I focus on putting in the code, silencing the alarm. When I finally turn my attention to where she’s standing, she presses her lips into a thin line and tries to pretend like she doesn’t have foot-in-mouth syndrome right now.
“Anything else you’d like to comment on?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Good,” I answer. “For your information, I own this place.”
Looking around, as we walk toward the front of the building, she hums. “And this place is what exactly?”
I place the bag on the counter and pull out the revolver she used to shoot at me. “A shooting range.”
She gasps, grabbing it from me. “Oh, Jack! I thought the old lady dropped this in the ocean at the end.”
Staring back at her, I shake my head. “I am not quoting Britney Spears with you. You have Viola for that.”
A mischievous glint sparkles in her eyes. “Do you want to talk about how you instantly knew where that was from?”
I go to walk away from her, and she breaks out into a horrible rendition of “Oops…I Did It Again” while following behind me. Walking through the doors and down the few sets of stairs to the stalls, I take the few guns I brought with us and put them on the different counters. When I’m done, I turn and put my hand over Saxon’s mouth.
“Remind me to get you singing lessons as well if you’re going to do that.”
She starts to pout and then changes course, licking my palm. My brows furrow as I watch her look surprised when I don’t get grossed out.
“Your pussy was literally on my face last night,” I point out. “You really think your saliva is going to bother me?”
Saxon rolls her eyes and smacks my hand away from her face. “Okay, so what are we doing here? Is this where you kill me and bury me next to wherever you put Brad?”
I turn and go to the first stall. “If I was, you’re not making a very good argument for keeping you alive.”
“I give good blowjobs,” she says, catching me off guard.
Laughter bubbles out of me. “That’s true. You give phenomenal head, but maybe stick to using your mouth for just that.”
Her jaw drops as she mocks offense. “Maybe you should be more mindful before you go insulting the girl holding a gun.”
“You’ve tried firing that thing at me before,” I tell her as I hang the target. “It didn’t go well for you then, and I can assure you it wouldn’t go any better now.”
With a snicker and a quick mimic of my words in a higher pitched tone, our banter comes to an end. Little does she know, I secretly love when she’s like this. It’s in these times that the old her shines through and reminds me she’s still there. Not that I’m not crazy about this new, volatile version of Saxon. It’s just that I’m a greedy son of a bitch when it comes to her.
I want them all.
“Okay, come here,” I tell her, and she does, moving to stand in front of me.
I put a pair of sound mufflers and safety glasses on each of us. With her hands holding the gun, I take them in mine and help her raise them up, aiming the revolver at the target. Her hand trembles slightly, but as I press my lips to her shoulder and whisper for her to breathe, she calms.
“When you feel like you’re ready, aim for the target and shoot until the gun is empty,” I instruct her.
She does what I say, and after a few seconds, the sound of gunshots fills the room. I count to six in my head and on seven, she goes to pull the trigger, but nothing comes out. She puts the gun down on the counter and smiles back at me. However, when I press the button to bring the target back, the smile falls right off her face.
Out of all six shots, she managed to land two.
“Okay, so maybe my aim could use a little improvement,” she says, as if she was only a little off.
In actuality, the ones she managed to shoot through the paper aren’t even on the actual target. One is above his head, while the other is in the bottom right corner.
This is going to be a long day.
THEY SAY THAT PRACTICE makes perfect, and I’m sure that’s true. However, I’m thinking Saxon with a gun may be the exception. She shot for four hours, going through all the bullets I brought with us and every single gun. Well, other than the machine gun. There are just some guns that are too big for little girls.
Out of all of it, she only got to be as good as Nico, and that’s not saying very much. I’ve watched that idiot shoot a gun and manage to outline the target. And trust me when I tell you that it was not intentional.
“When are we going back?” she asks excitedly.
I wince at the question. “I don’t know. I’m starting to think you’re better with other toys. Like the cat o' nine tails. They can be your signature—like the happy face killer.”
She rolls her eyes and plops down onto the couch. “Fine. I’ll just get Beni to teach me.”
Now that isn’t the worst idea. That man is a better shot than I am.
I go into my office and over to my half-ton safe. I place my hand on the reader and then turn the five-spoke handle to open the door. One thing I’ve always taken very seriously is putting all the guns away after the range. Other than the one that stays on me for protection purposes, it’s important they stay locked up. The last thing I need is for these to end up in someone else’s hands.
I’m putting them all back in their rightful places when the light reflects off a picture frame on the top shelf and catches my attention. I drop the bag beside me, taking out the frame, and seeing the familiar picture inside of it.
I’m nine years old, standing in front of my parents with the biggest smile on my face. My dad’s arm is around my mom, and they’re both posing happily for the picture, but now that I know the background behind it, it doesn’t feel the same.
It used to gut me. I can’t remember how long this picture sat on my desk as I searched for the three men who killed him and came up empty. Finally, I had to accept the fact that it wasn’t healthy anymore and needed to put it away. I just forgot that I put it in the safe.
Knowing this picture was only about a year before my mom killed herself, I now know that while they looked happy, it was a sham. The reality is that my father was fucking the enemy’s wife while his own was at home, raising their son.
I’ve spent the last couple weeks pushing it down and ignoring it, still carrying out the plan of avenging his death just as ardently as ever. But standing here, staring at this picture, I can feel it all come racing to the surface. Because the truth is I’m still angry and with every fucking right to be. Everything I thought to be true about my father being an honest and noble man was a lie.
He was a liar and a cheat, and he had just as much of a hand in my mom’s suicide as Dmitri did.
My grip on the frame tightens as my blood starts to boil, and when I can’t contain it anymore, I throw it across my office. It hits the wall and shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, with the photo inside floating gently to the ground. And I know it’s only a matter of seconds before Saxon comes in and makes me face it, like I’ve done with her.
“Kage?”
Strength is never something I thought was important for me. I was a trust-fund brat whose only focus was moving out of my parents’ penthouse and living on my own. And since the rule was that I couldn’t live alone until I graduated from college, that’s what I spent all my energy on.