TEACH ME
Sara
Istay on my bed long after Chris leaves, although I’m not tired.
My mind is racing too fast to even consider closing my eyes.
I want to believe him, I really do. There are a hundred reasons not to.
I barely know him. What I do know is he’s done terrible things.
He didn’t deny it, didn’t try to convince me it was somehow justified.
What he said about not hurting me felt genuine.
It’s hard not to trust what’s stirring within me.
I sit up and draw my knees to my chest. It’s warm in here, the heat almost stifling. Chris must’ve lit a fire downstairs.
Eventually, I peel back the blanket and stand. The thin cotton shorts and T-shirt I slept in cling to me, but I don’t care. Impressing anyone isn’t the point. Not being afraid anymore is.
The door opens with a soft creak. Amber light illuminates the stairwell, and the whole cabin smells like heat and woodsmoke.
He’s there, in the armchair next to the couch. The glass in his hand catches the firelight, its contents glowing a deep golden brown. Not a weak drink.
He sets the glass down and watches as I sit on the couch, putting as much distance between him and me as the cushions allow.
We both stare at the flames. The unexpected coziness is disturbingly out of place.
“You want tea or water?” he asks after a while.
I glance at his glass and nod toward it. “Can I try that?”
His brow lifts a fraction, but he reaches for the glass and hands it to me. “Careful with that.”
I take a sip and regret it instantly. The liquid hits my throat like lava and scorched dirt. My face twists before I can stop it. Chris tries to suppress a chuckle.
“Told you,” he says.
I glare and lift the glass to my lips once more. It burns again, but I don’t let it show this time. The liquid makes me bold, braver than I am.
“Can I ask you something? About your job, I mean.”
His eyes narrow slightly, measuring as he considers. “You sure you want to know?”
I’m not. But if I let these questions keep circling, I’ll never find any peace here. “How... how do you do it?”
His shoulders lower as he lets out a slow breath, gaze drifting somewhere past me. I don’t push.
Finally, he says, “I’m a sniper. Long range. In and out before anyone even knows I was there. Cash’s the one who gets close,” he adds. “Hands-on, knives, choke holds. Makes it personal.”
I shiver and take another sip of whiskey.
He sounds like he’s talking about fixing a leaky faucet or managing a stock portfolio. All business.
“When we work together,” he chooses his phrasing thoughtfully, “I clear the way. Cash ends it.”
It’s almost fascinating, like watching a nature documentary about a dangerous animal. But here, I’m part of the wildlife. Prey, trying to gauge the predator. His hands stay still, never fidgeting. No shame, no apology in his tone. He doesn’t confess a sin; he’s listing job skills.
“Why didn’t you stay in the Navy?” I want to understand.
His jaw clenches. “Orders would have taken us straight into an ambush. I didn’t follow them.
” His gaze hardens. “My team made it out. My career didn’t.
” He pauses. “Later they figured out the intel was bad. The target wasn’t even there.
He was busy carrying out a hit on a U.S.
base in Germany the same night. The administration needed someone to blame. I was convenient.”
“That’s why you became a killer? A kidnapper?” My sympathy only goes so far.
“It’s what I was trained for. Now I work for myself, not a corrupt government. I choose the targets. People no one else will touch. People whose deaths are justified. At least to me.”
That snaps my gaze to him. “Then why me?”
He doesn’t react right away. “You weren’t a target,” he says at last. “This job’s different. It’s a guard detail, whether you see it that way or not. I don’t take out kids, Sara. I don’t do that.”
“I’m not a kid,” I insist.
He runs a hand through his hair, drawing in a breath. “Not what I meant. You know that. But you weren’t supposed to be in my world.”
“Then why take this job?” I’m trying to keep my voice low.
His eyes meet mine. “Because I owed someone a favor. And walking away wasn’t an option.”
His words are certain. He believes what he’s saying, but I’m not sure I do. His posture is too rigid, his eyes fixed on his drink. I refuse to let this go.
“Who?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You owe me this much,” I press. “Tell me who. My father?”
He shakes his head. “Mendoza,” he says.
“Philip?” I ask, disbelief cutting through my voice.
Richard and he go way back. College, if I remember correctly.
He became the kind of creepy uncle you make sure you’re fully dressed around.
Every time he came over, his eyes traced down my body like he was assessing something he might buy.
Fucking pervert. His involvement makes sense, though.
If I fucked up the election and Richard lost, he’d go down with him.
No wonder he wanted me out of the picture.
“How do you know him?”
Chris shifts, discomfort in his posture.
“One of my guys, Bones, offered help. If it weren’t for me, he’d be dead.
His father, Ed, is chief in your hometown.
When I met him, he was so grateful that I’d saved his only child’s life that he shook my hand and said I’d have police support if I ever needed it.
He put me in touch with Mendoza. That was before he knew what line of work I’d end up in.
He was less enthusiastic after, but he still owed me. ”
I stare at him open-mouthed, realization hitting. This is crazy.
“That’s how you got me out of the police station.”
He nods.
I focus on the glass in my hand, processing what he told me.
Eddie is the chief. Before Richard appointed him, he investigated Mom’s death, or he didn’t, and just looked the other way.
The timing of his promotion right after the funeral wasn’t a coincidence.
It was his prize for getting the files sealed, for lying to the press, for burying her.
“What did Philip do for you?”
He takes a deep breath.
“Erased my record, got me off the news, off the wanted list. He gave me my life back.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks while the fire pops and crackles.
Too much. Everything he’s said spins in my head. I sit with it, waiting for something to click.
“I want a favor!”
The words are out before I can second-guess them.
He frowns. “What kind of favor?”
“I hate this. I hate being a victim. I don’t want to sit here and wait for my father to decide what happens to me. I want to be able to fight back.”
His eyes sharpen. “Fight back against who? Me?”
“People like you,” I say. “The ones who take.”
He studies me, his head tilted slightly as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m talking about.
I lean forward. “Teach me.”
His voice is low, careful. “Teach you what?”
“How to fight. How to shoot. How to get away. I don’t want to be a sitting target. Not again.”
He leans in, forearms braced on his knees. “You’re serious.”
I nod. “I don’t want to freak out or freeze next time. I need to know what to do.”
He watches me, weighing every word.
“You think a few lessons in self-defense are going to make you bulletproof?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s a start.”
He reaches for the whiskey and downs it, then glances back up at me. “You’re asking me to turn you into someone who can survive people like me.”
“I’m asking you to help me become someone who never ends up in the back of a van again.”
That lands. I can tell. His jaw tightens. There’s a trace of emotion in his expression. Shame, or regret. He holds my gaze.
“It wasn’t your fault, Sara,” he says finally. “It would have been impossible for you to stop me.”
“Please don’t tell me I should just sit here and wait.”
A long pause settles between us without awkwardness. We’re both sitting with the truth and figuring out what to do with it.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says at last. “One condition.”
My confidence falters.
“When you were in the tech booth at the rally site. You planted something. How did you hack the system?”
I huff. “It’s not that deep. We’ve always had the same tech guy. I feigned interest and watched him type his password.”
He suppresses a smile and shakes his head. “What did you plant?”
Heat blooms in my cheeks as I play with my fingers.
“Porn,” I mumble. “I don’t have anything on Richard to take him down. But this would’ve been scandalous enough to cost him votes, and the embarrassment would’ve been a bonus. I replaced the intro clip with mine so no one would notice. Used the same file name.”
I try to gather the courage to raise my head.
“It didn’t work though, did it?”
Another headshake. Although I saw it coming, I’m disappointed.
Satisfied with my answers, he finally relents. “If you’re committed, we start training tomorrow. Early. I’m not going easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” I say almost before he finishes.
A short laugh slips out of him. Disbelief, I guess.
We don’t say anything after that. Tiny bursts of sound rise from the fire.
For the first time since this whole nightmare began, I want to do more than just survive.
Even if I learn from the man who put me here, tomorrow I start taking back control.