by Marie James
“I have work tomorrow.”
We wait patiently for our drink order, Parker turning around to scope out the people around us while I just focus on her. I don’t need to make eye contact with anyone because it could lead to an awkward conversation. I struggle with my brain-to-mouth filter when I’m in a situation I’m not enjoying, and I’m quick to say something to get myself out of it.
The last time we ended up at a place like this and a guy approached me while Parker was in the restroom, he introduced himself and my response was, “Umm, no.”
It came across as extremely rude, and although I wanted to be left alone, I wasn’t intentionally meaning to sound like a complete stuck-up bitch. From the four-letter words he tossed my way before moving on to the next woman sitting alone, that’s exactly how he saw me.
“They should have a ladies’ only night,” I tell her as the bartender slides us our drinks.
“They do at The Cherry Stem.” Parker lifts her drink to her mouth, winking at me over the rim.
“That’s a gay bar.”
“Exactly.”
“My point is these places would appeal to me more if I could come in and have a drink without being bothered.”
She gives me a rueful smile. “Keep that look on your face and you won’t have to worry about it. That snarl screams unapproachable.”
“Maybe I should hang out with ugly friends, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about the look on my face.”
She scoffs. “Are you trying to imply that you’re ugly, too? Because I don’t have ugly friends. Let’s find a table.”
I point to an empty one in the corner but leave it to Parker to lead us to one that’s more centered in the room.
“Besides,” Parker continues as we pull stools away from the pub-style table. “Being approached has more to do with type and attitude than looks.”
“Then that ruins your unapproachable remark. I’m always sending off don’t-approach-me vibes when we go out.”
“Exactly, and some men find that as a challenge. Add in the fact that you’re pint-sized, and it turns a lot of men on. They see you as feisty. Women sitting alone and minding their own business are looked at as shy, and it makes men wonder what they’re like in bed. Men have specific tastes when they’re dating.”
“People don’t go to bars to date, Parker. They’re looking for people to hook up with.”
She shrugs her shoulders as if the two mean the same thing.
“Enough about men.”
I snap my head back. Parker always wants to talk about men. My eyes narrow as she takes another sip from her drink.
“You need to lay everything out on the table. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m here to listen.”
“About what?” I ask, hating that there isn’t a napkin on the table for me to shred so I have something to do with my hands.
“You’ve been a little different since the break-in.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you came home to your door kicked in and all of your belongings rifled through?”
“I would,” she agrees.
“I had to buy brand-new underwear and bras because I couldn’t stomach the idea of putting something so close to my body that some strange criminal touched.”
Her look softens. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry. Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
“Yes,” I confess. “Every third night or so I’m exhausted enough from not sleeping well the two nights before that I sleep hard, but then the cycle continues.”
“I know you changed the locks.”
I nod, but honestly, I had locks before. The door was smashed—another thing I had to replace—not opened with a key, so the locks don’t provide as much of a sense of security as I thought they would when I purchased them.
“What else have you done?”
“I’ve called about getting a security system, but they have a waitlist. The last place I called said it would be weeks before they got to me, but then I also think about the horror stories of people getting broken into by the people who set up their systems, and it makes me wonder if that’s any safer or just making me more of a target.”
“Have you considered ordering online and doing it yourself?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “Do you remember I needed hands-on help when I managed to change the language on my phone to German? I could never do something like that myself. Would you happen to know anyone you’d trust to do it?”
She gives me a wry smile. “I don’t exactly stay in contact with the men I date when it’s over.”
“Well, keep me in mind next time you’re on the prowl. Maybe you can land someone with extreme technical skills that would be willing to help a friend.”
“Are you pimping me out for a home security system?”
I grin, knowing she’s not really offended. “Whatever it takes.”
I take another sip of my drink, thinking that tonight didn’t turn out so bad after all.
“Okay, enough about the sad stuff. Do you think the rumors about hand size are true where Quinten is concerned?”
Chapter 7
Quinten
“I’m telling you, she’s going to end up killing someone.”
Wren just grins from his stance near the coffee pot.
“Who?” Jude asks from his favorite spot on the sofa.
“This woman in the gun class,” I explain.
“No, I know that part. Who is she going to kill?”
“I don’t have a clue, but she’s a little too excited about shooting, and the questions about gun powder residue and getting questioned by the police, it’s like she’s looking for an alibi.”
“She sounds fierce,” Wren says with a wide smile. “Which woman is it?”
“Gayle. What did she flag for?”
Wren tilts his head as he shuffles through the gobs of information in his brain. “If my memory is serving me correctly, Gayle has had a series of abusive relationships. The last one is in prison and isn’t scheduled for release anytime soon. So, she should be okay.”
“Well, the woman is definitely ready to take her power back. I’m just afraid she’s going to enforce that power through the business end of a Glock.”
“Would it be so bad?” Wren asks, his face once again serious.
“Her killing someone?”
“Killing an abuser,” Jude clarifies, making me wonder if both of them have lost their minds.
“Look, I’m just as disgusted as you two are about men who hurt women, so don’t misread me, but if Blackbridge is the one providing the training, I’m sure there could be repercussions for the company if one of the women goes vigilante on someone who hurt them.” With the way the women were paying rapt attention to Gayle’s questions, there honestly may be more than one lady in the class that has had such thoughts. “Maybe these classes were a bad idea.”
“If the classes help one woman better defend herself and feel safer, then the classes are worth it,” Wren says as he pushes himself away from the counter. “And the release paperwork they signed clears us of any and all legal repercussions for how they use their new skills from class.”
“So you’re saying you aren’t going to pull Gayle from the class?” I mutter.
“Who’s the issue now?” Deacon says as he joins us in the breakroom. He yawns, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
“There’s a woman in the class that’s probably going to end up hurting someone,” I explain. “Wren says not to remove her.”
“Leave her alone. We aren’t responsible for what others do. She has her own choices to make.”
“Really?” I thought at least the boss would have a different opinion than Wren and Jude. “She could hurt people.”
“Hurt people or hurt someone who hurt her?”
“Wow,” I mutter. “Okay. I’ll let her stay.”
“If you think she’s going to go on a rampage in public, then that’s a different story. We can pull her and report her to the police. Do you think that?”<
br />
“No,” I answer honestly.
Gayle doesn’t seem like the type of person to hurt innocent people, but I also don’t know who she considers worthy of a bullet either.
“There are four types of people I hate most in the world. People who hurt women, people who hurt kids, people who hurt animals, and people who don’t give a courtesy flush when shitting in a public restroom.” Deacon counts them off on his fingers. “As far as I’m concerned, the world is a better place without them.”
“I can agree with most of that,” I tell him.
“Just keep an eye on her. Wren, what’s her medical situation?”
“She’s been hospitalized more than once for injuries. She’s in therapy and has been attending religiously for the last six months. The bots I set up were very specific to only women who were currently out of bad situations and were seeking help, because—”
“Statistically, women still in abusive situations are more likely to be abused even more if their abusers knew they were planning to leave or defend themselves,” I finish.
“We’re doing this to help, not hurt,” Deacon adds.
“I’ve added hotline information on the website for those that are looking to get out. I only chose the ones that are most reputable, and I even contacted them directly to let them know what we’re doing so they can refer those they think would benefit from the classes,” Wren continues. “I just wish there was more that we could do.”
All of us turn contemplative. When Flynn Coleman, our forensics expert who is also a former FBI agent, walks into the room, he takes a look around in confusion but doesn’t say a word. We deal with a lot of heavy stuff, so it’s not unusual to find a group of us in a weird mood.
“I’ll talk with Anna. She has a ton of contacts in the fundraising world. Maybe we can set up a gala or something.”
We all stare open-mouthed at Deacon.
“Who are you and what happened to our boss?” Jude asks.
“A gala? Do you even hear yourself?” I say.
“I bet you’d look great in a tux,” Wren says.
“And we all know you do,” Jude says referring to the time Deacon made Wren step in for him and go to a black-tie event.
“Not me,” Wren says holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t get me wrong, I had fun that night. Dancing with a gorgeous woman and—”
Deacon growls at Wren’s reference to his wife.
“Really?” Wren asks. “That’s what you’re getting upset about? I danced with her in public. Didn’t Flynn snuggle with her on the sofa in a private hotel suite?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Flynn says as he takes a seat on the same sofa as Jude. “We were watching TV. She had her head in my lap.”
“Yeah,” Wren snaps. “Close to your—”
“We don’t talk about that!” Deacon snaps, but there’s no real animosity toward Flynn. The man is his best friend and in a committed relationship. That thought reminds me that I owe him a smack against the head, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.
“Fine,” Wren mutters, but there’s still a sly smile playing on his lips. “Any other women you’re worried about, Quinten.”
I narrow my eyes at him. This motherfucker is always stirring the damn pot.
“Not really.”
“Not even Hayden?”
“What’s going on?” Deacon asks.
“Absolutely nothing,” I respond a little too quickly, sounding guilty when I’ve only had thoughts about the woman. Our interactions have been nothing short of professional. My thoughts on the other hand—
“I would advise against getting personal with anyone in the class,” Deacon says, his eyes focused on me.
“I’m not,” I promise, and I think by just saying so it will help keep my mind off her.
Wren’s phone chirps a text notification, and he immediately pulls it from his pocket.
“Oh, you naughty girl,” he mutters before walking toward his office.
“I need that profile information,” Deacon calls to his back.
Wren doesn’t say a word before closing himself into his office.
Flynn and Jude chuckle when Deacon shakes his head.
“And why are you drinking double espresso this morning?” I ask my boss when he hits the button on the machine. “Anna still not sleeping well?”
“She’s pregnant,” he replies as if that’s the answer to everything. “But only for a couple more months.”
“You won’t get much sleep when the baby gets here either,” Jude says.
I turn to stare at him.
“What? I read a lot.”
“Baby books?” Deacon asks.
“You left one out on the table a couple of weeks ago. Did you know the vagina stretches to—”
“We’re not having a conversation about my wife’s vagina.”
“Not just Anna’s, all women,” Jude clarifies. “The vagina is a wonderful machine.”
“Agreed,” Flynn says with a wide smile.
“Perineal massage prior to birth can help prevent tearing. Are you—?”
“Not talking about this with you,” Deacon interrupts.
“You’re a big guy, man. Can you imagine the size of child she’s going to have?” Jude prods, his interest more medical than anything else. “Her—”
“Another word and I’m going to make you help Quinten with the classes,” Deacon threatens.
“I’m just saying. All you have to do is rub her—”
“That’s it,” Deacon snaps.
Flynn tries to hide his laugh behind his fist, but he fails miserably.
“Next class. I want you at the gun range.”
I fist pump the air. “Dumbass.”
“But—”
“Thursday,” Deacon grumbles as he starts to walk away. “Keep talking and I’ll make you take them over completely.”
I just barely contain a smile as I look over at my best friend. “Class starts at seven sharp. Don’t be late.”
“I was just trying to be informative. Flynn, wouldn’t you want to know if—”
“I have less control than Deacon, so don’t even mention Remi’s parts.”
“Jesus Christ, you guys are Neanderthals!” Jude complains.
“Don’t think about his—”
“You either!” Flynn growls with an angry finger pointed in my direction. “If you guys had a woman, you’d understand. Until that happens, just stick to the advice that talking about another man’s woman is always a bad idea.”
“That went well,” I tell my friend as Flynn stands up and walks away. “See you Thursday.”
I’m grinning all the way back to my office. Having a little help, or just another dose of testosterone during class can only help, right?
Chapter 8
Hayden
“Are you excited?” I look toward the woman sitting at the table in front of me. “I really thought we’d get to shoot the first class. I hate that we’ve had to wait until the third.”
I give her a weak grin, wondering if she’s going to bounce out of her seat with her eagerness.
“I’m Gayle,” she continues when I don’t give a verbal response.
“Hayden,” I say out of courtesy when inwardly I’m cursing Parker for not being here yet.
The door to the classroom opens, and I can’t help the frown on my face when I see that it’s the instructor rather than Parker. His mouth forms a flat line when he sees me, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve displayed my own disappointment at it not being my friend or if the man really just doesn’t like me. I could tell him that he’s the one who singled me out that first class and made us leave, but that would only put me on the spot once again. I hate being the center of attention. It’s why I don’t throw too big of a fit when Parker wants to hang out in public. She draws the attention away from me.
“We’re going to start today with learning how to load and unload a magazine,” Quinten says the second he’s in position at the front
of the classroom.
“Aren’t we shooting today?” Gayle asks, disappointment evident in her tone.
“Can’t shoot without ammunition,” he responds. “Magazine size varies. Some only carry a handful of bullets, others can accommodate seventeen or more.”
I watch his hands, hating that Parker’s conversation about them last week drifts into my head. Quinten holds up each piece as he explains in detail how they work.
“Brand-new magazines are going to be tighter and may hurt your fingers when loading. They get looser the more they’re used.”
Gayle snorts, obviously taking what he said in a nasty way. Quinten doesn’t miss a beat.
“The guys up front can point you to a magazine loader once you decide to buy your own firearm. They’ll save the tips of your fingers from pain.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Parker says as she slides into the seat next to me.
I didn’t even hear the classroom door open, and that says a lot about my level of focus on what’s going on in the front of the room.
“I can’t stay long.”
I frown. She’s the one who wanted to do this class in the first place, and now she’s bailing on me?
“What did I miss?”
“He’s showing us how to load that thing with bullets,” I answer, my eyes pointed back in Quinten’s direction.
“I’m going to pass a couple of these around so you can practice.”
“But we don’t have guns right now,” Gayle complains.
Quinten gives her a wary look. “We’re not loading firearms, we’re loading magazines. Loaded guns aren’t allowed out of the firing range.”
“But we are shooting today?”
“Soon,” he says as he begins to drop magazines and a handful of bullets on each table. “Remember, the ammunition points out just like I showed you.”
His eyes find mine when he’s approaches our table, and I have to quickly look away. I don’t know what it is about this man that makes me feel so awkward and weird.
Yeah, okay. I can admit that he’s handsome, even though I denied it the first time I saw him, but lots of men are attractive. I don’t feel my face flush around every good-looking guy I come across, but with him, a simple look in my direction and I can feel the rush of heat on my skin. At first, I chalked it up to my irritation with how he treated me during the first class, but I haven’t been upset about that since he showed such care and patience with me last week when I didn’t want to pick up the gun, and again when he was worried after class that I hadn’t found one I was completely comfortable with.
