Chapter Eight #2
I don’t turn to see who called my name as I park my bike in my spot, head straight to the weapons room, and select my favorite gun.
A 1911 Colt, an early production model that damn near wiped out my savings when I first bought it fifteen years ago from a private collector.
I had to jump through hoops to get it, but I only wanted the best in the market.
The weight of the gun feels familiar as I walk to the firing range, a room that nearly takes up the entire basement. I use this place to train some of our newer members, or just to relax since I can’t fucking carry a gun or walk into a public firing range.
I don’t bother with earplugs as I load my gun. I need to hear and feel everything. If only to get rid of this rage. This…helplessness.
My jaw is tight, the Colt a comfortable weight in my hand as I step on a line, the target twenty yards away. I allow myself to picture Gareth standing there with his uniform and that stupid sneer on his face.
“Have fun for the next ten years, Trigger. No one will miss a street rat like you.”
I fire.
One shot. Then another. And another.
Right to his chest, shoulder, and head. I don’t miss a spot.
Every bullet hits where I want it to hit, the thunder of each shot echoing through the walls until I’ve emptied the magazine.
I don’t take my eyes off the target as I reload the gun, and then firing at it again, but it doesn’t matter how many shots I make, the sneer stays.
I reload again, eyes on the target before aiming.
The 1911 kicks back with raw power, the recoil slamming through my arm, but I barely flinch.
My entire focus is on the man who just won’t go down.
I don’t plan to stop until I’ve wiped the sneer off his face, but when I reach out to reload again, my hands come back empty.
I turn around to find Saint staring at me calmly, arms crossed. He smirks. “Are you trying to bring down the entire building? Trigger, you know this is a shooting range, right? Not a battlefield?”
“Sorry, I got carried away,” I say, realizing that the session has barely scratched the rage burning inside of me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I reload my gun so I have something to do with my fingers. “I think I’m going to need a different lawyer,” I say, even as my heart jolts at the thought of meeting a different lawyer. Fuck, maybe I should just break the fucking law and skip town.
“Why? She seemed like she knew what she was doing. What happened?”
My head whips up at his words and I narrow my eyes at him. “You really didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
I scoff. “Maeve Halloway. She’s the daughter of a prosecutor who was connected to my case the first time around.” I sigh. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, Prez?”
His face shows his shock, and I realize it’s true—he had no idea.
“I didn’t know, man, I swear. Just heard that she was making waves as someone young and fresh who would have the energy and the know-how to take on your case.
” He turns away and walks to the wall, his eyes troubled. “And she knew the whole time?”
I hesitate. “Well, she said she didn’t know until she saw the case file.”
Saint nods. “So, maybe she isn’t anything like her father.”
“Fucking hell, Prez!” I growl, kicking the wall as I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what to do. I was just so angry, so I left, but…she’s not her father, I know that. I don’t think she even talks to him that much.”
I should have seen it this morning too. The regret on her face. The way she was willing to reach out and use whatever connections she had to help me.
“All I knew was she graduated summa cum laude, top one percent of her class, so she’s got more brains than most of the other the criminal lawyers I know,” Saint says.
“I figured if anyone could get you out, it would be her.” He smirks and adds, “And if you fall in love with her too, that’s just killing two birds with one stone. ”
“That’s not—fuck!” I curse when my phone starts vibrating in my jacket. I grab it, intent on ignoring whoever’s calling until I see Maeve’s name flash on the screen. Guilt at how I left settles in my chest as I step away to take the call.
“Hello?” I whisper, waiting to hear her voice. She’s the only one who can silence the demons that have surfaced in my mind. Only she can heal them. “Maeve?” There’s silence at the other end, so I pull the phone from my ear to glance at the screen, but the call is still connected. “Maeve, baby—”
And then I hear a familiar voice coming through the phone, but it’s not Maeve.
“So what, you think you can report this and get me arrested? You think I’m going to let you threaten me, you little bitch?”
My blood runs cold. The voice is male. Cold. Hateful. Just as I remember hearing it five days ago. And ten years ago.
“Trigger.” I look up to meet Saint’s questioning look, his brows arched in concern. “Is something wrong?”
I don’t respond, but instead put the call on speaker.
Saint’s eyes harden when he hears Gareth’s raging voice.
“He fucked my Anya! God knows how long she’d been having an affair with him, and I was expected to just let her go?
Anya is mine. I won’t go to prison. I’ll get her back.
I’ll travel to wherever the fuck she is and I’ll get her back.
I won’t let you send me to prison, bitch! ”
Saint grabs his own phone and types furiously, shooting a series of texts to someone, but I don’t wait to find out who.
I grab my phone and start for the door when Saint stops me with a hand to my shoulder.
“I just texted Ransom to hack into your phone and record the conversation. We’re going to need it as proof,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low.
“I don’t fucking care about proof right now,” I hiss, shrugging off his hand. “I need to get to Maeve before that fucker hurts her.”
He nods. He would understand. He has a woman of his own who he would protect with his life, and Maeve is mine. I’ll be damned if some crazy fucker takes her from me.
Saint says, “Text me her address and we’ll have the guy closest to her building get us surveillance of her apartment. We won’t let him get away with this.”
I nod, grabbing my loaded gun and slipping it into my waistband. It seems I’m going to use the 1911 after all, and on the man I have a vendetta against.
If he dares lay a hand on Maeve, Gareth Jones will regret the day he met me. I will burn him to the fucking ground and follow him to hell to finish the job.
He’s dead the second he touches my attorney.