“Five,” Trance said, walking through the front door without knocking.
I flipped him off.
We were going shooting today or had been three days ago.
Now, I was fairly sure I was dehydrated, and I’d need something more than just a beer to help me recover.
Sadly, beer was all we had, and I’d have to wash a dish in the pile at the base of the sink if I wanted water.
So, beer it was.
After my third, I was finally okay enough to regard my two brothers who were staring at me like I was broken.
“What?” I snapped.
They both shook their heads.
A gesture so much alike that it was comical.
We all looked alike. I was the biggest and oldest. Trance was the middle and slightly less muscled than me, but the same height. Foster was the youngest and the leanest. He wasn’t small by any means, he just didn’t have the bulk like Trance or me.
I sighed and walked to the bedroom, shucking my shirt and pants on the way.
My socks followed as I headed to the closet where I yanked out a fresh t-shirt that smelled like flowers and shit, courtesy, yet again, of the maid.
My jeans were hanging up again, too.
Ugh. I think she starched them as well.
“Look at this shit!” I yelled at my brothers.
Taking the pants, I rounded out the leg holes and set them down on the carpet where they stood on their own.
“Wow, Mandy does a good job at starching your pants,” Foster observed dryly.
Trance’s eyes rounded as he watched my starched jeans stand on their own. They’d probably stand up against a stiff wind, too.
“Are you wearing those?” Trance asked worriedly.
I gave him a look and started yanking down my starched pants, then walked to the washroom where I threw every one of them in the washer and turned the water on scald… or hot. Whatever.
Then I poured two cups of detergent into the wash with it and put it on its longest cycle before turning around to paw through the dirty clothes.
I unearthed a pair of jeans I’d worn last week, happy to see that only a few stains from, what I suspected was dirt, on the knees.
Slipping into the jeans, I walked back to my bedroom where I slipped my feet back into my boots.
“Did you get a new piece?” Trance asked when I stood up.
I nodded. “Colt .45. Snub nosed. Fits perfectly in my ankle holster. I can even run with it comfortably.”
“Sweet. I just got five boxes of shells for my .45. I want to shoot it,” Trance said as he walked with me out of the house and down the stairs.
Foster and I each had three bags apiece, plus I had two rifles slung over each shoulder.
Trance walked to his own truck and removed his rifle and bags before depositing them in the bed of my truck.
We all piled into my ’87 Chevrolet, sitting three across in the single cab pickup.
The rifles went into the floorboard and behind the seat, all barrels pointed toward the floor.
It was a tight fit, but we made it happen.
Although, if we were pulled over right now, we’d probably be arrested just on general principle.
“Why do we always take your stupid truck? I have a brand new one,” Foster grumbled from his position in the middle seat.
I shifted into reverse, being sure to nearly nail him in the balls, and backed out of the parking lot.
He cursed and covered his dick, causing us to laugh.
“Because I’m the oldest,” I said with wide eyes.
He just shook his head, and I drove to the shooting range where we were members.
“Do you think they think we’re gay?” Foster asked as he eyed a car of chicks to our left at the first stoplight we hit.
I looked over to find them all giggling and tossing glances our way.
“No. We look alike. Unless they think we’re incestuous, that is,” I offered.
Foster eyed where Trance had his arm running along the back of his shoulders, and I had my hand resting on the stick shift that was in between his legs. “No, I can’t see how they’d think that at all.”
I snorted and put it into first gear as the light turned green. “Well, then, let ‘em think that. We don’t have anything to prove to them.”
“What if my future wife was in that car?” Foster tittered.
I shot him a glance. “Foster, those girls were all of sixteen. If your future wife was in that car, she’d have to come visit you in the state pen for statutory rape.”
Trance snorted. “You used to be like that, too.”
I shrugged. “I’ve changed my ways.”
I had, too.
Over a year ago I’d been going through women like they were fucking candy.
Then I’d, literally, fucked one of my dates so hard that the wall between our apartment and the one on the other side had fallen with my exuberance, and I hadn’t had sex since.
I’d nearly killed someone. Two someone’s.
Granted, the wall had been flimsy and a piece of shit and had withstood not just me having sex against it, but the previous occupant as well. I’d literally never been so scared in my life. Not even when I was in a middle of a fucking warzone with thirty Taliban pointing their weapons at my face.
Trance and Foster snorted. “You’ve turned into a little bitch.”
That comment came from Foster, and I made sure to nail him in the balls the next time I shifted gears.
“Fucker,” he wheezed.
I pulled into the driveway of the shooting range after thirty minutes of listening to their bullshit and was relieved to see the place deserted.
It was helpful that we’d come on a weekday. If it’d been a weekend, it would’ve been hopping.
“Rifle or handgun first?” I asked at the T in the road that led to the separate ranges.
“Rifle.”
“Handgun.”
Rolling my eyes, I took a right, choosing handgun first.
Foster shot Trance a triumphant grin, and Trance slugged him in the shoulder.
“Oww,” he whined.
I pulled into the spot next to the only car, thankful that I got a close parking spot.
I hated nothing more than having to haul all of our stuff back and forth to the truck. It was inevitable that I’d forget something.
Grabbing my ear protection from around the shifter, I placed it over my ears since I could already hear the lone occupant of the handgun range shooting up a storm.
It’d literally not stopped since we’d arrived. Nine shots, reload a clip, nine more shots.
That didn’t surprise me, though. Some people did it like that.
Though I was surprised to see that the shooter was a woman.
A sexy woman in jeans so tight that it made my mouth water.
She’d also caught the attention of Foster, too.
Her long black hair was down to her ass in soft waves, and her shirt declared her having some affiliation to the Kilgore Fire Department.
Foster nudged me, moving his head toward the woman.
Trance didn’t even bother to look. He had a woman at home who he loved more than the air he breathed, as well as two beautiful children.
He didn’t need to look. He had it all.
Everything that I wished I had but never told anybody about.
We waited for another five minutes for her to stop shooting before we announced ourselves, and when we did, she whipped around like she’d been shocked with a cattle prod.
That’s when my mind started to put together all the pieces.
“Hey Mercy,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”
I said it soothingly, mainly because she was gripping the gun like she’d pull it up at any second, even though we all knew she was out.
Her eyes darted between Trance and Foster, her mind rapidly taking in their huge forms before she settled on me.
>
When she did, she visibly relaxed, all the tension that’d worked into her body the moment we announced ourselves dissipated, flowing out of her as if it’d never been.
“Miller,” she breathed with relief. “Y’all scared me.”
We could tell.
Trance looked at the woman curiously, but Foster realized who she was just about the same time that I had.
Foster had kept himself scarce while Mercy had been over at our place. However, he wasn’t deaf. He’d heard the conversation, courtesy of the shitty walls in the apartment. He’d also seen her while she was sleeping.
Now, though, she looked pretty badass compared to her previously broken state at my apartment.
“You look good, Mercy,” I said softly. “Whatcha shootin’?”
I knew what she was shooting, but it was an icebreaker to get her to talk.
My brothers took that as their cue to start setting up, and I sat my bag on the counter when I walked over to Mercy slowly.
She really did look better.
Dressed in her own clothes and shoes, with her hair washed and down, she looked like a totally different person.
Even when I’d seen her yesterday, pressed up against the window… she looked like someone else. This Mercy looked like she was comfortable in her own skin. She looked like she’d never experienced the atrocity that’d happened to her yesterday.
Mercy held out her gun for me to look at. A pink .38 that fit her small hand like a glove.
“You come here often?” I asked, touching the pink grips with the tip of my finger.
She nodded. “Every Monday. I thought it best to keep up my regular routine.”
I could understand that. Routines were important to most normal people… but to people who were fucked up… routines were crucial.
Something I knew all too well.
“This is a good place to come. You want to shoot with us?” I asked.
I expected her to say no, but she surprised the shit out of me by saying, “Yes.”
She must’ve read the surprise written all over my face, because she laughed softly. “I’m out of bullets.”
I smiled. “Lucky for you we have enough ammo to hold off a small siege.”
She raised her hand and ran it up and down my arm. “Thank you, Miller.”
I lifted my own and patted her hand. “Anytime, Mercy Me.”
She grinned. “Mercy Me. I like it.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Now, let’s see what you can do with a real gun.”
She snorted as she followed me over to where my brothers were standing, guns on the counter in front of them.
“Is it safe to walk the target out there?” Trance asked.
Mercy giggled. “Sorry. I was a little… distracted.”
Trance, nor Foster, said anything, but I could tell they wanted to. That just went to show they knew how to handle women.
“Now, you may show me what the big boys play with,” she teased.
I smiled wide at her. “Your wish is my command.”
Foster snorted, and a smile played at Mercy’s lips as she tried her best not to comment.
Although she was still slightly nervous, she started to come out of her shell when, not only me but my brothers, started showing off their prized possessions.
She shot nearly two clips out of each handgun that we’d taken to the range with us.
By the time we were gathering up our belongings to head to the rifle range, Mercy had become comfortable around the three of us.
It was when I was walking her to her car that she stopped and looked up at me.
“Thank you for helping me, Miller,” she replied thankfully.
I touched the tip of her nose with one of my fingers, eyes alight on the freckles she had dusted over her cheeks and nose. “That was all you, honey.”
She smiled sadly at me. “No, it was not.”
When she made a move to go to her car, I stopped her by taking a hold on her wrist.
Her skin felt smooth beneath my work roughened palms, and her bones felt tiny.
I could literally wrap my thumb and forefinger around her wrist with my thumb nearly touching my second knuckle.
She looked back at me with a raised brow in question. “What?”
I moved closer when I heard my brothers’ step out of the range behind us.
“You really did do it on your own. I haven’t done a thing for you that you couldn’t have done for yourself. You’re an amazing woman, Mercy. Your coping skills amaze me,” I said truthfully.
An embarrassed smile tilted up the corners of her lips. “You don’t even have the first clue, Miller. I’m not that girl. I just put on a good act.”
With that, she left, and I was left feeling that maybe I should check on her later in the day.
At least to double check that she was all right.
That was purely for her benefit… wasn’t it?
Chapter 4
Dad, you’ve always been like a father to me.
-Coffee Mug
Mercy
Two days later
There was a knock at the door, and I peeked my head out from the blanket I was hiding under.
Literally hiding.
The only way I could sleep was if the lights were on, the TV was blaring, and the comforter covered me from head to foot.
It’d taken a little getting used to, but I’d managed it. Especially when it was the only way I was able to sleep.
Looking at the clock, I groaned, knowing it could only be two people.
Nobody else would knock on the door at six-thirty on a Wednesday morning.
Maybe if I ignore it, they’ll go away.
I sighed as the knocking continued.
Throwing the covers off, I walked to the door.
I guess I should’ve expected it. I’d been ignoring them for going on three days now. There was no way they’d let me ignore them forever.
Not that I wanted to... I just didn’t know what to say to them.
‘I’m okay’ didn’t sound very good. They knew I wasn’t okay. ‘I’ll be alright,’ was closer to the truth, but hell, who knew when I’d be alright.
Shoring up my defenses, I opened the door to my mother and father.
My dad looked ready to beat the door down, and my mother was pulling out her keys getting ready to use them.
“You know,” I said swinging the door wide. “Most normal people sleep at this time of day.”
My dad snorted and pushed me aside to enter, but my mom stared at me.
“If you were sleeping, I’d have not let him come. But we saw your lights on, and we all know that you sleep with all the lights off,” my mother tittered.
Sometimes mothers thought they knew everything.
Although she would’ve been right just four days ago.
Then, I would’ve never had a light in the house on.
Now, I couldn’t sleep without them all on.
Which also let her know that I wasn’t ‘alright.’
“That just goes to show that you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I was sleeping,” I teased.
I hadn’t meant it to come out sounding so tired, but it had, and my father who’d been busying himself making coffee turned around to study me.
My mother stopped until her feet were touching mine and pulled me into her warm embrace.
“I love you, baby,” she whispered fiercely. “If I could take your pain for you, I would.”
She knew I needed her. That’s why she’d showed it like she did. How she knew, I didn’t know, but she did. It must’ve been mother’s intuition or some shit like that, but I broke. Right there in her arms, I broke.
I let go of all the pain I’d been holding in for the last three days.
I told her everything that’d happened.
I told her how I couldn’t sleep with the lights off, because when I did all I could feel wer
e his hands on me, violating me.
And she listened.
She did what any mother would do and listened to everything I had to say.
“Oh, baby,” she cried softly.
My dad’s arms wrapped around me and my mother, pulling us into his strong embrace, causing me to cry harder.
“It’s okay, baby girl. We’ll get through this,” he promised.
I wasn’t so sure I believed him.
I’d told myself the same thing over the past couple of days; yet, here I was, day three after the incident that I didn’t like to put a label on, and I was still barely functioning.
I cried in my parent’s arms, much the same way I had that first day in Miller’s, grief pouring out of me.
It was cleansing in a way.
I was nowhere near better, but I felt like I could breathe.
It’d been a conversation I’d been avoiding for a few days now, and I felt free to finally have it off my chest.
After a long while, my dad finally pulled away from us, giving us both a kiss on the forehead, before he started puttering away in the kitchen.
It was only when we smelled the bacon that my mom and I finally broke the embrace.
But she did it only so she could cup my face.
“I want you to know I’m here, honey. Day or night. You need me, I’ll be here,” she promised.
“Alright, during the day I’ll call you. At night, though, I’ll probably just call Daddy. He’s always up later than you are,” I teased.
She frowned at me, giving me a narrow-eyed look and said, “He’s not up much during the night anymore. Only if it’s something really bad, that is.”
My daddy was the Fire Chief for Kilgore Fire Department.
He was the big wig who got to sit behind a desk and ‘push papers’ so he said.
He didn’t like it anywhere near as much as he had when he was an active-duty firefighter, but it was safer for his heart.
Daddy had had two heart attacks within the last four years, and he’d slowed down a lot because of them.
He’d had to leave his high-stress job, but luckily he still got to stay in the fire service. Most didn’t have that option.
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