by E L Irwin
AJ mumbled in her sleep and reached for him. Ryler quickly but carefully sat down beside her and eased her back against him. Ten minutes later, Shiv focused intently on the door. Moments later, Ryler heard a soft knock. Once more, he carefully got to his feet without disturbing AJ and went to see who was knocking. Gun at the ready, he peered through the side window and saw Chief standing there.
Opening the door, he motioned for the man to be quiet. As Chief stepped over the threshold, he spied AJ and nodded. Ryler jerked his thumb toward the kitchen, and they moved in there.
“Well?” Ryler asked as he pulled a couple bottles of Guinness from the fridge. “What’d you learn? Anything?”
“Your place is clean. No unfriendlies around. I’ll keep a couple guys posted just to be extra eyes and ears.”
“Sounds good. And thanks. Any idea yet who we’re dealing with?”
“I’d be willing to wager heavy that whoever this is, they’re military-trained. Or they’ve just done a lot of studying, prepping, and practicing on their own.”
“Why’s that?”
“They’re too good. They know exactly what they’re doing. It’s ticking me off.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I’m going to put another call into Darrante. See what he can come up with.”
“Let me know as soon as hear anything.”
“Will do.” Chief downed the rest of his drink and headed for the door. “See you. Stay low.”
“Likewise.” Ryler locked the door after Chief and walked the inside perimeter of the house once more before settling beside AJ. Shiv would alert him if anyone got close.
When I woke up the next morning, I was in Ryler’s bed. Ryler snored lightly beside me. This had been our arrangement since my attack. It’d been too difficult for me to get up and down the stairs, and Ryler had refused to let me sleep on the couch, insisting I take the bed. I’d agreed, but only if he, too, was not relegated to the couch. I’d told him his bed was plenty big enough for the two of us, and he’d just have to be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself.
Ryler’d groaned loudly over this demand, but it was good-natured. So, it wasn’t the fact that I was in his bed at all that confused me, but rather that I’d distinctly remembered settling onto the couch with him last night and had no recollection of getting here.
Watching him as he slept, and telling myself that it wasn’t creepy at all, I contemplated what he’d said last night about him being the predator and Amber being the prey. Amber. Amber was the name that was cemented in my brain. The name of the one who taunted me on my blog. Amber was the name of the faceless, red-haired woman from the hospital. And while Ryler had insisted that the one he was hunting was a man, I just couldn’t help but wonder if he was wrong. Or, what if there were two people? Both a man and a woman? Whatever the outcome to that question, I knew one thing. Ryler may be the predator between him and the attacker, but I was the prey. I was the one being hunted.
This person — man or woman — was the one hunting me. I was their prey. And that knowledge left me feeling unsettled. I didn’t want to be the prey any longer. I was tired of being hunted.
Ryler mumbled in his sleep, bringing my gaze back to him. I let my eyes travel over his sleeping form, taking in the darkly tanned and toned skin, the tattoos, and the sheer animalistic power sheathed in the man beside me. Ryler was a hunter, a predator. He had that confidence. That instinct. That fire. And I wondered how one acquired those things. Was it something born in him that was simply honed over the years? Or was it something he’d needed to learn just to survive?
“What’re you thinking about?” he rumbled in his low, gravelly voice.
My eyes shot to his, but they were still closed.
“You’ve been staring a hole in me for some time now, AJ.”
Heat stained my face. “Just thinking, I guess. Sorry to wake you.”
“Don’t be sorry. Waking with you next to me… I’m not sorry.” Ryler cracked an eye open and gave me one of his crooked grins. “Now, what’s eating you?”
Taking a deep breath, I let it out in a rush. “Just contemplating the differences between a predator and its prey.”
That made him take note. Ryler rolled over to look up at me, angling his body so that he could see me fully. “Predator and prey, huh?” He rubbed at his bottom lip, a thoroughly enticing action. Several moments later, as I realized that I’d been staring at his mouth and that he’d caught me looking, I blushed and shook myself out of that train of thought.
Then remembering what he’d said, I indicated him. “You’re obviously a predator. And I’m obviously the prey. Amber or whoever is after me is both, I guess. And… and I’m just wondering how one becomes one or the other.”
“A predator is one who hunts others, typically for consumption, though some just seem to enjoy killing. The prey is almost always the victim. I am not a predator.”
“You’re hunting Amber, though.”
“That is an act of self-defense. I’m not hunting because I’m hungry or just enjoy it. I’m hunting to protect one I care about. I’m more of what you’d call a sheepdog. I guard against the predator.”
“I can’t picture you as a sheepdog. Have you ever seen one? They’re fluffy and cute. You’re more like a wolf.” I smiled as I nudged him with my foot.
“I’m a sheepdog crossed with a wolf. How’s that?”
“With a lot of that wolf inside,” I conceded.
“Lots.” Ryler winked. Something sparked and heated then in Ryler’s gaze, turning those blue-gray eyes to liquid silver, making my stomach flutter. And then, just for a brief moment, it was like a shutter opened. Ryler’s eyes were solid steel, and he growled low and menacingly, “I will find this person.”
A chill crept down my spine at the sound of his voice and the words he used. Ryler meant it. Every single word of it. He planned to kill Amber. And while I could see his point about self-defense and could see that Amber may make this a necessary move, the idea still filled me with no small amount of trepidation.
And even though I knew what Amber was capable of, if she truly was the one who’d killed Mrs. Carson and had made the attempt on my life, I was still having a hard time reconciling the image of the woman from the hospital with some vile predator. Maybe that was what made this so difficult. When I thought of a predator, I thought of something evil, almost demonic maybe. A cardigan-wearing woman did not come to mind. Unless she was demon possessed. And now I felt like I was entering an episode of Supernatural. Where were the Winchesters when I needed them?
Ryler shifted on the bed and reached for my hand. “Hey, you all right? You just got a little pale.”
Blowing out a breath on a laugh, I nodded. “So… how does one not be a victim or prey?”
“By learning to defend yourself. By not waiting on the police to do it for you.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is.”
“But what does that even mean? Not waiting on the police? Isn’t that what they’re there for?”
“No, actually. Think about it. There aren’t enough police to provide each person protection. The police are there to catch the bad guys after the fact, and only occasionally beforehand, or in the process of.”
“So, how does one learn to defend oneself?”
“Self-defense begins in the mind. It’s a mind frame. Whether you decide to use your hand, a knife, a rock — whatever — you make up your mind to defend yourself, even if it means hurting the other person.”
“Okay.” I tried to picture it in my head. Me defending myself. Hurting another person. And I struggled with the image. Ryler must have noticed where my mind was wandering, because he reached for my hand and gently squeezed it.
When I met his gaze, he said, “Hey, you don’t have to worry about that right now. I’ve got you covered. And when you’re feeling much better and out of this brace, I’ll teach you a few things.”
Again, I bobbed my head and said, �
�Okay.”
Ryler watched me quietly for a few moments then rolled to his feet — well, foot. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic yet. “I’m going to shower really quick, and we can eat something, and then I’m going to teach you how to use a gun. Your brace doesn’t need to be off for that.”
“Um, what? Like now?”
“No, not now. After my shower and after we eat.”
“But, like with a real gun?”
“Well, I suppose we could try a fake one, but I don’t know how much good that’d do ya.”
Rolling my eyes at that, I threw one of the pillows at him. “Go shower. I’ll figure out something for breakfast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Not Your Damsel
So, it turned out that guns are really not that scary. Well, not after you learn to handle one, at least. After breakfast, Ryler pulled out his weapon, ejected the magazine, removed the round from the chamber, and placed all of it on the kitchen table where I was still seated. My eyebrows rose as he reached behind the fridge and pulled out a second gun. “Insurance,” he said, indicating the weapon in his hand.
Ryler put this gun down next to the first one. “This one,” he said, tapping the gun he normally carried, “is a Sig P220 in a .45. And this one…” He tapped the other. “…is a Springfield XD.40. Now, don’t let any of that confuse you. Look at it like the difference between a Ford and a Chevy. Just different makes, but both do basically the same thing.”
“Okay.” I agreed and tried to ignore the way my stomach fluttered.
“Now, before we head out back to the range, let’s just go over a few things first. Gun Anatomy 101, all right?”
“All right.”
“This is the grip and this is the barrel. Bullet comes out here. This is the trigger guard.” Ryler indicated each portion of the gun one piece at a time. Then he showed me how to put everything back together, including racking the slide. He instructed me to take them apart, meaning ejecting the magazine and the round in the chamber. He had me do this several times in a row, until I felt confident in what I was doing. He even made me do it with my eyes closed, telling me that I may need to use a gun in the dark, when using the light wasn’t possible. “Let’s head outside now,” he said as I set the Springfield down once more.
“First rule about using a gun,” Ryler said, once we were out at the range behind his house, “is to remember it’s not a toy. Nor is it something to be feared. A gun is a tool. And a tool can be used for both good and evil, depending on the intentions of the one using it. Respect a gun, but don’t fear it. Next, never point a gun at something or someone that you’re not willing to destroy. I mean that. When you point that gun at something, or someone, it had better be because you intend to destroy them.”
“Can’t I just fire like a warning shot or something?”
“No. When you shoot, you shoot to kill — not to scare, not to maim, not to wound. When you’re being attacked, and you have to use your weapon, the time for manners and politeness is gone. This is kill or be killed. And by you shooting to kill, you didn’t put your attacker’s life in jeopardy. They did. When they made the choice to attack, they put their own life in danger, not you. Are we clear?”
I took a deep breath and let it out in a rush, trying to ignore the feeling of lightheadedness I was experiencing at the thought of killing someone. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re clear.”
“Good. Now, the next thing you need to remember is to never, ever assume a gun is empty. Even if someone hands you one and tells you it’s unloaded, you treat it as if it is loaded. In fact, it’s best if you just make the assumption that every weapon you handle is loaded. And you keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
I nodded and swallowed as I inhaled, still trying to banish the nerves.
“Another rule, know, or at least be aware of, what’s behind your target. Know the path your bullet will take. What, or who you might hit. Now, I know that’s a lot to take in, and it’ll make more sense once you’re actually firing, but, any questions so far?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“All right. Let’s get you shooting.”
Ryler showed me where and how to stand then made sure I had my safety glasses and ear protection on. He handed me the Springfield, and as I took it from him, I reminded myself to keep my finger off the trigger, and that this was a loaded gun.
“Now, just aim at the target and then pull the trigger. We’ll figure out what needs to be adjusted as we go.”
I dipped my head, not quite able to speak. Ryler took up a position directly behind me, his hands lightly rested on my hips. His grip was reassuring and surprisingly only mildly distracting. Taking a deep breath, I looked to the dark silhouette of the target in front of me, noting the outline of the human figure, the circles showing which areas were most likely to stop an attack. I pulled the trigger. My bullet hit, just over the right elbow of my intended target. I’d missed.
While I hadn’t expected a dead-center hit, I’d hoped I’d do better than a complete miss. Ryler wasn’t fazed, however. He just had me readjust and continue shooting. I didn’t know just how many boxes of ammo we went through, but I did a lot of shooting. Ryler had me shoot with both hands, then one, then the other. He had me shoot while seated, while lying down, on my back, my stomach, and on either side. He had me take my time and aim, correcting my index finger placement and my grip. He had me fire rapidly until I’d emptied the entire magazine. Then he had me fire my shots in a pattern. Three shots, one, two more, then three more, and so on until I was empty. And every so often, he’d have me disassemble my weapon then reassemble and continue firing.
Two or more hours later, when I was beginning to feel all the shooting, he called it a day and said we were done. And though I was sore, tired, and my mouth was dry, a sense of pride was coursing through me. I’d done this. I’d shot a gun. And I’d improved. As we made our way back to the house, I thought, I’m no one’s damsel.
A certain kind of invincibility, or sense of power, tends to come with the knowledge and ability to wield a weapon with confidence. I wasn’t contemplating going vigilante and taking on the underworld, nor should anyone really, but I felt pretty good about being able to defend myself if the need arose. And hopefully, if the need arose, and it could, I wouldn’t be the one cowering down in the corner, trying to find cover and praying the police arrived fast enough.
Ryler monitored AJ as they walked along the path to the front door. She was tired and a little slow in her movements, but he found a difference in her walk back to the house compared to her earlier walk out to the range. Her shoulders, though weighted with fatigue, were pulled back. She had a spark in her eye. She was proud. As she should have been. AJ handled today well. Really well. She was an apt student and showed a lot of promise.
Ryler reached for the door and opened it for her, “How about you hit the shower first, and when you’re done, I’ll shower. Then let’s go to town and have dinner.”
“Oh… that sounds amazing. Could we? I haven’t been to town in forever!”
“Yeah, I know.” He grinned at her enthusiasm. “Go on. Go shower.”
Ryler called Chief and let him know their plans, and forty-five minutes later, they climbed into the Bronco and headed to town. He took them to the Dockside Grill where they’d enjoyed a leisurely meal of fresh seafood while the sun set in radiant display across John Wayne Marina.
Afterward, they headed to Charlie’s. Chief greeted them as they came in. He shook Ryler’s hand and gently pulled AJ in for a hug. “Missed you, kid.”
“Missed you, too, Chief.” AJ returned the hug.
Ryler and AJ stayed for an hour or so, just shooting the breeze, laughing and talking with Chief and various other patrons who came to say hello. Ryler was feeling, well, he wasn’t sure just what he was feeling, but it was something. It had such a strength behind it. A pressure was building, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He watched AJ as she laughed with a couple of re
gulars, men well into their sixties. The age difference didn’t seem to bother them in the least. They pestered her with questions and flirted shamelessly. Ryler let his eyes ghost over the graceful curve of her neck, where it met her shoulder and needed to touch and taste. He watched as she threw back her head and laughed until moisture spilled from her eyes. It had been like this right from the start, the energy around her, the contagion. Ryler wasn’t jealous. In fact, he was enjoying her enjoyment. Her pleasure was his pleasure. And as he watched her smile and laugh, he had a strong desire to hold her in his arms. To feel her body pressed against his. It’d been a while since he’d tasted her, and his mouth missed her, missed that flavor that was all AJ. His hands itched, and he longed to soothe them on her skin.
Rising from where he’d been watching, Ryler made his way to her side. AJ turned and smiled at his approach. As their gazes collided, something, some look in his eyes must have caught her and had her breath visibly catching. Suddenly it seemed too noisy, too crowded, and he was ready to be alone with her. She rose to meet him, her eyes locked with his. They said quick goodbyes, and Ryler led her out the door to the Bronco.
Ryler’s hand in mine was warm and comforting, and yet still somehow managed to bring a level of excitement as well. Each brush of his thumb across my skin sent heat through me as we drove home. The Bronco was filled with the scent of him, tickling my senses. Bob Seger growled and crooned softly from the speakers. I breathed slow and deep. But rather than ease the pressure, it seemed to only build it, adding new layers with each breath I took. In an effort to relax, to bring a much-needed level of calm, I said, “Thank you, Ryler.” And my voice came out low and throaty, revealing my tension. “That was… Well, tonight, getting out, was so very needed.”
Ryler squeezed my hand, whether in response to my words or to what I was feeling, I didn’t know. After a moment or two, he said as his eyes traveled leisurely over me before returning to the street, “I was glad to do it. You know, you’re beautiful when you laugh. Well, you’re beautiful regardless, but tonight…” He squeezed my hand again, then lifted our joined hands, and kissed my knuckles.
