17. Greta
GRETA
Iron Jack leaving for a couple of hours breaks the spell we’ve been under. I actually get dressed and wander the clubhouse, pausing by the door of the meeting room.
The Wild Hair had their “church” gathering yesterday, and I was allowed to sit in the corner with a stern warning to be silent. I wasn’t offended because Adam had to do the same, since he isn’t a member either, just a prospect.
It wasn’t all that interesting. They talked about when Adam might get patched in as a full member. The construction jobs. And some talk about the wedding. Iron Jack praised everyone for their quick reactions and steady hands.
A couple of glances were shot my way, but nobody said anything about what Iron Jack and I’d been up to in the shadow of the water wheel, if they knew.
There wasn’t much from the meeting to report to Uncle Sherman, although I’m not sure I’m going to say anything at this point. Jack has somehow gotten me on team Wild Hair.
The power of cock, I guess.
The meeting room is different empty, like all the life has been sucked out of it. But there’s another door inside of it. It’s locked within an inch of its life with multiple dead bolts and a metal chain looped through the handle.
I assume this is where they keep the guns, but the way it’s secured, I wonder if there’s a body or two in there.
There’s a noise behind me, and given what I’m staring at, I’m startled.
When I whip around to face the hall, one of Carol’s boys is aiming a plastic gun at me. “You a Wild Hair or one of them Kin?”
He’s about six, I would guess, remembering Caden at his age. “If I say I’m one of them Kin, what happens?”
“I shoot you between the eyes.”
Interesting. “Without a judge and jury?”
He squints along the sights on the barrel. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s how we decide if someone is guilty of something before we punish them.”
Betz steps into the hall. “Don’t be filling that boy’s head with nonsense,” she says.
Right. The judicial system is nonsense. Spoken like a true outlaw.
“Does he go to school?” It’s late afternoon, so he might be home by now. But I wonder.
Betz blows out a long plume of smoke. “Of course he does. What do you think we are, swamp rats?”
“Yeah,” the boy says. “What do you think we are?”
“You’ll learn about judges and court in school,” I tell him. “There is more to life than the club’s justice.”
“You talk crazy, lady,” he says and takes off down the hall.
I watch him run. This is why my situation is doomed. I can’t have Caden learning from wildlings like this. How do they make it in society?
Betz lifts her foot to stub out her cigarette on the bottom of her boot. “You’re leaving the day after tomorrow, right?”
“That’s my flight.”
“You got what you need to tattle to your uncle?” She uses the same boot to light a match for another cigarette.
“Maybe.”
“You going to tell him you shacked up with the president for going on three days straight?”
I let out a slow breath. “Doubtful.”
She shakes out the match. “I figured.” Then she disappears into a room.
But she’s right. I have barely forty-eight hours left of this trip.
I take a step, feeling a jolt between my legs. Yeah, I’m sore. I’ve been well worked. But when Iron Jack is around, I get so hot and wet it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. I didn’t even know a person could be like this. He’s a walking aphrodisiac.
A distant door slams, and after a moment, Iron Jack, Hoss, and Chain fill the hallway. Jack spots me, his mouth twitching with an almost-smile.
“Order the filler,” he tells Chain. “We’ll have to wait a couple weeks if the rain hits like they say. Have it delivered at the end of the month.”
“Got it,” Chain says. He pushes past me with a fat grin, like he knows something.
Hoss peels off for his room, leaving me and Jack alone in the hall.
Iron Jack leans against the wall. “You doing all right?”
“I nearly got shot by a six-year-old with a plastic gun for not renouncing the Kin, but otherwise, I’m good.”
“Sounds like Sean. He’s starting to figure out good versus bad.”
I decide not to bring up my feelings on it. I’m not his parent. “What are we up to this afternoon?”
He wraps his arms around me and lifts me to whirl in a circle. “We should get out a bit before the rain hits. Then we can be curled up during the storm.”
“What will we do until then?”
He sets me down. “We need to teach you some basics.”
“Basic what?”
He takes my hand and leads me to the meeting room. “Protection.”
A jingle of a chain on his waist reveals a cluster of keys. He starts unlocking the door I’ve been looking at.
“This your arsenal?” I ask.
“Yeah. Chain is the sergeant-at-arms, so keeping it organized and stocked is his job. But all the officers can get in it.” The metal links clatter as he pulls them through the handle. “Let’s find you some weapons that suit you.”
I’m not so sure about this, but I follow him inside the long narrow closet.
The entire back wall is lined with rifles. The sight of them makes my belly tremble. What can happen that they need this many guns?
Iron Jack opens a large black trunk. Inside are trays of hand guns.
“The kick on a rifle might bruise you. Let’s start small. Any of these suit your fancy?”
I step closer. There are solid black guns like the one I held when we drove to the wedding. Then there are black and silver metal ones with pearlized handles. I point to the smallest one. “I like that one.”
“It’ll get away from you,” he says. “The small ones can be squirrelly.”
“All right, how about that long black one with the wood handle?”
“Classic,” he says, picking it up. “The Colt .45.” He passes it to me.
“Is it loaded?”
“All the guns back here are loaded in case we need them in a hurry.”
That shivery feeling comes over me again. “And it has a safety?”
“Three, actually.” He takes the gun from me. “We’ll grab some extra ammunition, and I’ll show you how it works out in the woods.” He shoves the gun in his belt. “And now a blade.”
He pulls a large roll of well-worked leather off a shelf and unfurls it on a table. Inside are a long row of knives of various sizes and styles.
“We’re not going to go alligator hunting, are we?” I ask.
“Why would we mess with the pretty gators?” He laughs. “Nah, we’ll cut some vines, get you used to how to handle it.” He pulls out a medium-length blade and tosses it in the air, neatly catching it by the handle.
“Iron Jack!”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been handling blades since I was Sean’s age.” He shoves the metal end into a leather sheath and passes it to me. “Let’s head out back.”
He takes the time to lock up the room again before we go. I carry the leather sheath out in front of me with both hands. I’m not so sure about this.
The afternoon is gray, the sun blotted out by clouds. I can feel the storm coming.
Iron Jack lifts an arm in greeting to the Wild Hair on the back porch. It’s Low Joe, Adam, and another man I haven’t properly met. “Don’t worry if you hear shots,” he calls as we pass. “We’re doing some target practice.”
“You gonna teach your lady to shoot?” Low Joe asks.
“That’s the aim,” Iron Jack says.
His lady. Interesting.
A foot path is worn in the grass to an opening in the trees. Iron Jack pushes through, holding branches back for me to pass.
It’s immediately darker and more menacing inside the forest. We continue to follow the barest hint of a trail until we reach a small circular clearing, only maybe thirty feet wide.
“What’s this place?” I ask.
“Where we practice,” Iron Jack says. “Also a safe zone should we get raided.” He points toward a tree with a big red gash painted on it. “We have more guns buried in a metal box at the base of that tree.”
I let out a long, slow breath. This life is wild.
Iron Jack heads to a rickety shelf constructed by weathered two-by-fours on the far side of the clearing. There’s a box at the end, and from it he pulls empty glass jars and some bent-up beer cans.
“Are those pickle jars?” I ask, spotting the green labels.
“I thought you’d get a kick out of it,” he says. “I had Christina put them out here.”
“Won’t it leave glass everywhere?”
“The crows love it.”
“You have crows?”
He walks back toward me. “Yes, and they really go for the glass. About four of them love Chain. They’ll come to him if he walks out here. He gives them trinkets.”
“Your little club gets stranger by the minute.”
He picks me up in another whirl. “You don’t know the half of it.”
When I’m back on the ground, he pulls the gun out of his belt and trades my knife for it. “All right. Here are the three safeties. The firing pin.” He shifts it. “The grip handle.” He turns to show it. “And the thumb hammer.” He pulls it down.
“Now it will shoot?”
“Now it will shoot.” He lifts my right hand and presses my fingers around the grip. “You want to stand with your right foot back to distribute your weight.”
I adjust my stance. Thankfully, I’m not quaking like I did in the ammunitions room.
He moves behind me, his large body wrapping around mine. “Never put your finger on the trigger directly until you’ve aimed.” He shifts my finger to lie along the edge of the gun. “Now lift the barrel and line up the front sight first, then the rear.”
I can’t make anything line up, and move the gun up and down, trying to figure out how to see it properly.
Iron Jack holds the gun by the barrel. “Let go for a second and shake out your arms. You’ve tensed up.”
I release the gun and wave my arms around. Then I take it back from him.
He resumes his position behind me, arms coming around so he can cover my hands with his. “Squint if you need to. Eventually you’ll be able to use one eye to line it up with the other open, but you can squint for now.”
Oh, that changes everything. I can see the two sights in a row. I lift the gun until the sights are lined up on the label of the pickle jar.
“Now you can slip your finger into the trigger, but don’t tense up. Keep it loose.”
I blow out a breath and shift my finger to lay on the trigger.
“Apply slow, even pressure.”
I do, and the sound is so sudden, and the movement so subtle, that I’m not sure I even did it.