Chapter 15 #2
I point to the magazine she still holds in her hand.
Shaking her head, she laughs at herself, then cocks her finger around the trigger and starts to pull.
I can see her noting the initial resistance.
She glances up, and I nod. She pulls harder, frowns as she realises she needs to apply more pressure, then continues and is rewarded with a click.
“If you fired a bullet, there’d be some recoil.
You have to be prepared for that.” I think we’ve covered all she needs to know for now.
Hopefully she won’t have to use it in anger until I’ve been able to take her out back and let her practice.
As I’m not expecting a visit from Stone tonight, I think it’s best to rest my ankle rather than risk putting more strain on it.
Nevertheless, I want her to be prepared.
“Put the magazine back in and then leave it somewhere where you can get to it easily. Maybe, when you’re down here, put it in the kitchen. When you go to bed, take it upstairs.”
She bites her lip so hard the pink turns white. “Is it safe to keep it loaded?” She’s almost reverent as she asks.
“Yeah, it’s safe. It’s a Glock, so even if you drop it, it won’t go off. It won’t fire unless you pull the trigger.”
She starts to pass it back. “I don’t think I’d be able to shoot anyone.”
My features harden. “If Stone turns up here, his one intention is to kill you. So don’t hesitate, get your shot in first.” I don’t mention that in that scenario I’d already be dead. “Keep it, hide it as I told you. Tomorrow, we’ll practice.”
“I’ll go put it in the kitchen.” She shrugs. “I was going to see what I could cook for dinner.”
“Bring me another beer?”
“Sure.” She stands, carrying the gun as if it’s going to bite her, and disappears into the kitchen. She’s back shortly with my beverage, then disappears again.
Well, I’ve shown her how to fire, but even after she’s had some target practice, I’m not certain she’d even be able to point it at a flesh-and-blood man.
My brow furrows. My words were true. I’d painted an accurate picture of what would happen if Stone saw her first. Though I remind myself, he’s her brother, even if he’s gone bad.
From what she’d told me, he’d never been particularly nice to her, but maybe deep down there’s some shared experience she’ll remember that will prevent her from pulling the trigger.
Maybe a bonding when their parents had died?
Fuck, surely at some time he had to have behaved decently toward her?
Wouldn’t her grandparents, who she obviously loved, have stepped in to prevent constant bullying?
I’ve got to impress on her that whoever her brother once was, he’s not that man now. Money is a strong fucking motivator. Especially the lack of it when he’s got debtors breathing down his neck. It’s his life or hers, and from what I’ve heard about him, he values his more.
Of course, I don’t intend for her to be alone if he finds us. But if he gets through me, by arming her, I’ve given her a chance. It’s up to her whether she takes it.
The club has sent me here to protect her.
While I know they’ll do everything they can to make sure Stone never finds out she’s here, if he does, they’ll expect me to do what I can, up to and including sacrificing myself to save her.
I’d give my life for any of my brothers without a second thought.
That’s taken as a given when we patch into the club.
But for her? A woman I don’t even like? I frown.
Maybe I still don’t like her, but after today, and the initiative she’d shown in making an almost comfortable bed for me last night, maybe I’ve started to have a grudging respect for her.
She seems to have found something to occupy herself in the kitchen. I hear the microwave beeping, then pans rattling, followed by chopping. Good.
I lower my foot to the floor, and pain shoots through me when I try to put weight on it.
With it, my recent equanimous thoughts about her disappear.
Why the fuck did she have to run this morning, with no thought to her safety?
She hadn’t waited for me. All kinds of danger could have been lurking.
She hadn’t even taken bear spray with her.
Now I’m incapacitated, and it’s all down to her and her stupidity.
I wouldn’t even have had to teach her to handle a gun if, by her actions, I hadn’t been crippled.
I know it’s partly pain and my sense of helplessness that’s making me angry, but I’d always known she’d fuck up.
I can’t afford to let her run from me again.
I have a duty to my club, which means I’m in charge.
And the sooner she realises that, the better.
I can’t afford to be soft around her. It’s my way, or her life.
I know coming down hard on her is likely to destroy any delicate peace that’s developed between us.
Though the lines on my forehead deepen, maybe I’ve got to be careful not to upset her too much.
Not now that I’ve taught her how to handle a gun.
Her brother? I’ve no doubt if it came to it, she’d hesitate before taking him out, which could prove a costly mistake.
Me? That could be an entirely different matter.
I raise my shoulders to ear level, then let them drop. I’m me. I can’t change just to humour her spoiled ass. Fuck, but my ankle throbs and hurts so much that I’m afraid to try and walk on it.
She’s still not returned, but I can still hear her moving around.
I switch on the television and flick through the channels.
For a laugh, I put on that old series about bikers which used to be popular, and that I’ve never watched before.
Why indulge in fiction when you live the real life?
Maybe, deep down, I’m hoping it will remind me of my brothers back at the club.
Settling in, starting the first season, I amuse myself by comparing the fictional story to the one that I live, and, in many instances, find it wanting, but entertaining enough.
“I love this series.”
Ames’s words bring me back to the present. I cock a brow at her. “And yet, despite all the murder and mayhem, you came to work for a biker club.”
“I didn’t know Royals was run by bikers, not until we got inside.” A shake of her head, then she continues, “I didn’t want to stay, but Satin said Malachi wouldn’t think of looking for us there. She persuaded me to audition.” As she speaks, she comes over and sits on one of the armchairs.
“You auditioned?” My eyes widen in astonishment. “You danced?”
“Well, yeah.” She grimaces. “But I obviously wasn’t up to the grade. That’s why Freak suggested I become a server instead.”
I’m still fixated on one thing. “You can pole dance?” I mean, she’s athletic enough.
“Not well,” she states dismissively. “And anyway, there was no way I was taking my clothes off for strangers.”
“Kind of in the job description for a stripper.” I snort.
“Oh, I love this part…” She leans forward, engrossed in the episode for a moment. When I turn my attention to the screen, it seems to heavily feature the blond-haired VP.
Frowning, I get her attention back to me by asking, “What’s for dinner?” I can smell something that makes my nostrils twitch. If it’s half as good as yesterday’s, I’m in for a treat. Now, if I can keep Ames restricted to the kitchen, I may be on to a good thing.
She’s engrossed in what she’s watching for a moment. Then, when the scene changes, she finally answers me. “I defrosted some beef brisket I found. I’ve got a pot roast on.”
My mouth waters at the thought of good old-fashioned home cooking. At least with her here, I’m not going to starve.