by Holly Hart
As Dimitri's back passed through the heavy freight doors, I thought of Tony and I roared. The dog by my side looked at me, hauled himself to all fours and added his howl to the mix. It was the sound of pain, and fury, and a hymn that promised my revenge.
I guess you want to know what happened to the tiger. You can judge me however you want. Plenty have, plenty will. But I don't regret what I did.
Tigers aren't meant to live in cages.
Neither should a Phantom.
So I set him free.
You know how.
16
Cara
"You need to train me to shoot."
I planted my feet wide and crossed my arms as I spoke. I had thought long and hard about this, and I wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of one of the immaculately-polished floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto Alexandria.
The Cara in the window had an answer ready for any possible objection. She looked fierce as hell. She’s too weak? She'd hit the gym. You’re too busy? Then sorry, no sex until she can put two in the chest and one in the head; on a moving target from twenty yards, to boot.
A faint grin dawned on Val's face, like the sun cresting over a mountain range at the start of its long journey through the sky.
"Train you to shoot? Darling, I thought you'd never ask."
I launched into my prepared speech. There was nothing Val could say to stop me. My mind was made up.
"I know what you're going to say. You don't want to put me in harm's way. But listen, I'm already –"
"I already said yes, Cara," Val chuckled. "I'll teach you everything I can."
I stopped midsentence, mouth opening and bobbing like a goldfish. "That went … easier than I imagined. You're not worried about giving me a gun?"
Because, I'm worried about holding one.
Val studied me carefully, eyes sweeping my face. He paused before he spoke, collecting his thoughts. "I wish I didn't have to. Believe me, if I could never touch a gun ever again, and just spend my time with you and Kitty on a beach somewhere, then I would -- happily. But I've come too far. If I give up now, Arkady will hunt us to the ends of the earth. So you're right. I do need to train you, because – again – you're right, I have put you in harm's way. That's on me."
My knees felt weak as I considered just exactly what he'd said. I'd known that I was in danger. Of course I had, otherwise why else would I be standing in front of my lover, arms crossed, demanding he teach me how to shoot a gun? But behind the jollity on his face lay a dark worry in his eyes.
I didn't want to think about it. "Okay then," I said uncertainly. "So when do we start?"
Val leapt off the couch, tossing his newspaper to one side. "I’m thinking about right now."
He strode over to the kitchen island and ran his finger along a seam underneath the granite worktop, searching for something.
"Now?", I said, less confident now that it was really happening. "Okay, sure; but what about Kitty? We can't just leave her here."
"My men are outside," Val grunted, half bent-over. "And the range is only downstairs. I can access the cameras in her room from my phone. Don't worry; the second she wakes up, we'll come back up. Aha…" He said, letting out a satisfied hiss. "There we go."
The granite top rose up two inches, and Val sank to his knees. I heard a beeping sound as he punched a code into a keypad that had appeared from nowhere. This was all happening way faster than I had expected. Sure, it was what I wanted, but … I wracked my brain for a way to slow it all down, but came up short.
You don't want him to think you're weak…
"What the hell's that?" I asked, craning my neck to get a better view.
He glanced over, and beckoned me over. As he did, the kitchen island made a grinding sound. A two by three section underneath the induction stove began to rise up like a scene from a Bond movie. "Oh, you know," he said, shrugging. "The old owner was a bit paranoid."
He pressed his thumb against a square inch of glass that glowed red, and the matte-black box clicked open. "Ta da!"
I swallowed and shuffled over." Val," I croaked. "That's not what I think it is, is it? What if Kitty –"
He cut me off with a short, gruff guffaw. "What if Kitty does what?" He grinned. "Found the button to open the secret gun safe, memorizes a twelve digit code and cuts my thumb off in my sleep? Hell, if that happens, we've much bigger problems to worry about."
"Well," I said, cheeks blushing. "When you put it like that…"
"So," Val said, indicating the array of deadly weaponry. "Pick your poison."
I chose a Beretta 87. At least, that's what Val told me it was. The gun had the words Made in Italy engraved on one side. On the other was a filed-off section where the serial number used to sit. Val shrugged.
"You can never be too careful…"
My stomach did a backflip as the elevator dropped forty floors in what seemed like seconds. The numbers ticked by on the electronic screen until we were past the lobby, and below ground. I raised my eyebrow as I gingerly cradled the weapon in my hands. Val assured me it wasn't loaded, but it was unsettling even so.
"You never did tell me," I chided. "Why you have a firing range in the basement. It's a bit movie villain, isn't it?"
The elevator doors pinged open, and Val grinned. He jerked his head for me to follow. "I guess. But you can't tell me it isn't cool. Anyway, I didn't build it. That's Alexandria for you…"
"Hey," he said, reaching back to rest his arm on top of my shoulders. "It's nice to do normal couple stuff every now and again, isn't it?"
Normal couple stuff?
My eyebrows nearly reached the concrete roof. I decided that when all of this was over, I was going to teach Val exactly what ‘normal couple stuff’ was supposed to be. Long walks on the beach instead of escaping an assassin, catching a movie not planning to take down a mafia crime family, and taking a tango class…
…Not learning to field strip and fire a handgun.
"So, first things first," Val said, gently plucking the weapon from my hands as we reached a row of firing stations. I gave it over gladly. "There are a few basic rules of firearm safety. Number one – never point a weapon at something you're not prepared to kill."
"That's," I squeaked. "A bit morbid, isn't it?"
"Number two," Val continued, not missing a beat. "You treat every weapon like it's loaded. Even when you've just finished unloading it, understood?"
I nodded, not trusting my suddenly dry mouth to form words. When I'd pictured this in my head, I'd imagined an adventure. Now I was in the middle of it, and it seemed very real.
"And number three," he said, sliding home a magazine, racking the slide and handing the Beretta back to me. Val moved with steady, long-practiced calm. This, I understood, was his element. He was a creature of violence. It was like he'd grown up with a gun in his hands.
Hell, he probably did.
"Never, ever put your finger on the trigger unless you're ready to pull it."
I reached out with trembling fingers. I stared at the weapon intently, watching how Val rested his trigger finger carefully against the barrel. He pressed the weapon into my hands, guiding them until the muzzle faced downrange.
"So," he said, plucking ear defenders from a hook and settling them over my ears. He spoke louder to compensate as he rested some on his own. "The 87's just a twenty-two cal. It's a great learner piece, because it's light and won't break your wrists when it kicks. But when it comes to it, we'll have to get you something with a bit more stopping power."
Stopping power; I knew what that meant.
Val released my hands, and the second he did the full weight of the weapon began to tug against the already-protesting muscles on my upper arms. The barrel trembled.
I croaked. "This is light?"
"Don't worry; we’re going to fire a couple of hundred rounds a day. In two weeks’ time that thing will feel like a bag of feathers."
"Okay
," I said, clearing my throat and resolving to stop acting like a little girl. "How do I take the safety off? I think I'm ready."
Val chuckled and stood just inches behind me, so close his breath tickled my ears. "It's already off," he said. "Why do you think I'm standing behind you?"
I squeaked wordlessly.
"Breathe, slowly. Two seconds in, two seconds out."
I did as he asked, and the action helped to calm my mind. One, two; one, two.
"Close your left eye," he whispered. "Focus on the center mass."
"The –?"
"The chest," he corrected.
The paper cutout of a man's head and chest seemed so far away I didn't know how I could ever hit it. I closed my eye and focused on it. "Okay, now what?"
"Now…" Val said, putting his hands on my hips and steadying me. "You pull the trigger."
I froze. The gun's weight yet again doubled in my hand, and my trigger finger felt locked to the side of the barrel. The weapon shook in my hand, and I pushed myself to fire, but couldn't. Long seconds crept by, and all I could think of was how I was disappointing Val. How he must think I was so weak.
Finally, after the silence seemed to have stretched out for hours, I broke. My voice cracked as I spoke. "I don't know if I can do this," I whispered, a tear welling in my eye.
"Don't worry," Val said kindly. "Just breathe out and squeeze the trigger. Don't tug at it and you'll be fine."
"No," I said, with a wildness to my tone. "I don't know if I can do any of this. This isn't me. I'm not a killer. Look at me and tell me what you see! I'm a runner, not a fighter."
The heat of Val's hands died on my hips as he reached around and plucked the gun from my grasp. I heard a click as he made it safe, and a louder “thunk” as he set it down on the firing station. He gathered me in his arms and squeezed hard, until the breath caught in my lungs.
"You're a whole hell of a lot more than that, Ms. Winters," he said, his voice gruff and low. His stubble tickled my cheek. Hell, you couldn't even call it stubble anymore. It was approaching full-on beard territory now. He sounded like a man, he felt like a man, and he looked more and more like a man with every passing second.
"Am I?" I asked desperately, burying my head in his shoulder so I didn't have to look at him. "I can't even pull the damn trigger in a firing range. So how the hell can you say that?"
The final sentence came out as a loud, barking accusation. It silenced the air between us, and I grasped at it with horror. Why the hell was I pushing away the one person who was there for me, who cared for me, and was there to protect me?
And who loves me?
My worst fears were realized.
Val broke away from me, tearing his warm arms from my body and letting the cool basement air lick at my skin. The silence felt heavy and now weighed down on me like a ton of bricks. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and prayed for a hole to open up and swallow me down into the earth. Then, I heard footsteps.
Is he just going to leave me here?
I wouldn't blame him.
I opened my eyes tentatively. I was feeling claustrophobic now, as if the skyscraper above us might just collapse and bury me down in this basement forever. It was a crazy, stupid thought, but I couldn't control it. Val was still there, with his back against the concrete wall, sliding down it. It was a lifeline.
He patted the bare floor beside him. "Join me."
It felt like redemption; or, at least, a shot at it. I threw myself at it. I wasn't going to let my crazy fucked-up brain ruin the one thing that was going right in my life. I sat down next to him, leaving a half-foot gap between us. I didn't know where I stood. He had a grin on his face.
Is he happy with me, or pissed?
Is he breaking up with me?
Are we even dating?
"You're a mess, you know that girl?"
Fuck.
A tear rolled down my cheek, like a little droplet of lava; and then another, and another.
"A hot, sexy, sticky mess."
Hope fluttered in my chest. I took a deep breath and held it. I didn't believe; I couldn't.
"Do you know what rule number one is in the ‘Killing Your Mobster Dad Handbook’?" Val asked rhetorically.
I shook my head and sniffed.
"Don't get involved with the girl." He reached over and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me into him and eliminating the gap between us. "And do you know what rule number two is? Don't fall in love with the girl."
My heart stopped dead.
"But that's what I've gone and done, Cara Winters. You're a hot, sexy, sticky mess, and I love you anyway. Every goddamn bit. And you know what?"
I shook my head. I still couldn't look into those iceberg eyes of his. This still felt like a game that he was playing; a sick game. And I figured that if I just avoided playing into his hands, then I wouldn't get hurt. But I wanted to believe so badly. Yet, I knew deep down that whatever happened, I was still going to get hurt.
"All this crap you think about yourself, that you're a 'runner not a fighter'," he said, mimicking me. "It's bullshit; a big steaming pile of it, at that."
I opened one eye just wide enough to peek out through my eyelashes. His face was lined and sincere, and I didn't detect any hint that he was lying.
"You think I'd waste my time with a girl who didn't deserve it?" Val asked, his tone indicating exactly how much stock he put in that option. "You think I climb into bed with just anyone? No – there's something about you, Cara; a fire in that sexy little body of yours. Even if you don't believe it yet, you will."
My eyes were wet with tears, but I opened them anyway. "You don't understand –"
He cut me off. "Try and tell me I don't understand! I've been where you are, Cara. It's a fucking hopeless place, and you think you'll never get out. I've been there. You know when I was in that cell? I spent six months barely eating. I just slept, or else lay on my bunk with my eyes open and nothing in my mind. I was depressed; I'd given up on life."
"That's –"
He cut me off again. That's where I am, I wanted to scream. Why won't you listen?
"But you never did, Cara, and you never will. You're stronger than that – than me. All that time I was away, you never gave up. Even," he raised his voice to parry away any chance that I could butt in. "If you think you did, you didn't. You kept on fighting, for Kitty, and yourself. You think escaping your dad's place was running away?" His voice hardened more the longer he spoke.
I nodded, and as I did salty droplets fell off my face and splashed against the concrete floor, staining it dark.
"Well that's bullshit too, Winters. Sometimes running is fighting."
I shrugged. I was uncomfortable with his – what? Praise? I didn't know exactly what the hell this was, but it didn't feel right. I knew what Val was doing, trying to make me feel better. And even though he seemed sincere, even though every fiber in his body screamed that he was telling the truth, it didn’t stop me from squirming. I wasn’t used to it, I wasn’t ready for it, and I sure as hell didn’t know what to say back to him.
"Talk or don't, Carrie," he said, his voice softening again as he ran his fingers through my hair. "But you're going to pull that trigger today, even if I have to wrap my finger around yours and do it for you. You understand?"
I looked up at Val and wiped the tears off my face with the back of my hand. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he believed in me so damn deeply. Even if I didn't yet believe in myself, I believed in him. I trusted him. I wanted to be strong for him.
"I –," my voice cracked.
I tried again. My voice was so soft that even I could barely hear it.
"I don't want to be the girl who freaks out because she drops some hand cream on the floor. I don't want Kitty to grow up thinking her mom's weak. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."
Before I knew what was happening, Val smothered my face with his. He pressed his mouth against mine, his lips against my lips, and he kissed me. It was
the kind of kiss that turns a girl's legs into jelly. The kind I'd longed for all my life.
And then he broke away from me, and pulled me to my feet, and there was a gun in my hands, and I was facing down range.
It happened too fast to think.
It happened too fast to speak.
I breathed out, one, two. I closed my eye. I focused on the center mass.
I squeezed the trigger, I didn't pull it.
And the gun spat fire.
I love you too, Valentino No-name.
17
Val
Time with Cara seemed to flash by in like I was stuck on Earth, and she was a satellite flashing by overhead. One second I was standing there with my fingers around hers, and the muzzle of her pistol coughing lead. The next I was lying in bed with her hair spread out across my chest, feeling like I'd run a marathon with my cock spent and limp.
If only I'd had her in that cell with me … I never would have had to learn to meditate, because the years would have flown by before I knew it.
And the sex …
Jesus, if Cara had been locked up in that concrete box with me, it wouldn't have been coughing up blood after a boot to the ribs that would have killed me, or a knife to the throat. It would've been sheer exhaustion; and I would have loved every second, embracing my death the way a drunk craves the bottle.
My cock twitched just at the thought. Lord knows how after the session we just had, but I almost felt ready to go again. Her scent teased my nostrils – soft, and gentle like spring petals. The smell of our sweat underlined it, as well as the musky aroma of sex, and I drank it in as deep as it would go.
I couldn't stop looking at her. I kept staring at the way her naked back rose and fell with her breath; I couldn’t stop tracing my fingers down the crack of her spine; or caressing her long red hair. Every second, one thought kept repeating in my mind. She makes me a different person; a better man.
The man who escaped his cell a few short weeks before, had only one thought on his mind – revenge – bloody revenge, at that. He fell asleep at night dreaming of the screams of his enemies, pictured their red life force dripping from his fingers, and daydreamed of their last, anguished breaths escaping their labored lungs.
