Chapter 6
Chapter Six
CHARLOTTE
Stepping into the store, I felt my stomach lurch, twisting into a mass of painfully tight knots as I scanned the cases and walls.
I ignored the voice in the back of my head, screaming at me that this was all a huge mistake, and steeled my spine in determination as I moved to the case closest to me for a better look.
“Help you with somethin’, girly?”
At the question, I lifted my head to the person who’d just asked it.
The old man standing behind the case looked and sounded eerily like Kris Kristofferson in Blade, only with longer hair.
He studied me closely, his salt and pepper beard twitching as he shifted the toothpick he was chewing over to the left side of his mouth.
He definitely looked like he belonged in this place, while I felt completely and totally out of my element.
I pulled my bottom lip from between my teeth before I chewed it right off and tried to keep the tremble out of my voice as I answered, “Uh, yeah. I wanted to see about buying a gun.”
His bushy white eyebrows lifted high on his forehead in bewilderment before his expression turned dubious. “You sure about that, darlin’?”
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Really? ’Cause you sure as hell don’t look it.” To prove his point, he glanced down at my hands, and I followed his gaze to see they were resting on the case, shaking like crazy.
I curled my fingers in, clenching my hands into tight fists.
“I’m sure,” I repeated, infusing a certainty I definitely wasn’t feeling into my voice.
Truth was, guns scared the hell out of me.
Especially after being shot. But if yesterday’s run-in with that dickhead Frank had taught me anything, it was that not all threats would go down as easily.
I hadn’t been lying when I told Marin I’d promised myself I’d never be helpless again. I was done being a victim. That meant there might be a situation where my baton, or even a Taser, wouldn’t be enough, and I refused to be caught off guard if or when that time came.
The man crossed his arms over his barrel chest and rested them on the slight beer belly he had working beneath a faded flannel. “All right. Well, what’re you lookin’ for?” From the expression on his face, I knew he was calling my bluff, and damn if he didn’t do it well.
“Uh . . .” I looked back down at the case between us, not really having the first clue what I was looking at. There were a bunch of guns in different sizes. The expression “the bigger, the better” came to mind, so I pointed at the biggest gun I felt I could handle. “That one.”
The man let out a bark of laughter so loud it made me jump. “Girly, you try shootin’ that one, it’ll knock you flat on your ass first time you pull the goddamn trigger. You do any research before steppin’ foot in here?”
I curled my lips between my teeth instead of answering. Truth be told, it had been a knee-jerk decision. I’d been on my way to Evergreen Diner to grab some lunch when I saw the store’s sign and executed an illegal U-turn that pissed off the cars behind me.
“All right,” I replied a little snappily, crossing my arms and mimicking his stance. “Then what would you recommend?”
“That you walk the hell outta my shop and go do some research before tryin’ to buy a deadly weapon.”
I could feel my ire rise as the blood in my veins began to heat.
With his condescending tone, it sure seemed as though he didn’t give a damn about making a sale.
“Fine,” I clipped, dropping my arms and lifting the front of my shirt just high enough to reveal my scar.
“I was told this was made with a .45. You think I can handle a .45?”
“Fuck me.” The dude’s face leached of color and a muscle in his jaw began to tick wildly as he clenched his teeth.
I dropped my shirt back into place instantly, feeling more than just a little shitty for how I’d gone about making my point, but what was done was done. “So, are you gonna help me pick something that won’t knock me on my ass or what?”
An irate voice spoke from behind me. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”
A chill worked its way up my spine as I turned to look over my shoulder, and when I caught the downright terrifying expression on Dalton’s face, my blood turned to ice in my veins.
He stomped farther into the shop with all the grace of a rage-filled charging bull, and the look on his face was downright terrifying.
“Judd, some privacy,” he ordered, and as ill-timed as the thought was, I couldn’t help but think that the dude on the other side of the case definitely looked like a Judd.
He jerked his chin at Dalton and turned toward the back. “Think I’ll go pour myself a cuppa coffee in the back. Try not to destroy anything, yeah?”
He didn’t wait for a response before bailing out.
I looked back at the furious man coming at me, goosebumps rising across my arms. “Dalton . . . wh-what are you—?”
That was all I managed to get out, mainly because he closed in and bent forward, only an inch from my face, and boomed, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
If he wasn’t so freaking scary, I might have actually been pissed about him stomping in here and yelling in my face. “Dalton—”
“You’d have to be, takin’ on a man you already fuckin’ knew had no problem taking his hands to a woman. What the fuck were you thinking?” he continued to shout.
Oh shit. “How did you know about that?” I managed to get out in a whisper past the sudden Sahara-like dryness in my throat.
His chin jerked back almost as if in shock.
When he spoke again, his tone was much lower, but that didn’t make it any less menacing.
“Are you serious? That’s all you gotta say?
” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to start, in my opinion, but apparently, he didn’t agree.
When I didn’t reply to a question I assumed was rhetorical, he carried on. “I keep tabs on you whenever I can.”
It was my turn to jerk my chin back in shock. “So you spy on me?”
He shrugged casually, crossing his arms over the wide, solid wall of his chest like it was nothing. “I do what I have to do to ensure you stay safe.”
I didn’t want to like that, but I couldn’t help it. His need to protect was just one of the many, many things that made him so irresistible. Which was all the more reason I needed to stay the hell away from him. “I had it totally under control.”
His eyes widened in bewilderment. “Really? You had it under control?”
“Yes,” I hissed, feeling my hackles rise.
Uncrossing his arms, he pinched the bridge of his nose like he was struggling to keep control. “All right. So tell me, what would you have done if he’d been armed?”
“You’re talking in hypotheticals,” I shot back. “He wasn’t, and everything turned out just fine.”
“You think so?” he asked sarcastically, and I got the distinct impression he was about to school me on something very serious.
“Frank Walton’s a known associate of some not-so-good guys.
He’s also a collector. The house you and your girl were in the middle of clearin’ out when he caught you had no less than three guns inside. You know that?”
I hadn’t, and at the knowledge, an unwelcome shiver raced down my spine.
Reading my expression, he continued. “Didn’t think so.
You got lucky, Charlotte. Plain and simple.
All it would’ve taken was for him to get his hands on one of those guns, and you and your girl wouldn’t have been walkin’ out of there on your own two feet.
You’d have been carried out in goddamn body bags. ”
I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Unfortunately, he wasn’t finished.
“Being in control of a situation means knowing exactly what you’re walking into before you step foot inside.
It means knowing the opponent you’re goin’ up against and having plan A, B, and C in place on the off chance shit goes sideways.
And it means cluing someone else in on what you’re about to do.
You never walk into shit like that without backup.
You didn’t do any of that,” he barked furiously.
“You were careless. Not only did you put yourself in danger, you put your friend in danger too.”
My whole body started to shake. “I-I didn’t think—”
“No,” he snarled. “You fucking didn’t. And now you’re here, buying a goddamn gun. Have you ever even fired one before?”
I sniffled and shook my head, unable to speak past the lump that was swelling bigger and bigger in my throat with each passing second.
“Judd!” he bellowed, causing me to jump as I cast my gaze down to my feet. From the corner of my eye, I saw the old man move through the store behind the cases, coming to a stop across from me once again. “Anyone back there usin’ the range?”
“All clear at the moment.”
“Good. Gimme the Sig P365 and a box of bullets.”
Oh God. My stomach revolted, and a cold, clammy sweat misted across my skin as Judd, a man of few words, did exactly as Dalton had ordered.
I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as Dalton grabbed my hand and dragged me through the shop.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in the first stall of an otherwise empty indoor gun range while he loaded bullets into the gun with an ease I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to accomplish.
I stood motionless, unable to move or breathe as he slipped a pair of safety glasses on my face.
“All right. You think you can handle a gun? I want to see you in action.” He lifted the now fully loaded gun to show me where the safety was and how to flip it on and off, then he grabbed my right hand in his and placed the weapon in it.
He took me by the shoulders and turned me to face the target that looked like it was miles away.
“Hold the gun with both hands just like this,” he instructed, forcing my stiff arms up and placing my hands just where he wanted them. “Line your target up in the sights here, then fire.”