Falcon

by Bex Dane

  "Oh please. Don't give me that line. He tried that. I know where it will go. He'll use me up and discard me like all the others."

  "It might go that way. But wouldn't it be wonderful if it went another way?"

  "I doubt that will happen." I stared at his finger in his mouth and tilted my head to remind him to stop.

  He pulled his hand away and looked at it like it had a mind of its own. Shame passed through his eyes, frustrated with himself again for letting his nail-biting compulsion get out of control. "I've known for a long time you guys would never keep it casual. You are a sweet soul, and you don't have that callousness in you."

  "Hush. That is not true. I'm a mean sonofabitch."

  He laughed. "You play the role, but you are as weak as a newborn fawn."

  "Be quiet."

  "He needs it."

  "Well let him find some other married woman, not me."

  "I think he needs you."

  I didn't respond.

  "Have you looked in his eyes?"

  "Who hasn't? They're hypnotic."

  "Mmm-hmm. Absolutely true. If he liked men, I'd never let him fuck me from behind. Always on my back so I could look in his eyes while he came."

  "Uh, Thorne. Please. Don't get carried away."

  He turned his whole body toward me, his hand gripping the chair as if to keep it from his mouth. "Oh, right. Right. Okay. So his eyes. Really look at them. Not when you're fucking because who could concentrate? I mean most of the time. When you look at his eyes. What do you see?"

  "Nothing. He's closed."

  "Exactly. He's rusted. Like Gaspar says..."

  "If you don't use it, you rust," I completed his thought.

  He nodded. "He hasn't used it in a while. Whatever he's been through. Maybe serving in the military, maybe his bodyguard work, or his family… It's rusted his heart. Something about you greases his joints. Has he told you anything?"

  "Not much. It's complicated. There's so much you don't know." I shook my head, so much nobody knew.

  "Oh tell, tell."

  "We have history," I said, resigned, hoping he'd stop asking questions.

  "You do?" No, of course he wouldn't stop.

  I wanted to talk about it, but keep it vague. "If it weren't for Falcon, my life would've been very different."

  His eyebrows flew up. "He changed your life? How?"

  Sharing this with Thorne meant facing a lot of truths I'd long avoided, but maybe it was time. "I never told you the details. The night I lost my mother, Falcon rescued me. He saved the lives of a lot of women, but he took me to New Jersey. He introduced me to Soledad. He told her to take me to New York and put me in art school. He paid for it."

  "He… Yes, you told me about a man who saved your life and was out there looking for your mom. The superhero?"

  "Yeah." I hadn't told anyone else about him. I trusted Thorne. I was never sure if Thorne believed my superhero was real. I always assumed he thought I made it up to comfort myself.

  "That's him? He's your superhero?"

  "Yeah."

  He bit his lip and his eyes glistened. "But he didn't find her?" he whispered.

  "No." I looked away as I whispered back.

  "Oh sweetie." He took my hands in his and the rough skin of his abused fingers brushed my palm. "I'm so sorry. You've been going through all this without sharing?"

  "I haven't faced it. I pushed it down deep." I squeezed his hands.

  "Yes, you try to do that, but the truth always surfaces and we have to deal with the fall out."

  "Yes."

  "So let's face it. You feel grateful to him?"

  I nodded. Fifteen-year-old Magdalena nodded too. Both of us with tears welling in the corners of our eyes.

  "But you're also angry he didn't find her?"

  I closed my eyes and two tears dropped. "Yes." I was angry at him for not keeping his promise, but I also understood how difficult it would be to find my mother. She could have been anywhere in the world. She could've been dead.

  He leaned over in his chair and embraced me. "This is amazing."

  I sniffled.

  "Do you know why he's rusted?" he asked me.

  "No." I had no idea.

  "You need to find out."

  "I don't know if he'll tell me. Maybe I don't want to know. He has a dark soul."

  "Don't we all?"

  I laughed. "I guess so."

  "So wait and see." He smirked.

  I gave him a doubtful look.

  "Be the steel wool to scrub away his rust."

  "Thorne..." I tried to stop him, but he was on a roll.

  "If the steel wool doesn't work, try vinegar."

  I laughed.

  "Baking soda. Try hydrogen peroxide. Try a blowtorch! But get him unrusted!"

  "You are so funny." We laughed for a bit before sitting quiet for a while watching Gaspar sleep. Thorne's hand came up to his mouth, but I stopped him from taking a bite. "I will hold your hand so you don't bite your fingers."

  He looked up at me with one of his big brown eyes. "Thank you, but I want a divorce." His brows went up like he was surprised the words came out of his mouth.

  "What?"

  "I want you to divorce me," he said more firmly.

  "Thorne, our arrangement…"

  "Has served its purpose."

  "C'mon. If this is about Falcon…"

  "Two years is an eternity in Hollywoodland. No one thinks you're a vampire. My brother is eighteen and out of the house. It's time for me to face my parents."

  We weren't a couple, but losing him would hurt like losing a boyfriend. "I don't want to divorce you. You're my best friend."

  He patted my hand. "As your best friend, I'm divorcing you. I'll have a lawyer draw up the papers. It's done."

  This was unfair. "I'm sad. I don't approve."

  "Nature abhors a vacuum, my love. Into my role, a new man will appear."

  "Who?"

  "Wait and see." His eyes sparkled and he hugged me again. He felt skinny. I should take him to lunch after this, someplace fattening.

  "I need Gaspar back, and then I'll be able to face Falcon and a divorce."

  His hands squeezed my upper arms, forcing me to sit up straight. "What if Gaspar doesn't come back to us?"

  My gaze turned to Gaspar in the bed. His normally vibrant face pale, his warm skin looking white and cold. Is that what he would look like when he died? "Don't say that. Please. I don't know what I'd do without him. How could I sing? How could I love? Life would not be worth living."

  He shook my shoulders to draw my attention back to him. "No. If we lose him, we'll mourn, we'll say goodbye, and we'll carry on. That's how life is. We carry on."

  Gaspar coughed and we both looked at him, waiting. A barely there noise came from his chest. Then a hum. Only three notes, but I recognized them as the first three notes of a song he'd written with John Denver, "Perhaps Love."

  "Oh my God. Oh my God. Call the nurse! He's waking up!" Thorne's voice hit the ceiling, it was so high-pitched.

  We both skittered around the room with our hands up. Neither one of us knew how to call the nurse! She just came in on schedule. We hadn't needed to call her!

  Falcon poked his head in and back out. Thorne and I were still wandering around the room when the nurse came in and saw to Gaspar.

  I held Thorne's hand as she asked Gaspar questions, and he mumbled some answers and coughed.

  Thorne and I cried as we stood there smiling beside the bed. Marcella rushed in and broke into tears when she saw him awake. She fell over his chest. His hand came up and clasped her head. He hummed a few more notes of "Perhaps Love."

  Falcon came in and looked at me. Our gazes locked. A slow grin spread across his face, and his eyes lit up as he opened his arms. I let go of Thorne's hand and ran to Falcon. The heat and strength of his chest and arms pulled me in and held me close. "He's awake," I said to his pecs. "He's back."

  "That's good."

  "Do you think he'll
be okay?"

  "We'll have to wait and see."

  Chapter 22

  Back at the house, Falcon poured Godiva chocolates into a bowl on the coffee table.

  "Do you like chocolate?" I asked him.

  "No but you do."

  "How did you know that?"

  "Found them in your closet." He sat down on the couch and stretched out.

  He'd been poking around in my closet? What else did he find? "And you decided to set them out on the coffee table?"

  Leaning back, his eyes serious, he leveled his gaze on me. "If you like them, you should eat them. Don't hide them in your closet like contraband. Eat. Enjoy. No shame."

  Nice idea, but the media placed a lot of pressure on me to watch my figure. "I'll lose track and eat them all."

  "Then eat them all," he said, like it was simple.

  "I can't."

  "Then I'll count them for you."

  I sat down next to him, and he wrapped an arm around my neck. "Here's number one." He handed me a purple truffle.

  I smiled and opened the wrapper. "How many do I get to eat?"

  "How many do you want to eat?"

  "I want to eat the whole bowl. But should probably stick to two or three a day."

  He nodded, but didn't take a chocolate for himself. "You happy?" he asked me.

  I had just plopped the truffle in my mouth, so of course I was very happy. I held up my finger while I enjoyed it. His eyes grew dark as he watched me chew. I finished it and licked my lips.

  "Jesus, woman. Your daily limit just went up to ten."

  "I can't eat ten a day."

  "Twenty."

  I laughed, and his eyes sparkled with his grin. "You look happy."

  "I am. Gaspar will sing and conduct again. It's such a relief."

  "Good."

  He lifted my hips and pulled me around to straddle him.

  "Uh, is anyone here?"

  "Nope. Now we can talk."

  For a man who never talked, he'd been keen to talk the last few days. "About what?"

  "You ever shot a handgun?"

  Oh, well. Not what I expected. "No." Obviously not.

  "You're going to today. I'm gonna teach you."

  Uh oh. "I don't need…"

  "From what I can see, you have no plans of abandoning your vigilante hooker rescue business. If something goes wrong, I want you to be prepared."

  "I really don't want to do that." Falcon was pushing my limits again, forcing me to face stuff I worked hard to stuff down.

  "Why?"

  I hated to admit it to him, but he was asking me honestly so I owed him the truth. "Guns terrify me."

  His hands tightened on my legs and his brow scrunched. "I always have weapons on me. Didn't notice you feeling uncomfortable."

  "I hide it well."

  He nodded. "Is this new since Ivan's been after you? Some serious shit has gone down."

  "It's been worse lately, but honestly? It started one night in a brothel when Oscar de la Cruz busted in shooting wildly."

  "Ahh, I see." He looked down, probably remembering the night he killed his brother, and possibly feeling guilty for my fear of guns today. Whatever he thought, he processed it internally before he looked up at me. "So your response is to deny you're scared?"

  "Yes."

  "The way to fight anxiety is to face it. Gain confidence you will know what to do in an emergency."

  I shook my head. "I don't think I could ever shoot anyone."

  "It gets easier with practice. Let's go." He patted my thigh.

  "No seriously. I'm really scared. I can't do that."

  "I'll show you. Been around guns since I was in diapers. And I'm still alive. You gotta get over shooter anxiety, or you'll spend your life in fear."

  Panic itched its way up my throat.

  The girls on the dock. Gaspar getting shot. No guns. No.

  "There is no one better to teach you how to shoot a handgun than me. C'mon."

  He grabbed my hand and walked us into the laundry room. I shivered remembering the intimate time we'd spent on the dryer. He slid a key card under a shelf on the wall. It dropped open revealing several handguns and boxes of ammo inside.

  "This one's my favorite." He held up a gun and grinned at it. He looked back to me. "You need something more compact." He picked up a gun that looked exactly the same as the other gun.

  My mouth went dry and goosebumps peppered my arms.

  He swiped a box of bullets, closed his secret shelf, and walked out. "Let's go."

  "Falcon. I'm feeling very nervous about this." Like about to barf nervous.

  "Respect for weapons is always good."

  Oh lord. He was not giving up.

  I tried another approach. "If I have you, I don't need to know how to shoot."

  "I can't be everywhere. Chaos reigns in a battle situation. You need to be prepared."

  "Battle?" My voice squeaked.

  "Ivan sent men to blow up a concert, shot six women dead, and shot Gaspar and Diesel. It's not a battle, it's a war."

  "Oh. Won't the neighbors freak out?"

  "The property is huge. With the big canyon out back, we'll be fine."

  My hands shook as I followed him to the back yard.

  He set the stuff he'd gathered on the patio table.

  "First rule. Never point it at anyone you don't want dead."

  I nodded but I felt like crying. I didn't want to shoot a gun.

  "Load the magazine here." He pushed the ammo up into the handle of the gun. "Rack the slide." He slid the top part back like I'd seen done in movies. "You see a bullet?" He showed me the top of the gun.

  "Yes." I saw what looked like a bullet inside a tube.

  "It's loaded, a cartridge in the chamber." He stepped away from me, spread his legs, and aimed the gun toward the canyon behind the house.

  "One foot back, fighting stance. Take aim and…"

  The loud pop hit my ears. I didn't even see the bullet, but a faint thud in the brush meant the bullet hit something. A casing had popped out the side and clinked on the slate patio. He lowered the gun and smiled at me. "Got it?"

  He looked incredibly hot and comfortable, but no, I didn't get any of it.

  "Try it."

  "No, really. I'm scared." My stomach flipped. I could not do this.

  "I'll help you." He moved behind me and lifted my arms. He placed the gun in my right hand but didn't give me its weight. As he arranged my hands, he spoke softly in my ear. "Proper grip gets rid of recoil. You control your recoil, you have the upper hand."

  I was listening, but the fear combined with his closeness made it hard to concentrate.

  "Think of it as an extension of your body. Not a thing you're holding, but your actual arm and hand."

  He adjusted my palm higher. "Place your shooting hand high up on the beavertail, gives you the mechanical advantage, but never above it because you don't want to get hit by the slide. Thumbs forward. Angle your left hand and place it butt-up against your right. No space between for the push back to get through. Solid." He pulled my arms in front of us, his big arms cradling mine. "Make sure your arm is straight in line with the barrel. That energy is gonna come back at you, and you need to be ready. Aim for that tree trunk."

  His right foot wrapped around my shin and pushed my foot back. This made me fall deeper into him, and I felt his hard body all along my back.

  "Let your finger fall naturally on the trigger."

  "Nothing feels natural."

  "Try it. Where would you put your finger?"

  I slipped my index finger on the cold metal trigger.

  "There. That's your sweet spot."

  His hands tightened over mine. "Keep your grip hard. Strong and even on both sides. Like a vise. You're in control of that weapon. You're going to make it do what you want it to do, and mistakes aren't going to happen because you are confident and unyielding."

  "I'm not feeling confident at all."

  "Fake it. You're an actress.
Put on your best Charlie's Angels' face and make me believe it."

  This made sense. Yes. When he put it that way, I could tackle the fear. I tucked my chin and furrowed my forehead, giving the imaginary audience my badass face of fury.

  "Good. Before you shoot, make sure you know the person is a direct threat. Never shoot someone unarmed or on your own team."

  "Can't I just run?"

  "Sometimes you can't run. You have to stand and fight."

  "Okay."

  "Brace your arms, pull the trigger back slow, and hold it down after the shot."

  "Now?"

  "Yes. Send it."

  "Oh God. Okay." My arms felt weak and my hands shook, but Falcon's steady presence all around me helped quell the panic. I held my breath and pulled. The blast burst from my hands, and the gun jumped back. Falcon's hands tightened and supported mine. I gasped and a nervous laugh escaped my throat. I glanced down at the ground.

  "Don't react to the recoil and spent cartridge. Focus on the next shot. Let the trigger up till you feel the click."

  I did what he said and felt the click.

  "Keep your eye on the front sight. Pull your next shot."

  I followed his directions with his arms supporting me. The second blast felt just as loud and scary. "I did it!"

  "Yes." His voice sounded like he was proud of me. "Now by yourself."

  He slowly removed his arms, but I felt his front close to my back. My heart pounded in my chest.

  "Send another."

  My brain scrambled to remember all he'd said. Straight arms, hard grip, look at the sight, pull the trigger.

  The next shot exploded out of the gun. This time, I saw a trace of the bullet sailing off into the canyon.

  "I did it!" I didn't think I'd hit the tree, but I'd shot the gun!

  "No celebrating. If you're in an emergency situation, empty your magazine. You'll probably miss and you only get one chance. If you've determined you need to kill that person, unleash all you got. Now send another."

  I shot four more rounds by myself. Each time became easier, and I thought one hit the tree.

  "Excellent. One last thing."

  "Yes?"

  He wrapped his arms around me again and took the gun between both our hands, keeping it pointed at the ground. His lips came down and his deep voice rumbled in my ear. "Make your first magazine count. Assume you won't have time to reload."

  "This is so scary."