Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RATTLER
Iwas so fucking angry when she got away from me, taking that trail like an athlete.
I vowed I wasn’t going to let her get the better of me.
Determined to catch her and teach her a lesson was at the top of my mind when my boots, which I’d already clocked as not being great for the terrain, betrayed me.
I’d gone down hard, toppled right over the steep edge to the path, and, to add to the ignominy, my foot had gotten caught, leaving me hanging upside down.
As I’d lain there, relegated to shouting for help from the only person around for miles, I’d plotted the revenge I’d take out on her.
Somehow, while lying injured and starting to doubt she’d even return to help, my thoughts veered between knowing her safety depended on me staying alive and thinking that, as I’d been such an ass, I wouldn’t blame her if she walked away, leaving me in the predicament I’d gotten myself into.
She’s certainly not the woman I’d expected her to be.
Instead of being meek and cowed, she’s been standing up for herself, refusing to take my shit.
Where was the clumsy Ames that couldn’t carry a tray of beer?
Nowhere to be seen as she raced up that mountain at ultra marathon speed and agility.
And nowhere was the timid woman who annoyed the fuck out of me.
As I lay there, ankle throbbing, quickly discovering that, however I twisted and writhed, I couldn’t get myself free, I remembered my trump card.
She needs me. On her own, she’d stand no chance if her brother came calling.
I don’t believe I’d seriously thought she’d leave me there to die, but just for a moment, it had crossed my mind.
But instead, she’d returned and saved me.
Oh, of course, she’d had a good laugh at the position I was in, but hell, once I was out of it, I’d found it amusing myself.
I’m just glad no one had been around to take a picture.
And after getting me upright once again, without asking, she’d seen my need and answered it, helping me back to the cabin.
Now I’m lying on the couch, not wanting to move, my ankle a ball of agony. While I’d downplayed my injury to her, I already knew it wasn’t a slight twist that would magically right itself in a few hours.
When she left me alone, my conscience had pricked. I should be following her, making sure she wasn’t running again. But how could I control her, laid up as I am, other than tying her to my side?
I needn’t have worried. She hadn’t been out of my sight for long, and when she’d reappeared, it was with a bag of frozen peas to nurse my ankle. I had to yank her chain, but really, I couldn’t give a damn—I wasn’t going to eat them. As it turned out, neither was she.
Then she disappeared again, returning with a bottle of water in one hand and a beer in the other. “I’d say you need to rehydrate, but you’re a biker…”
“I’ll take the beer.”
Grinning, she passes it to me, along with a bottle opener, then goes back into the kitchen.
No longer so worried she’s going to run, I listen to her pottering around.
A little time passes until she walks back in, places a bowl of tomato soup and a plate of grilled cheese on the table next to me.
She even helps me to get comfortable in a sitting position by placing a cushion behind me.
“You feeling guilty?” I raise a brow.
Her eyes widen. “What the fuck for?”
“If you hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have had to chase you, and well…” I break off and nod my head toward my ankle.
Unrepentant, she replies, “I didn’t ask you to run after me. I couldn’t stay cooped up here. I’d have gone stir-crazy.”
The soup’s come out of a can, nothing remarkable there. But the grilled cheese? It’s got a tang to it and seems particularly tasty. She must have added some secret ingredient to it. I wolf it down. Then I realise I’ve got something I need to do—check the camera feeds.
Maybe it’s because I was starving after the morning’s exploits and now satisfied by what she’s fed me, or maybe it’s a newfound sense of camaraderie nurtured when she helped me back to the cabin, but I find myself asking, “Can you hand me my laptop?” And then, when she passes it to me, I instruct, “Come here.” When she moves to kneel beside me, I balance the laptop on my stomach where we can both see it.
Then I switch between the camera views, explaining where I’ve put them.
And together we check the footage captured while we were gone to confirm no one had approached the cabin.
She listens carefully. Then, as we watch the live footage, we see a family of javelinas skirting the property.
“Oh my God.” She snorts, then covers her mouth with her hand. She’s laughing so hard that tears glisten in her eyes.
“What’s so fuckin’ funny?” The animals were cute, as long as you weren’t close to them. But comedic? Not to me.
In between giggles, she enlightens me. “If I’d left you there, you could have been pig food.”
My mouth drops open. “Thanks for that visual,” I drawl.
Her mirth fading, for a second, she looks guilty. “I’ll go search the freezer for more peas.” A corner of her mouth turns up. “Seeing as we’re not going to be eating them.”
“Can you check my duffle? I think Genie packed a first aid kit in there. Maybe there’s ibuprofen?”
She brings me peas, then explores the duffle, coming up with the anti-inflammatories. After waiting until I’ve swallowed the tablets, she reveals something she’s hitherto concealed—a packet of weed.
“Want to share a blunt?”
Well, fuck me. I nod, in part to challenge her. Then watch as she reveals she’s also found the papers she needs, and proceeds to roll an impressive joint, flicks a lighter to the end, takes a deep breath in, then, with smoke slowly exiting her mouth in swirls, passes it to me.
Genie only has the good stuff. This packs quite a wallop. Maybe, after this morning, it’s what we both need. As a feeling of mellowness sweeps over me, I find myself uncharacteristically saying in a soft tone, “Thank you for my rescue and for looking after me.”
She looks at me sharply. “What else was I to do, Rat? Leave you there?” Her head moves left, then right, then back to centre again. “As for doctoring you as best I can, you’re all that stands between me and Malachi if he finds out where I am. I need you able to walk if you’re going to protect me.”
Well, shit. That puts me in my place. And she’s right. Really, I should be calling Bullseye, explaining I’m out of action, and asking him for reinforcements. But fuck that. I’m not about to become the joke of the club. It’s only our first full day here, far too soon for me to give up.
Something about the way she’s addressed me niggles.
“Don’t call me Rat,” I snarl. Fuck knows why I find it upsetting.
The brothers call me that all the time. But out of her mouth?
I know she’s just using it as the shortened form of my road name, but coming from her, it doesn’t seem right. “Call me Flynn.”
Her brows rise.
I don’t explain my reasoning. I can’t understand the sudden impulse myself. Flynn Ellington was someone I’d long left in my past.
Flynn, she mouths, trying it out.
Fuck this and fuck the reaction I have to hearing my name on her lips for the first time. Part horror, part resignation, and part something I don’t want to think about cause me to make an abrupt change of subject. “You ever fire a gun?”
She rears back, startled by my question. “Er, no?”
“If your brother comes calling, it would be best if you could defend yourself.” Especially if I remain out of action, I add to myself.
Pulling my gun out of my shoulder holster, I tell her, “I can’t teach you to shoot in here, but when I’m mobile, you can get in some target practise.
For now, I’ll just show you the basics.”
She backs away, hands held high. “I don’t want to fire a gun.”
“Ames.” I gentle my voice. “Right now, I’m laid up. It’s brought home to me that either due to this, or if something else we can’t predict happens, I might not be able to protect you. I want you to learn how to handle a weapon. Not because I think you’ll have need to, but just in case.”
Her brow furrows as she considers my answer. Then, slowly, she nods. At her capitulation, I send her back to my duffle, so she can take a weapon for herself.
At the back of my mind, I’m second-guessing whether this is the best idea. I’m named Rattler for a reason. While we’ve reached a kind of truce for now, I’m bound to rattle her cage at some point, or even on the regular. Is it really a good move to ensure she’s armed?
But I’d look pretty damn stupid if I changed my mind. So, I start to walk her through the basics. “Never point it at anyone if you’re not prepared to take the shot.” I then demonstrate how to load the magazine, holding the gun down at my side, both arms close to my body. “Got it?”
Her head does this strange motion that seems to combine a nod and a shake at the same time.
Removing the magazine, I pass the weapon to her.
She regards it cautiously but finally takes it.
Then she tries to copy the action I’ve just shown her.
She needs a couple of pointers, but soon she gets the hang of it and is gaining in confidence by the third time.
“Unload it,” I instruct. When she does, I take up the lesson again.
“A Glock has little recoil, so it’s great for beginners.
” Her teeth worry her lip as she concentrates, hanging onto my every word.
“There’s no separate safety. It’s all handled by the trigger.
As you pull it, there’s a bar that slides down the safety ramp, which allows the firing pin to be released.
” I illustrate what I mean. Then I proceed to dry fire it.
Even the small click makes her jump. “Get a feel for it,” I suggest.
This time she takes it from me more gingerly. “Are you sure it’s not loaded?”