly.
But I can’t fight the feeling that he’s lying to me again.
Despite Cross’s assurances, I’m still fuming after our conversation.
The last thing I want to do is go to dinner by myself, but Gray is gone, and my stomach demands nourishment, so I force my feet to carry me out the door.
I wish I could press a button and have my meals delivered, but these people aren’t my servants.
I’ll just have to suck up my discomfort.
I try to appear as inoffensive as possible in a pair of jeans and the only item of color I find in my closet: a loose lilac shirt.
I’m a dark-color kind of girl, so wearing purple feels wrong, but Tana always used to say that vibrant colors make other people feel at ease.
So let’s put these assholes the fuck at ease.
As I turn the corner toward the mess hall, I slam square into Evlynne. We collide hard, bringing a flash of displeasure to her eyes.
“Watch where you’re going,” she snaps, striding away before I can apologize.
She doesn’t look at ease.
I keep walking. They’re serving steak and mashed potatoes tonight, and it smells incredible.
I load up a plate, then hesitate at the end of the line, glancing around.
I spot Mako with a group of men I saw at the gun range earlier.
I consider joining them until I notice Evlynne heading their way. Ugh. Pass.
Teriq is across the room, but he’s with the perpetually frowning Fiona, so that’s out, too.
Finally, I locate Hawkins eating alone in the corner.
After some reluctance, I stride toward him. When I set my tray on his table, I swear I hear a collective breath travel through the mess hall.
Hawkins glances up from his plate, a slight scowl appearing. “You don’t want to sit here.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to sit here.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment tickles my throat. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”
Now I’m not at ease.
Cheeks flushed, I pick up the tray, scanning the room until I notice Saint watching me from a nearby table with Henley and two young women I don’t recognize. When he nods in invitation, relief flutters through me. I join their group, eagerly dropping into a chair.
“Were you trying to sit with Hawkins?” Henley eyes me with deep amusement.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “And he basically told me to get lost.”
The two girls laugh. “Trust me,” the one with dark hair says, “you’re better off. He’s a total psycho.”