He quickly ran her through how to safely handle the weapon and how to work the controls. She was tentative when she started handling the firearm, but the more she handled it, the more comfortable and relaxed she became.
They did a few dry firing exercises to let her get comfortable with the gun in her hands. As he stood close behind her, his big hands wrapped around hers while he pressed into her back, both were aware of their closeness. Handling a firearm was serious business, though, and they focused on the task at hand despite the distraction.
“You ready to kill some cans?” he asked after she demonstrated the proper techniques for handling the weapon.
“I guess.”
Jack screwed some earplugs into his ears as she did the same. After their hearing was protected, he handed her the weapon and the magazine. She slapped the magazine into the grip as he showed her how and took her stance. She thumbed off the safety, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The gun roared in her hand, but nothing else happened.
“You missed,” he teased dryly.
“Ya think?”
“Remember what I said about jerking the trigger? Squeeze the trigger.”
She tried again, with the same result.
“What are you aiming at?” he asked. He hadn’t even seen where the bullet had gone.
“The cans. What do you think?”
He stepped behind her and placed his hands on hers. “Let’s do it together.”
This time she at least hit the post the two cans were sitting on.
“It’s going to be a long day,” Jack moaned from behind her.
“Just shut up,” she said with a grin. “This is the first time that I have ever shot a gun. You’re supposed to be some crack shot. Why don’t you show me how it is supposed to be done.”
Jack took the weapon. He stood still for a moment, then popped the gun up one-handed and blasted both cans off the post with two quick pulls of the trigger. “It just takes practice,” he said as he handed the weapon back to her.
“Jesus…” she breathed. It was a good thing Jack was a levelheaded guy, or she would be laying on a slab in the morgue right now.
They spent another hour with Tina plinking away at the cans and water bottles. Jack was a patient and skillful teacher. He used humor and encouragement to put her at ease and to prevent her from getting frustrated. By the time the last of the ammo had been fired, she could hit the cans … sometimes.
“Well, when we started, the safest place for me to stand was wherever you were aiming. I don’t think I can say that now,” Jack teased as he slipped the last four shells they had into the magazine and slapped it into the handle before returning the weapon to its holster.
“I thought I did pretty good there at the end. I hit the cans four times.”
“Out of fifteen shots.”
“You always look at the downside!” Tina grinned. She had gotten over her fear of guns and found she did enjoy killing cans. Too bad she would never have a chance to do so again because of her felony conviction.
“Maybe we’ll come back again some time.”
She smiled at him. “I would like that.”
“You ready to roll?” he asked as they moved back to the bikes.
“Where to now?”
“I need gas. And more ammo. And I think one more stop is in order.”
After the short ride back into Albuquerque, they stopped for gas, then went by his regular gun store to purchase several boxes of shells. He caught her eyeing the various handguns on display and had the owner let her handle a few. As she handed back a small Ruger semi-auto that she particularly liked, she reflected on all the poor choices she had made in her life. She would give a lot to be able to go back five or ten years and live them over. She would do things a lot differently this time.
After they left the gun store, she was surprised when they pull into a Walmart. She was even more surprised when Jack tucked the weapon under his jacket. “You’re carrying that inside?” she whispered in surprise.
“Safer than leaving it in the bike where anyone could take it, don’t you think?”
Tina had to admit the logic of that was sound, and she said nothing else. She didn’t know why they had stopped there until Jack led her directly to the women’s clothing section. “Pick out three pairs of pants and three shirts. And underwear.”
“Jack. I don’t…” she began until he held a finger to her lips, shushing her. “Thank you, Jack. I guess just put them on my tab.”
“These are a gift. No charge.”
“Jack! You don’t have to,” she began, but she fell silent when his finger touched her lips again.
As she pawed through the jeans and blouses, she had a hard time holding back her tears. Why was he being so nice to her? What had she done to deserve such treatment? She had tried to steal his great-grandfather’s motorcycle, and yet here he was buying her new clothes because she didn’t have any. She whimpered quietly once in shame and gratitude as she stared at the rack of clothes so he wouldn’t see or hear.
“May I have these, too?” she asked meekly, offering him a package of socks in addition to the rest of the clothes in her arms.
He looked at her feet. “Yes. And a new pair of shoes. Those look like they are about to come apart.”
“Jack … no.”
“What size?” he asked as he took her by the arm and pulled her toward the shoes. He held his hands out and, after a pause, she placed the clothes gently in his hands. She found a pair of shoes in the proper size. Head down in shame, she brought the shoes to him.
“Thank you, Jack,” she said quietly as she struggled to hold back her tears.
“Anything else you need while we’re here?”
“No, Jack. You’ve done enough,” she said without meeting his eyes.
He could see the shame on her face, and he felt bad for her. He hadn’t intend to make her feel bad about her situation. “Hey,” he said, trying to cheer her up. “These really are a gift. But if it makes you feel better, you can send me the money when you get on your feet, okay?”
“I will, Jack. I promise I will,” she said softly.
He smiled at her. “I know you will.”
Jack was worried about Tina and he hoped he hadn’t offended her somehow. She had hardly said a word since they arrived back at his home. He wouldn’t call it sulking, exactly, but her normal exuberance was missing. He set the steaks on the table and watched as she pulled two potatoes from the oven, unwrapped them, and placed each on a plate.
“Tina, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Have I upset you?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. She set the plates on the table, then returned for the salads while Jack opened a bottle of wine.
“Something is bothering you. What is it? Maybe I can help.”
She sat down, her mouth all but watering over the smell of the steaks Jack had grilled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten as well as she had since he took her in. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked bluntly.
“What? What kind of question is that?”
“A honest one. What do you want from me, Jack?”
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“You let me go when I tried to steal your bike. Then you didn’t turn me over to the cops when I stole your wallet. You haven’t laid a finger on me in anger. You didn’t try to force yourself on me. You bought me clothes. I want to know why. Why are you doing these things?”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel a little sorry for you. Having to steal for food is no way to live.”
“But there is more than that. What about your hog? Or your wallet. Why are you buying me clothes? Why haven’t you tossed my ass out on the street? That’s what anyone else would have done. Or turned me over to the cops. Or worse.”
Jack stared at Tina. Good questions all, he thought. “I don’t know. Does it matter? I like you. I would like to see you … get up on your feet.”
“Jack, you don’t know me. I’m a fuck-up. I�
��ve always been a fuck-up. I steal cars and break into people’s homes. I pulled a gun on a woman and her two kids! Jack, I’m a fucking ex-con! Why should you give a shit about me? Nobody else ever has!”
“I’m not everybody else.”
“I know! But why?” she cried plaintively.
“Because I like you. I like the fact that you are tough and resilient and don’t take any shit off of people. The night you broke in and sassed Ms. Jeep, whatever the fuck her name was, I had to look away so you wouldn’t see me smile. You didn’t know what was going to happen, but you were still full of piss and vinegar. Then you told me about the gun, and how you wanted me to have it so when you took what was coming to you I wouldn’t find it. I remember thinking how you looked like a dog that had been kicked all the time. I guess I felt sorry for you. Everyone deserves a second chance, Tina.”
“Not me.”
“Yes, Tina, even you.”
“Why?”
“What’s your name? Your full name? I don’t even know your last name. And how old are you?”
“What?” she asked, momentarily thrown off by his questions. “Tina Louise Harris … and twenty-four. Why?”
“Okay, Tina Louise Harris, not everything is always as it seems. I don’t think you are as bad as you act like you are. I think you are mostly just a woman that has been dealt a tough hand in life and she has made the best of it she could.”
She was quiet for a long time. “Thank you, Jack.”
Jack took a leap of faith. “So the question is, what would you give to start over again with a clean slate?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Well … almost anything. I don’t think I could kill anyone.”
Jack picked up his fork and knife, stabbed a piece of meat, and placed it on her plate. He pointed at her plate with the fork. “Eat. We have some things to discuss after dinner.”
CHAPTER NINE
Dinner done and dishes in the washer, Tina sat in one of Jack’s two easy chairs. She hadn’t asked any questions, but she had wondered all through the meal what Jack wanted to talk to her about. He joined her, handing her another glass of wine as he sat in the other chair.
“What do you think the Sons do?” he asked, coming right to the point.
“I don’t know. You said you sold cars. Seth and Marshall work at the Harley Davidson dealership. Nic said she worked at the DMV, and Michelle … err … I forget what she said she did.”
“She works at Walmart as a store manager,” Jack reminded her. “But there is also Rog, Roger, who drives a truck, and Greg and Karen and Steve, and all the others.” He took a deep breath, summoning his courage. “But there is another thing we all have in common, besides being members of the Desert Sons.”
“What’s that?” she asked when he didn’t continue.
“I’m going to tell you something, and if you repeat it I will deny to my last breath that I ever said it, and I will ruin you. Do you understand what I’m saying? This is just between us.”
She nodded and wondered what she had become involved in as a cold chill passed through her.
“We’re also thieves. Just as you are. We steal cars. Well, I steal them. The others, they help move them.”
“You steal cars?” Tina repeated, her disbelief clear in her voice.
“That’s right. The BMW and Jag out there? Those are waiting for customer pickup. We steal them, change the VIN numbers, get the paperwork legal, and sell them on.”
She stared at him a moment. “Bullshit. What game are you playing?”
Jack smiled. “No game.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Want to see?”
“Yeah.”
“I tell you what. I bet I can open any one of those cars faster than you can.”
“Oh? What’s the stakes?”
“If I win, you have to spend the night with me tonight.”
Tina grinned. She might let him win for that. “And if I win?”
“What do you want? How about I buy you a bus ticket tomorrow to wherever you want to go and you walk away free and clear,” Jack offered.
“I want something else.”
“What?”
“If I win, you have to spend the night with me, and you have to fix me breakfast in bed tomorrow.”
“Pretty high stakes,” he teased.
“What are ya? Chicken?” she teased in return.
“You’re on.”
“You have tools?”
“I do,” he confirmed.
“You’ll let me use your tools, right?”
“Fairs fair.”
“Push the green button to start the clock, the red to stop it,” Jack said, handing Tina his cell. “Don’t you sandbag me,” he warned.
She grinned. “I won’t need to.”
Tina had looked over his toolkit and agreed that his tools would work for her. The bag was unzipped but sitting on the floor. “Go!” Tina barked, starting the clock. Twenty-eight seconds later, the BMW was unlocked. She turned the phone around so he could see.
“Not bad,” he said, satisfied with his time.
“Pfft. I can half that.”
“This ain’t a Honda, kid,” Jack said with a smile as he slammed the door and locked it. “And don’t forget, if you scratch it, it’s a fifteen-second penalty.”
“We didn’t agree to that!” she protested.
“Yeah, well, I just made it up. I didn’t scratch it, so I can do that.”
“You cheatin’ asshole!” She grinned. “Okay, fine. I’ll still whip your ass.”
“In your own time.”
“Go!” she called again, a fraction of a second after she started bending down to pull the shim out of the bag. “What’s my time?” she called the moment the locks clicked.
“Let’s see if you scratched it, first,” he said holding the cell so she couldn’t see the time. “Is that a scratch?” he asked, minutely examining the area where the shim had slid between the door frame and the car roof.
“What?” she squawked as she looked for herself. “There’s no scratch! I beat you, didn’t I?” She grinned. The BMW was harder to open than a typical Honda, but she was still pretty quick.
“I don’t know. That looks like a scratch to me.”
“What’s my time?” she asked, trying to turn the cell so she could see.
He held the cell above his head where she had no hope of reaching it. “I really think that is a scratch.”
“There’s no fucking scratch! What was my time?” she exclaimed as she tried to jump up and get the phone.
He grinned and turned the phone toward her so she could see. Thirty-two seconds.
“Huh-uh! You cheated me!”
“Nope. That’s the time.”
“Well… shit!”
“Actually, that’s pretty fast. European cars are tough.”
“Yeah, but I was looking forward to you spending the night with me. And breakfast in bed.”
“How about you spend the night with me and we talk about what to do in the morning.”
Tina grinned. “Okay. I guess that works for me.” But then she sobered. She had gotten carried away in the excitement of the competition. “Why are you telling me this, Jack?”
“I’m offering you a way out. A new start.”
“How?”
“Do I have your word that what I’m about to tell you goes no farther than this warehouse?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Have you heard of the Cars as Art exhibit that is coming to town?”
“No. What about it?”
“It is a traveling show of about thirty classic cars. It is on tour around the country.”
“Okay … so?”
“There are six cars in the show, six classic Ferraris. We’re going to steal them.”
Tina was shocked into silence. “How?”
Wild & Inked: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Desert Sons MC) (No Saints in Biker Hell Book 2) Page 7