She snorted. Good for that old lady. Keep the guys honest.
“You and Zander are only twenty-six and twenty-seven. That is hardly an adult for a man.” She pointed her water bottle at him and watched him try to hold back a laugh and fail. She grinned at the clear, masculine sound of it. Jasper had always had a beautiful laugh, and she was happy that hadn’t changed. Her heart thudded a couple of times in reaction.
“Don’t say that to Vincent,” he finally got out. “He’s only twenty-seven and prides himself on his maturity.”
“Elijah and Quinn?” she asked, wondering if all the guys were roughly same age. They seemed like it.
“Twenty-seven and twenty-five respectively.”
“Elijah is one of the oldest?” she asked incredulously. “Have you met him?” That earned another laugh from Jasper as he nodded.
“Yeah, and Quinn never seems like the youngest here, either.” He began stretching and she joined him, tossing her bottle to the side of the mat. “How do you feel about him?”
“Quinn? He scares the shit out of me,” she sighed. “His magic is wild.”
“He’s the strongest Magi in North America,” Jasper grunted. “Well, except for any Legends.”
“Holy shit,” she huffed. “That’s impressive.”
“He was completely unknown to the IMAS and the IMPO until Vincent found him and recruited him to the team,” Jasper continued. “It’ll take a little while to get used to him, and for him to get used to you, but he’s not mean or anything. He’s careful and wary.”
Like a wild animal, Sawyer thought to herself.
“Are you telling her how to make Quinn like her?” Zander’s voice filled the mostly quiet gym.
“Yes,” Jasper responded. She looked over and narrowed her eyes on the redhead.
“Is there some trick to it?”
“Of course.” Zander grinned at her. “Get Shade and Scout to like you and there’s nothing he can do. They’re friendlier than him, and he trusts their judgment.”
“Stop talking about me,” Quinn growled as he walked in after Zander. Zander spun to him and Sawyer edged a little closer to Jasper. She wasn’t normally so wary of someone, but goddamn, Quinn terrified her.
Vincent and Elijah were close behind him, and they were called to get to work. Sawyer kept a mental list of the workouts they were doing, in case she needed to add anything for herself. Jasper spotted her for the workout, while Zander paired up with Vincent and Elijah with Quinn.
Bench press, pull ups, the overhead press, lateral raises. The list went on and on. Sawyer quickly realized that these guys were going to make sure every single muscle in her upper body screamed for forgiveness. Now she knew why they were all fucking ripped, and this was coming from a woman who knew how to work out.
“Holy fuck,” she groaned, sitting down after Vincent made sure everyone completed their two-hour rotation around the gym. “It’s not like this every day, right?”
“We only work this hard three times a week,” Zander panted to her, collapsing next to her on the floor.
“You get the rest of the morning to shower and eat. Meet me in my office at ten,” Vincent told her before leaving. She groaned and leaned on the wall.
“What does he want?” She asked Zander, who sighed.
“He wants to know why he should take firearms off your training. They were the morning training session we had planned, but…”
“But I lashed out yesterday,” she grunted as she stretched her legs out in front of her. “It wasn’t about the guns, but yeah, I’m not touching them.”
“What do you have against guns?” Zander swatted her sore upper arm, and she rubbed it slowly.
“I think they are too easy, too cheap,” she snapped. “If someone is going to kill me, they owe it to me and themselves to have the balls to get in my face when they try it.”
“Wow.” Zander went wide-eyed after she was done. She stood up and looked down at him. “Everything about crime and death to you?”
“Yeah.” She offered a hand to him, and he took it, standing up. “It’s all I’ve known for eight years, Zander.”
“You could lighten up,” he pressed. “Just for a minute. Like, I bet those kids and their parents would have been better off with a gun for self-defense. Assholes wouldn’t hit them if they had a gun to protect themselves.”
“That goes both ways, Zander.” She rolled her eyes. “Drunk, mean pricks get guns and threaten lives. Sometimes, the trigger gets pulled and innocent people die. And, you know what? I just don’t like them. That should be enough.”
“A bit hypocritical,” Zander said as they left the gym. “A woman beats the shit out of people in back alleys, but god forbid someone own a firearm to keep themselves safe.”
“Anyone can learn to defend themselves from a beat down,” she hissed. “Not even I’m a good enough Magi to dodge a bullet, unless it’s from a distance and I can fucking blink and sublimate.”
“Fine.” Zander stepped back. “I’ll let him know, but he’s still going to expect you to talk to him.”
“Fine.” She stomped up the stairs and was able to claim the shower after Jasper stepped out.
She knocked on the office door as hard as she could. She heard the opera coming from the office and knew it had to be Vincent’s music choice, not Elijah’s. Italian opera, at that.
“Come in,” he called out to her, and she pushed the door open and stepped in. This office was classier and more organized then Jasper and Zander’s. It had a full wall of books, and Sawyer eyed them as she walked in. The Art of War stood out to her, along with several books on chess. His book choices told her more about Vincent than she felt he ever would.
“You wanted to see me,” she said as she took a seat in a chair he was gesturing to. He turned down the music as he nodded.
“Firearms freak you out?” he asked softly. “With your life-style, I’m actually a little surprised.”
“No, I just don’t like them.” She stretched her legs out. Sometimes she wished they weren’t so long. They felt like they got in the way on occasion.
“I don’t care if you don’t like them.” Vincent narrowed his eyes on her. “In the kitchen yesterday-”
“What happened in the kitchen had nothing to do with the idea of learning to use firearms,” Sawyer told him with chilly voice.
“Well, since the guns don’t cause the… reaction, then you are still going to learn about them. I don’t care if you never carry one,” he told her, holding a hand up when she opened her mouth. “I’ll never make you carry one, and I’ll never test your proficiency. But you will learn, Sawyer. One day, getting someone else’s gun could be the only thing between you and the grave. Everyone here knows that, including you.”
“And who’s teaching me?” she asked bitterly. “Who’s going to drag me out there and force a gun in my hands?”
“I am,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go.”
She curled a lip in disgust as she followed him. He had a solid point, but fuck, she didn’t like this. Even the idea that she may one day need a gun made her angry.
“With my magic-”
“But you don’t have your magic,” he turned and snapped at her once they were out of the house. “You can be angry about this. Fine. You can have a death wish. Fine. But I’ll see you trained so you don’t get my team killed while you are here. We’ve got more important shit to worry about.”
“More important than the imminent threat of death? That’s impressive,” she growled. “You think I have a death wish?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Vincent glared at her. “And you know it. I’m going to catch that son-of-a-bitch if it’s the last thing I do. You can help me willingly, or you can help the hard way. The choice is yours, but you are helping.”
“Why do you fucking want to catch him so bad?” She shook her head. “Remember the last IMPO team that got close? They’re all dead. You think I’m going to get your team killed? Have you lost your f
ucking mind? I’m the only one smart enough to realize that the best way to deal with him is to stay the fuck out of his way.”
“My team is vastly more prepared for the task than the last team.” His jaw was rigid like the rest of his posture. “And I know more about Axel than anyone on this planet.”
She snorted and kept shaking her head, stomping past him. No, he didn’t. He had no idea what Axel was capable of past the stories.
“You live in a delusion,” she said, stopping to wave her arm around at him.
“If you have all of this figured out, then please, enlighten me,” Vincent hissed, looking her over. “You are probably the most arrogant person I’ve met in my life, and that includes Axel.”
“You’ve met him?” Sawyer felt like cold water hit her.
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate for her.
“Me too,” she whispered, not giving him anymore either.
“I think you and I have more in common than you might be willing to believe,” he sighed. “He’s an awful human being. I just want him behind bars.”
“He is,” she bit her bottom lip, her tongue feeling the scar, reminding her.
“Help me,” Vincent pressed, stepping closer to her. She eyed him warily and sighed before looking off into the woods. “I’ll make you a deal. Help me catch him and I’ll never pry into whatever you’re hiding. Let us protect you, and I’ll let you walk away when this all over.”
He was seriously obsessed with this. From building this team, to tracking her down and taking her into custody. Three days in, and she could see it from a mile away. She didn’t know what drove him to this, but damn, some part of her wanted to believe it was possible again. He exuded confidence that he had it all figured out and knew exactly how to hit Axel where it hurt. If he was this driven, she wanted to think he actually had a chance, to be a little optimistic that they might not all be dead at the end of it.
She was always a bit of an optimist, but every time she indulged it, people got hurt. Did she risk indulging the hope again? She wanted to, she really did. And then that tiny fire grew brighter in her and whispered that this could be it. This could be the revenge on Axel that she had wanted for years, but never had the power to grasp.
“Are you going to listen to me?” he asked when she was a few feet away, and she sighed, throwing her hands up. She had to make a decision on this, and she needed to make it now. Her life shifted again, and Sawyer resigned herself to a brutal death.
“Sure, Vincent, I’ll listen to you,” she turned back to him as she spoke, “but don’t expect me to die for you.”
“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t expect anyone to die for me.”
“Then let’s train,” she muttered. He started walking again, taking her to a building deep in the woods, nearly a fifteen-minute walk from the house. “What is this?”
“You’ll see,” he said quietly, punching in a code to open the door and letting a finger print reader verify him. He swung the door open and ushered her in ahead of him.
She was more stunned by the sight than she had been by the gym. Weapons were everywhere.
“Quinn makes sure hikers and people who live on the neighboring properties don’t stumble upon it,” Vincent told her as he closed the door. “Full indoor shooting range and then an entire area for Elijah’s work. Elijah! You in here?”
“Back here!” Elijah’s voice came from the far corner of the main room. Sawyer looked towards it and found Elijah in a leather apron, goggles, and with gloves that went to his elbows. He held tongs with a red-hot piece of metal on the end.
“He crafts our weapons,” Vincent informed her as she stared at the cowboy who went back to work as soon as he laid eyes on them. “We still follow the Old Ways as well.”
“The Old Ways are the best,” she told him.
Even with magic and modern technology, many Magi still practiced the Old Ways. Combat with real swords, daggers, hammers, axes, and the like. There were rules of combat that were strictly followed, and even she respected them most of the time. Well, she tried. Kind of.
“You practice?” Vincent frowned at her and she shrugged. Not truly, not for a few years, but she liked the ring fighting for the same reason. The ring had rules that were followed, no matter the circumstances.
“I learned them about seven years ago,” she mumbled, looking away from the massive wall of weapons and the racks of gear that surrounded Elijah’s area. “When do I get to do that?”
“After firearms.” He led her away and she sighed, a little wistfully. How long had it been since she practiced with her own blades? Three years? Four? She only kept those throwing knives in case of emergency, but damn, she suddenly wanted to see her twelve-inch daggers, or her kukri. Maybe even her stilettos.
She watched him pull out several firearms, and she felt her upper lip curl in distaste. .44 Magnum, 9x19mm Walther P99, M&P9 Shield from Smith and Wesson. There were several others after those.
“You okay?” Vincent looked at her with concern. “You seem a little pale.”
“Really? I just don’t like using firearms,” she waved him off. She had been serious when she told Zander that not even she could outrun a bullet. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Would you tell me if it were anything else?” He set out magazines and ammunition.
“Probably not.” She gave him a smirk, her hand over the scar that was the exit wound. She had been shot in the back, and the bullet had left after passing through her liver. Charlie had saved her life, he truly had.
“Figured,” he sighed.
“Oh, good. You have an indoor range, but we’re going outside into the heat. How nice.” She followed him out after a few more minutes. They had covered a shooting area with a couple partitions to give shooters their own space. Vincent put her in the middle lane and picked the first gun for her to use. The Glock 17, simple, a bit weak, but reliable depending on whom one talked to.
“You know how to do this?” Vincent stood at her back and she nodded.
“I’ve done it before, but it’s been years.” She hadn’t shot a gun since she was fifteen. She and Zander had been playing around with one like idiots. An older friend of Zander’s had let them borrow it and shoot a few rounds off. She didn’t hate them then, but she was a different person now.
“I’ll walk you through it.” His arms came around her, and he walked her through loading. She had to resist the urge to just lean back into him. His chin sat above her right shoulder, and he spoke softly in her ear. He smelled like the city, and his voice was professional and disconnected from the physical closeness. She couldn’t ignore it nearly as well. She didn’t like this guy, but he was attractive and intense. Her body wasn’t agreeing with her mind. Her body liked him more than a little.
“Take it and I’ll make sure you’re holding it properly,” he mumbled. She did and realized something quickly. Holding a gun wasn’t much different when you were missing a finger. His hands adjusted hers to the perfect spots, though she had been fairly close. “Aim and take a shot.”
His hands stayed on hers as she took aim. After she fired it, she grinned at her decent aim. She’d hit the guy on the paper in the second ring on his chest.
“Now, do it again,” Vincent chuckled in her ear, staying right where he was.
She did, emptying the clip. He set her up with a different gun, something with more kick to it, and she didn’t do as well. The recoil had screwed up her aim.
By the end, she was used to him right there behind her, his chest on her back. He was only a few inches taller than her, and he never raised his voice in her ear.
“We’re done for today.” He turned the safety on for the handgun she was holding and took it from her. Once he had it out of her hands, he put it on the table and turned her around by her hips. “Go back to the building; Elijah is waiting on you. We’ll work indoors on Wednesday.”
She nodded mutely, but couldn’t get around him. He was also still holding her hips. They weren’t to
uching anywhere else, but she could feel the space vibrate between them.
“You’re in the way,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He shook his head like he didn’t realize what he was doing until that moment. He released her hips and stepped out of the way. She walked away quickly, leaving him packing up everything.
The entire thing had been weird. She didn’t like the feeling curling in her chest, the one that said maybe Vincent wasn’t so bad. She had a weak spot for wanting to help the lost causes, and this was definitely one of them.
She found Elijah waiting for her in the building. He was pulling out several blades of different sizes. He looked up at her, a level of concentration on his face that she hadn’t expected, and then he pulled out several more blades, frowning.
“I like daggers or short swords, even though I’m strong enough to use bigger,” she told him, and he sighed.
“I should have known,” he grunted, putting half of what he had away. “Experienced with handheld weaponry?”
“Very, though I might be out of practice,” she said as she walked closer. “No jokes?”
“I don’t joke about weapons.” He smiled at her. “No, these beauties deserve respect and care. Plus, joking is normally relaxing, and being relaxed will lead to injuries.”
“Of course.” She nodded and looked at the large wall. He had a little of everything. His collection had every style and region from daggers to long swords. Pikes, halberds, nets, and a couple whips tipped with sharp blades. “You make all these or buy some?”
“I would say about a third, I made.” He looked up with her. “The rest I bought, except for three. Those I got on the job and are my most prized possessions.”
“Care to share?” She smiled at him. She loved weaponry like this and wanted to see what he considered the best of this immense selection.
“Sure.” He grinned at her. He walked away and unlocked a safe he had set up near his work table. She followed but respected his space. She was a known thief and she didn’t want him to think she was going to steal his stuff. He pulled out one katana, one kukri, and one simple black twelve-inch dagger.
The Redemption Saga Box Set Page 17