It reminded me of home, and for the first time in years I let myself feel the hurt, the homesickness I’d been pushing down. With the car parked, I popped open my door and climbed out, staring at the porch swing. Memories of my mother sitting on the one back home with me, flipping through the teen magazines she’d bring me from the store bombarded me.
If a house similar to my childhood home could bring out so much pain, what would it be like when I set foot in my actual house. Would I be able to see around the ache and do what needed to be done?
“Hey, darlin’. You okay?” Dustan’s hands settled on my shoulders.
I sucked in a breath, shoving the hurt back behind the edge, and nodded. “Yeah. How many houses do you actually own?” I forced some levity to my voice, but when I turned to look at him, I could see how miserably I’d failed.
He brushed my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ears.
“This is all going to work out fine. I swear it.” I could sense the determination in him. He wanted me to believe him.
“Since when are you in the happily-ever-after business?” I asked and pulled away turning and headed for the house.
He didn’t stop me or contradict me. The trunk of the car slammed, and his heavy footsteps clunked up the stairs a few moments later. I stood at the door with my hands tucked in the sleeves of my sweater, waiting for him to open the door.
“Will we have company here, too?” I asked.
He shoved a key into the lock on the door and shook his head. “No. Bobby doesn’t know the location of this house. No one does.”
“Not even Arthur?”
He gave me a side look like my tone hit a nerve. Maybe the smart-ass in me was coming back.
“Get inside, darlin’, before you catch yourself some trouble.” He winked and pushed the door open.
I brushed past him into the house, flashing him a grin of my own. I would deal with everything soon enough. My uncle, the farm, the Merde family, all of it. But right now, I just wanted to forget that and find a sandwich.
Dustan
I found Cherise standing in my living room, staring at the television screen. I’d left her on her own since we arrived at my estate, letting her wander around and get her bearings in order. When she’d seen the house, something had come over her. I knew the horrified expression, had seen it with men I knew who came home from the same deployments.
One look at their families, at something familiar, and the memories of their past hurtled at them—knocking them off-kilter. Having your feet on solid ground isn’t as easy when everything you’ve been locking up comes flying out at you. It catches you off guard, and when Cherise took in the farmhouse, the same had been done to her.
I chose this house because it was the closest of my safe houses to her uncle. She’d reacted to this place, and I knew it only would have been worse if she’d been at her childhood home. I’d given her space to let her mind get back under her control, but we needed to get out to the range before the sun began to set.
“Cherise, what are you watching?” I asked, rounding the couch to get a better view of the screen.
The news reporter was discussing the latest reports of overdose victims in the country.
“Opioids. Those come from poppy plants, right?” she asked without moving her gaze to me.
“Yeah.” I gently took the remote from her hand and flicked the show off. “It’s used to make heroine, but you already know that.”
Her cheeks puffed out, and she slid her hands into the ass pockets of her jeans. I’d been able to grab her enough clothes to last at least another week while were in New Orleans, and the way those jeans hugged her ass and hips, I would be fine if she kept herself in them every day.
“How can those fields you showed me go undetected?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Dirty law enforcement. How much do you know about the police department in your town?”
“Not much. Mom had the sheriff over for dinner a few times, but I didn’t join them.”
“Right.” I pointed a finger at her. “He’s probably getting quite the payday from your uncle to look the other way and give him any leads as to the DEA sniffing around. Your town is a tiny blip on the map, not really a hot spot for drug cartels or poppy growers.”
She inhaled a long breath. “So complicated.”
“To the innocent, yeah.” I laughed. “C’mon out back. Time for your lesson.” I gestured for her to follow me and headed through the living room and toward the rear of the house.
“Don’t we need safety glasses or something?” she asked as she stepped off the porch.
I raised my eyebrows. “Safety glasses?”
Her cheeks erupted red, and she laughed. “That was stupid. I—I’m nervous is all.”
“It’s just a gun.” I held up the Glock 19 I brought out for her lesson. “It’s not even loaded yet.”
Her eyes focused on the pistol in my hand, and the bright-red blush drained away. “Right.”
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want. I can—”
“No. I can do it.” She gave a firm nod. “I can.”
I understood the need she had to regain power in her life, but I also knew what would happen after she pointed her gun at her uncle. Nothing would be the same. There was no going back from the act. She’d be forever changed.
And I wasn’t positive I wanted her any different than she was.
“Okay.” I cradled the gun in my palm. “This here’s the barrel, this is the magazine well, your front sight alignment, and your rear alignment.” I looked up at her. “The trigger seems self-explanatory.”
She kept her focus on my hand and didn’t give me a second glance.
“When you hold the gun, you wrap your trigger hand around the magazine well and press your finger along the barrel. Do not touch the trigger unless you’re going to use it. If you’re just aiming, you keep your finger along here. Got it?” I positioned my hand the way I wanted her to memorize holding it.
“Got it. Palm here and finger there.” She ran her finger along the barrel.
“When you take aim, don’t look at your target to aim. You look here at the front sight.” I tapped the tag on the front of the barrel. You line this up with your target and then make sure this back alignment, these two pieces”—I pointed to the rear of the barrel—“are in alignment with the front.”
“So, like a football goal post?” she asked, leaning farther toward me to see better.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “Sorta like that.”
I handed her the Glock. “Go ahead. It’s not loaded. Once you have the positioning right, I’ll give you a live magazine.”
She held the gun, feeling the weight in her palm before wrapping her hand around the back strap and around the grip, lifting it away from her. Pointing at a nearby tree, she adjusted her arms until the alignment was how she wanted it.
“Use your other hand to steady yourself.” I brought up her left arm and took her hand. “Your pointer finger should be right beneath the trigger guard. While your right hand is pushing the gun out, your left hand pulls it back in. You’ll have more stability that way. Don’t lock your arms.” I pressed on her elbows. “It causes fatigue faster.”
“Okay.” She blinked hard. “No locking my arms.”
“Good. Good position.” I stepped away to check her stance. Natural. “Now, wrap your finger around the trigger.”
“The tip of my finger?” she asked.
“Just do it naturally, don’t think too hard on it.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Okay, now squeeze the trigger.”
She squeezed the trigger until the magazine clicked off the empty round. She blew out a loud breath and dropped her hands.
“After you shoot, follow through. Don’t drop your arms right away.”
“What if he shoots back?” she asked, like the idea had just occurred to her that she might not be the only one armed.
“I’ll be there covering you. Don’t worry about that.”
“B
ut you don’t shoot him,” she said, whipping around to face me.
“No. I won’t,” I agreed. “It’s yours, but I’ll be there in case it goes bad.”
Her shoulders dropped, and the tension eased out of her body. “Can I try a real shot?”
I took the gun from her and pulled the loaded magazine from my back pocket. Showing her how, I released the empty magazine clip and reloaded it with the live rounds. I made sure the safety was on and handed it to her.
“How do you know I won’t use this against you?” she asked, keeping it pointed at the ground at her side.
“I don’t,” I said with firmness. “My part in all of this is up to you. If you want to point that at me and walk away, you won’t have me chasing you.”
Her eyes softened; a gentle sadness bloomed.
“Those people my uncle sent after me. They’d be chasing me,” she said softly.
“Yes. They won’t stop until they are stopped or you’re dead.” It was the truth, as much as I could see it hurt her to hear it, I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. I’d already lied when I told her I wouldn’t chase her. I wouldn’t stretch the truth any more than that.
“I wasn’t really thinking to use—”
“I know.” I enjoyed the pink resurface on her cheeks. “Let’s go over to those trees there. One of them is starting to die anyway. You can kill it for me.” I pointed to the area I wanted, and she led the way.
Once we were close enough, she stopped and checked with me about the range. I nodded and moved to her right. “I’ll stand here.” Far enough behind and to the side to be safe but still watch her form.
She was a quick study, my girl. She held all of her positioning correctly and took a natural stance. When she took the shot, the kickback gave her minimal trouble. A chunk of tree bark flew off, and she kept her aim for a few moments before slowly lowering the gun and putting the safety on.
“Did you hit where you wanted?” I asked, holding my applause. She’d done better than most men I’d seen pick up a gun in basic training. She mouthed to herself all the instructions I’d given her and done brilliantly.
“It hit a little low. Can I try again?” She was already aiming.
“Make sure you watch your front alignment once you’re lined up. When you pull the trigger, hold steady. If you hit low, it’s because you jerked downward when you shot.”
She nodded, letting me know she’d heard me, and then lined herself up again.
“Go ahead,” I said, watching the tree.
The shot rang out, and another chunk flew off, inches above the first hit.
She shot me a grin.
“Go ahead,” I said, waving my hand, knowing what she wanted. “Finish the magazine.”
I could swear I heard her giggle, but I knew she’d deny it. Cherise wasn’t a giggle sort of girl. It was a natural fit with how she held herself with the weapon, how pleased she was when she hit her target a second and third time. I couldn’t help but grin with each shot, and each time her smile got wider and wider.
I was going to have to let her keep that one. That gun was hers.
And she was quickly becoming mine.
Whether we wanted it or not.
Cherise
Dustan walked through the bedroom, a pair of boxers hanging low on his hips. I watched from my hiding spot beneath the covers as his body moved, all the muscles going taut and relaxing with each motion. The moments of fear seemed so long in the past, I wasn’t sure I could see them clearly anymore.
The bruise on my chin was already fading into a yellow mess, and the welts covering my ass were healing. We’d been at his house, tucked away from everyone, for four days. Each morning was the same. He got out of bed early, went for a run, and hit the shower before I even opened my eyes.
After breakfast, he’d give me his guns—never Simone—and let me out back to blow off a chunk of a tree trunk. My aim improved, but still, when I pictured blood pouring out of the wound, when I heard in my mind a cry of pain, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to squeeze the trigger when it came time.
“I see you gawking at me,” Dustan said with his back to me while he dug around a drawer.
“I don’t gawk,” I protested, and shoved the blanket down and sat up. “I appreciate.”
He craned his neck to shoot me a look over his shoulder. When had these mornings become so easy?
“Well, appreciate while you’re getting dressed. We’re leaving this afternoon.”
The lightness of my soul evaporated, and a boulder dropped inside.
“Where?” I pulled my feet toward my ass and hugged my knees.
He slipped an undershirt over his head and faced me. “To your uncle’s. It’s a long drive, so we’ll get there at night. We’ll stay at a motel up there and, in the morning, I’ll make contact.”
His manner was so businesslike. We might have been discussing purchasing a new storefront for a chain. Resting my elbow on my knee, I cradled my head in my hand. I needed a cup of coffee before I dealt with family betrayals and drug cartels.
“And what about me? You aren’t taking out my uncle. You said—”
“I know what I said, darlin’.” He dropped his chin and settled his cautionary glare on me. “You’ll be with me every step of the way. But you start getting your attitude riled up, and you’ll be walking a little less ladylike.”
I scoffed. “When did I ever walk ladylike?”
His lips spread into a wide grin, showcasing that sexy crease on the side of his mouth. “I suppose not. You have more of a girl swagger.” He winked and went back to finding his pants.
“Is there coffee?” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Dustan had a surprising amount of supplies at his house. Most of the food was unperishable, but he’d made a run to a grocery store to get a few things of necessity. Like real cream for my coffee. The powdered stuff wouldn’t cut it.
“Just turned on the pot when I got back.” He put his foot up on the bed to lace up his boots. “Don’t take too long sitting with your coffee. I want you to take one more practice run out at the tree. I put up an actual target for you out there this morning.”
I nodded. “Sure. Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’ll be in my office. Need to check in and get some intel then, after lunch, we’ll head out.”
“Bobby?” I asked quietly, approaching the subject with as much caution as possible. A twitch of his jaw gave him away, but it faded after only a second.
“Nothing yet. But he’s not stupid. After that asshole failed to get you before, Bobby would figure I made him. He’s one of only two people who know where that house is.”
“The other being Arthur.”
He nodded. “Small cup of coffee then outside.”
“At some point, you have to stop bossing me around.” I slipped off the bed and tugged my T-shirt down around my ass. I’d lost my panties somewhere in the bedding during the night when Dustan slid his hands into the elastic and pushed them down. I would have been irritated at being awakened in the middle of the night, but his mouth apologized in all the right ways.
“Why’s that?” he asked from the doorway.
“Well, once this is all over and I go home—you won’t have me to boss around anymore,” I said lightly, as though the idea of being separated from him wouldn’t faze me in the least. Because that’s how it needed to be.
Playing house the past few days was sweet. We’d had fun and fuck if he didn’t make my panties melt off with a simple flick of his eyebrow. But his life and mine didn’t meld together well. Aside from the fact he had kidnaped me. A fact my mind kept sweeping into a far corner.
His gaze dropped while the tension in his shoulders pulled his posture back. “Coffee.” He tapped the doorjamb then disappeared into the hall. His footsteps faded down the stairs.
During my shower and my small cup of coffee, I reminded myself of all the reasons my uncle deserved what was coming toward him. He’d killed my parents and had tried to kill me.
He’d sent men after me. He’d stolen my childhood home. He’d tormented me as a child and bullied me as an adult.
Yet, when I stood in the yard with the gun in my hand, my finger wrapped tightly around the trigger, and I stared at his picture Dustan had put up on the tree, I hesitated.
True, my uncle had done all those things. He was rotted from the inside out, but if I did this, if I took his life, would I be planting a dying seed inside me as well?
Did I really have what it took to end a life, even one as soulless as his?
“You’re breathing is too erratic.” Dustan startled me. I pulled my finger from the trigger and turned to face him.
His arms were crossed over his chest as he stood ten feet behind me.
“I can see from here your shoulders and back are moving because of your breath. You have to slow it down or it will jerk your shot.” He looked at his watch then at the target. “Not even one round yet.”
I’d been staring at my uncle’s mug for over half an hour already and not one shot had been taken.
“I can do this,” I argued, even if he hadn’t said anything to the contrary, I could hear his doubt. I knew he didn’t think I had it in me, and a man like him would know.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He shrugged and walked toward me. “Get back in your stance.” He waved a hand at me.
I repositioned myself and the gun, aiming at the target again. His nose. If I aimed for his nose, it wasn’t so clear about his identity. Or that’s what I told myself. I was pretty convincing, too.
“Okay, now, slowly inhale.” He got closer to me but didn’t touch me. “With me, ready?”
I nodded.
“Slow, darlin’.” I followed his cue.
I lined up the front sight with the nose and went back to focusing on the sound and feel of Dustan’s breath near my ear.
“Finger on the trigger,” he instructed softly. “Good girl. Whenever you’re ready.”
Backsights aligned, nose in view, breathing steady and even. I squeezed. I stumbled back a step but kept my aim, followed through with the shot and quickly found where I’d hit.
Valor: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 12
