by Karina Halle
“Palm Valley,” Camden says.
Ben nods. “Yeah. She’s thinking it’s like a secondary home, even if she’s never been there before. Maybe she’s drawn there because of George McQueen, too. I don’t know, but I bet that’s where she is.” He looks down at his phone and types something in, then runs his hand through his dark hair while he waits. “Here. I knew it!”
“What?” Ellie exclaims.
“I figured out her email password,” he says excitedly. “I mean, I could have always figured it out, I just chose not to. There’s a confirmation email from a hotel website. Three nights booking at the Haciente Lodge in Palm Valley.”
“Jesus,” Camden says, looking wildly at Ellie. “She went home.”
“Call the hotel,” Ellie says, jumping to her feet, spilling coffee onto the carpet. “Get connected.”
“I’m on it,” Gus says, placing the call.
Camden gets up and starts running up the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Ellie yells.
“Packing. We’re going. Now!” Camden yells back.
“Who has time to pack?” Ellie says, her eyes meeting with Ben’s, her son. She can see the hurt in them, the forgiveness held back at the threshold that won’t come easily. She knows that Ben will do what he can to help Violet and that the animosity will be put aside for now, but it will come back. It will raise its ugly head and Ellie has to be ready to deal with it.
“No answer,” Gus says, turning off his phone. “But they’re there. Receptionist confirmed their names.”
Ellie nearly faints with relief. “Thank god. What is it, seven hours of driving?”
Camden comes back down the stairs, carrying a duffle bag, guns visible inside.
“Oh, I fucking knew it,” Ben says, making fists in his hair. “Total bullshit on the whole I don’t believe in guns. Fuck, Dad.”
“There will be plenty of time to talk about that,” Camden says quickly. “Ben, thank you for coming up but I think you should stay here in case she comes back.”
“No way,” Ben says, shaking his head, face growing pink. “No fucking way. I’m coming with you. I’m helping you.”
“Ben,” Ellie says.
“Shut up. You’re not my mom,” he says sharply, fire blazing in his eyes.
Cheap shot number one.
Ellie feels like she’s dying inside.
He turns back to his father, raging. “And if you don’t let me come with you, I’ll follow behind in my car. Ain’t a fucking thing you can do to stop me. Besides, when’s the last fucking time you shot a gun, Dad?”
Gus raises his hand. “I shot mine just yesterday. Tried to get a crab on the beach.”
Ben scrunches his face at that. “Really? That’s how you spend your retirement?”
Gus shrugs as if to say ‘what the fuck else am I going to do?’
Ben looks back to Camden. “Don’t even try and argue, Dad. Just because they made a booking, just because they’re still considered to be checked in, doesn’t mean they’re there. Vicente is a smart guy, and after what you told me, he’s probably even smarter. Violet may have made the booking but he’s calling the shots now. You want to find them? You think they might even go to fucking Mexico? You need me. And believe me, I can take care of myself. Better than any of you old farts can.”
Ellie is too distraught to be insulted. She glances at Camden. It’s his call. He’s a better judge of character than she is. As a mother, she tends to overlook the hardness in her children. She underestimates them in oh so many ways.
Camden gives her a subtle nod. Looks back to Ben. “Okay. But you need to be more respectful to your mother. No matter what has happened, what will happen, she’s still the only mother you know. The one who has raised you and loved you as her own. We fucked up, okay? We fucked up. But you have to understand it didn’t come from a bad place. Okay, Benjamin?”
Ben seems to stew on that for a few minutes before looking over at Ellie. His features soften just a bit. “Okay.”
“Good,” Camden says. “Now let me get the keys to the garage.”
“The garage?” Ben asks.
Camden manages a grin. “We need to get there as good and fast as we can. It’s time to bring out the big guns. El Segundo.”
The 1963 Dodge Challenger sitting beneath them in the tiny garage.
Full name: Jose el Segundo.
Jose the second.
Chapter Six
Vicente
“I’m not sure about this,” Violet says, staring at the bike.
“Really?” I ask, putting my hands on the handlebars and swinging my leg over it. “I would have thought you were the type to fall for a biker and ride off into the sunset with him.”
She gives me a dry look. “In what timeline does that happen? I’ve never been on a motorbike before. Ben had one briefly when he was eighteen. Then he crashed it.”
I gesture with my head for her to get over here. “Get on. You always wanted to fly, si? This is your chance.”
With Violet’s heart set on target practice and learning how to shoot, I knew that we’d have to go off into the desert to get away from prying eyes. I also knew that with my paranoia tripled because of what Raquel had said about Leo Madano, there was no fucking way we’d be getting in the car.
The solution? To go to Palm Valley’s bike rental place and get us a Harley. Maybe not the sexiest bike I’ve ever seen, but they didn’t ask any questions and gave us an extra helmet for Violet for free.
Now that helmet is in Violet’s hands and she’s turning it over, still not sure whether she should get on or not.
“Come on. This is much more fun than taking the car,” I tell her, trying to hide my impatience. “I spent a lot of time growing up riding one of these, so don’t worry. Trust me.”
Not quite the truth but not a lie either. I’ve ridden a motorbike a few times, back when I was a teenager, just around our old property and up and down the canyons, supervised, of course, by men you couldn’t see, men with sniper rifles.
With a sigh she finally relents. She grabs me tight as she gets on, her arms wrapping around my waist.
“You ready?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she squeaks and rests her head against the back of my shoulders.
The gesture melts me. Reaches down into that black hole in my chest and adds substance.
All her trust in me, her body holding on. I’m realizing how fragile she really is, that I have to do everything I can to protect her. Everything.
I start the bike with a roar and we ride down the street before taking off along the highway, heading into the desert.
Even though it’s a national park, Violet has her heart set on visiting Joshua Tree, so we burn down the highway for another thirty minutes or so until we’re in the lineup to pay the small fee to get into the park, and then we’re free again.
I can see why she wanted to come here. It’s vast, all open sky with mounds of rounded boulders and Joshua trees as far as the eye can see.
When it finally feels like we’ve gone far enough along the blacktop that the crowds thin out and we don’t see many cars, I turn the bike onto the next dirt road I see. We follow it for a while, bounding over potholes and dodging rocks, kicking up sand that rises up past the occasional bare tree, stretching into the sky like brittle bones.
We eventually come to a stop behind a large mound of boulders, and I park the bike.
“So?” I ask her as we get off the bike.
She takes the helmet off, the breeze choosing that moment to throw her hair over her shoulder like a flock of blackbirds.
The smile on her face takes my breath away.
“Oh my god,” she exclaims, the joy just rising out of her. “That was so much fun.”
“No fear?”
“No fear.”
“Good. How about we get started on this lesson?” As much as I want to revel in her beauty, we have work to do. Crucial work.
From where we stand, there’s onl
y one place where we can really have target practice. The big boulders close to us shield us from the road, but there’s no way she’s going to fire a gun in that direction. The chances of hitting someone passing by are too great.
So while she stays where she is, I head out a few yards over to a bunch of low boulders that come up to chest level. I pick up a few stones and stack them on top, a few inches apart. I even find a rusted beer can at the base of a nearby sagebrush and place it there. It’s rudimentary, but if she hits it, it will be obvious.
And let’s be honest. I’m not expecting her to hit anything. I just want to give her confidence, something she needs in spades now after leaving her parents.
The moment that Raquel told us about Leo, I knew that he was the man I saw in the lobby. The mention of the watch didn’t matter, because really, many men have a nice Rolex. But I knew in my gut it was him all the same.
He had driven here, tailing us all the way. He was probably waiting outside of Violet’s house when we left and stayed a few cars behind. Something I didn’t think to check up on when we were driving away in the late hours.
But we’ll pay for it. I know we will. When we get back to the hotel, I expect our room to be ransacked. I expect Leo to be there, maybe with a crony of his. The albino man, perhaps. I expect that things might just get ugly before they get better.
I walk back to Violet, taking a moment to sear this image of her into my brain. With the desert a stark backdrop, in her jeans and tank top, the dry air brushing her dark hair away from her, hands on her curving hips, she looks like the epitome of one very bad girl. One I want to slam against the boulders and do very bad things to.
Focus, Vicente.
“Okay.” I reach into my waistband and pull out my .45. Her eyes widen at the sight. This is going to be amusing. “This will be easier to shoot with.”
I place it in her hand. She holds it with reverence and as if it weighs a ton.
“That’s good,” I tell her, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Treat it with respect and it will treat you with respect.”
“So I just point and aim and shoot, right?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “That’s the gist of it. Don’t make it harder than it has to be. The most important thing is the relationship between you and the gun. As I said, respect. It has the power to turn on you and will do so without a second thought, so always be aware of that. And always shoot as if it’s just an extension of your arm. It’s a part of you and moves with you.”
She examines it from all angles. “Sounds very poetic.”
“Everything is poetry if you make it so.”
She gives me a wry glance before gripping it properly. She aims it at the targets, closes one eye, and dips the barrel. “Bang,” she whispers.
“When you actually do pull the trigger, you have to prepare for the kickback. You have to absorb the power from the bullet firing out, back through the gun, through your arm, down into your heels. That’s where half the battle is, taking the gun’s energy and using it instead of the other way around.”
She nods, looks at the gun again. Though she seems out of her element, there’s a determined slant to her brow. “Do I need to cock it? Like in the movies?”
“No,” I tell her. “It’s already good to go. That’s more for dramatic effect. Like when you have a gun on someone and they don’t know it. It’s much more effective than clearing your throat or saying ‘hey you.’ It’s a simple sound but it gets the point across really quickly. Try it anyway.”
With a nervous smile she cocks back the hammer. Giggles at the iconic sound.
“You’re making it really hard to teach you, being so fucking adorable like that.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, straightening her shoulders. “I’m over it. Let’s get started.”
“So what you’re going to do is aim and shoot.” I take a step back. “And that’s it.” I pause, then stick my fingers in my ears since I have a choice.
“What are you doing?” she asks, giving me the side-eye.
“It’s loud.”
“What about my ears?”
“Do you have earplugs?”
“Yes,” she says, gesturing to her purse near the bike, thankfully not with the gun. “You know I can rarely sleep without them,” she adds.
Do I ever. Apparently the sound of my fucking breathing keeps her up at night if she falls asleep in my arms. She can only sleep soundly if the air conditioner is on or she’s got a bunch of these shoved down her ear canal.
I search through her black leather messenger bag and manage to find a few. I walk back over to her and gently push them into her ears so she doesn’t have to lose her grip on the gun.
“Feel okay?” I ask.
She nods, the determination coming back again.
I step back, deciding not to look like a pussy this time and I keep my hands at my side, waiting.
Violet takes in a deep breath.
Aims.
Fires.
POW!
The gun explodes and she’s nearly knocked backward.
Who the fuck knows where the bullet went.
“Holy shit,” she says, mouth open. She looks at me with wide eyes. “That was fucking nuts!”
I grin. “Yes, well, that’s what it’s like for everyone when they first start. Practice is key. Ready to try again, now that you know what to expect?”
“Yes,” she says, and I can almost hear her heart racing in her chest. Her eyes are shiny with adrenaline, her limbs poised and tense in fight or flight mode. What a fucking relief to know that it didn’t scare her. After that first fire, the person generally knows if they’re made for guns or vice versa. Violet looks more than intrigued. I can see her falling in love with it.
Just as I’ve fallen in love with her.
I once thought she was my weapon, now I realize she’s everything to me.
The feeling cuts deep, burns bright, like the searing sun is in my chest.
I am so close to losing all of this.
“Vicente?” she asks. “What is it?”
I must be staring at her in an odd way.
“Did I do something wrong?” she goes on to say, worry marring that pure excitement on her face.
“Not even a bit,” I tell her, composing myself. I feel the mask slip on, the one that covers up my fears.
“I think I’m ready to try again.”
“Here, let me show you a few tricks then,” I say, coming closer. I step behind her, wrapping my hands over hers so I’m holding her in place. I can’t resist pressing my hips against her ass, my cock against her curves.
“Hold on,” she says in a whisper, an amused lilt to her words. “Are you telling me you have an erection right now?”
“Telling you, showing you. When don’t I?”
“This turns you on, doesn’t it?”
I nuzzle my chin into her neck, breathe in her perfume. “Mirlo. You don’t have to do anything but exist and you’re poetry.” I pause, nibbling her skin. “But yes, this is turning me on. You with a gun. Like you were meant to be.”
I can feel her stiffen a bit. She’s still unsure. Not how it feels, about being okay with how it makes her feel.
“Relax,” I tell her, adjusting her stance so that her arms are a bit higher, her grip on the gun tighter. “Let’s do this again. You just need to keep the target in your mind and the bullet will follow. Don’t be so stiff. You need to be loose to absorb. Like a sponge. You ready?”
“Yeah,” she says soft as air.
“Okay. See that old beer can? Picture it up close. Picture yourself pulling the trigger, the bullet in the air, striking the can. On the count of three. Uno, dos, tres…”
POW!
I’ve never taught someone how to shoot before. I’ve never taught anyone anything. But in this moment, I feel the power passing from the gun to her to me.
It’s otherworldly.
It joins us.
It’s almost greater than sex.
Al
most.
She doesn’t hit the can. But she does hit the boulder it’s on, and that’s pretty fucking good considering.
“Holy shit,” she swears, her muscles tight and shaking. She eyes me over her shoulder, proud of herself.
“You’re doing good, getting closer. Do it again.”
And so she does. She shoots again and again until the mag is empty, and then she goes through another round.
Blam. Blam. Blam.
Violet’s shots ring throughout the desert.
Such a beautiful sound.
And then it happens.
She hits it.
We rejoice.
Then she hits the rocks on top of the boulder.
Then we really celebrate.
“Yes!” she cries out, breaking away from me, arms and gun in the air, the biggest grin on her face. “It wasn’t a fluke!”
“No, it wasn’t,” I tell her, saying what I can to keep up her confidence. “Want to keep going?’
She gives me an enthusiastic, “Hell yes!”
I stride over to the boulder and put up the targets again, finding the beer can with the bullet hole and placing it on top, then I head back over to her.
“All set,” I tell her, folding my arms across my chest, watching her.
Even her stance has changed, completely strong and powerful.
She takes in a deep breath, squints, and shoots.
She misses, but it doesn’t seem to phase her.
“So,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans, “how old were you when you first learned to shoot?”
I had a feeling it would come to this. But I don’t mind answering.
“I was young.”
“How young?”
“A child.”
“Jesus.”
“Nothing wrong with being prepared.”
She frowns. “Why would a child have to defend himself with a gun?”
“Put it this way, had I not been trained at an early age I wouldn’t be as skilled as I am right now. It’s just the way it is.”
“And who taught you, your father?”
I laugh. “No. Are you kidding me? He never had the time. Diego, our family friend, taught me how to shoot and taught me well.”
She gives me a look like she’s feeling sorry for me.
