by J. Saman
When I finally figure out how to breathe normally again, I hop out and find Jake standing in the center of…well, nothing really. Just a lot of brush and reddish-brown, cracked earth. The sun is just starting to rise higher in the sky, bringing with it an incorrigible heat.
“Come here,” he commands and I obey instantly. “Here,” he pulls a pair of safety glasses out of his duffel bag and hands them to me. “Put these on and show me your gun.”
Wow, that’s sexy. I don’t know if it’s his domineering presence or the absurd words coming out of his mouth that sound like something from a bad porn or an action film, but damn...
“Here,” I say on a swallow, the sound practically choked in the back of my throat.
“This is a good gun for you. It’s small and easy to use.” I nod. “I’m not going to ask where you got it, because I really don’t want to know. I also know you won’t tell me why you’re doing this, but if you go out and kill a bunch of people—or even one person—for any other reason than self-defense, and end up in jail, I’m going to be pissed as hell and I won’t bail you out.”
“Noted.”
“Okay.” He looks down at me, any amusement gone from his expression; in its place is cold, sober deliberateness. “Do you know how to load it?”
I nod again.
“And I see you have the safety on so we’re halfway there. Have you ever fired it?”
“No. I’ve never fired a gun before.”
“Huh,” he muses, his head bobbing up and down. “Then let’s get started.”
“Out here?”
He turns to me with a laugh. “Yes, out here. Don’t worry, I own this land. I’ve used it for target practice before. You see that mound over there?” He points to his left and I notice a large mound of dirt about fifty yards out. It even has a target on it.
“I’ll never be able to shoot that far.”
“Probably not.” He takes my hand, the one not holding the gun that is, and leads me over until we’re about twenty yards away. “Place your feet shoulder-width apart.”
I do as he says.
“Good. Now hold the gun up like you’re getting ready to fire.”
I raise it up with one hand and aim at the target, but he takes my other hand and places it just so on the gun, raising my hands higher as he does.
“Take off the safety, aim it, and fire.”
Holy crap. Suddenly, I’m hit with a rush of adrenaline. Nervous excitement routes a path straight through me. I’m scared out of my goddamn mind. Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, I close my eyes, center myself, open them again and press in on the trigger. The gun fires with a loud crack, and even though I jolt back a little, there isn’t a whole lot of kick to it.
“That was good. Next time, keep your eyes open and on the target.”
“Right. Sorry.” I didn’t even come close to hitting it. Nor did I realize I had closed my eyes. That’s a bit embarrassing. I lift my arms the way he showed me, this time focusing on the center of the target, and fire again. I don’t hit the target, but I do hit the mound.
“Better. Again.”
I fire until I’m out of bullets and need to reload. I hit the edge of the target twice, but nowhere near the center of the bullseye.
“It takes practice,” he reassures, taking my gun from me and reloading it. “You can’t expect to come out here once, fire a gun, and be an expert.”
“I know,” I groan, but I’m still disappointed. I’m just starting to realize how innately competitive I am. “I wanted to at least the target.”
“We’ll keep practicing. But we’re done for today.”
I peer up at him, my eyebrows furrowed. “Then why did you reload my gun?”
Jake turns to me, placing my small weapon in my hand with the safety engaged. “Because you’re learning how to shoot this thing for a reason. Don’t you think it should be loaded?”
My stomach twists before it sinks into my feet. I stare down at the warm gun in my hand, hating everything it represents. Guns scare the shit out of me in general, but his words kill me. How do I rationalize this? I know I’m just trying to protect myself, but I can’t believe it’s gotten this far.
“Jake…” I start. I need to tell him. I suck in a rush of cool morning air and blow it out slowly. “Where did you learn how to shoot?” I go for instead and close my eyes, hating myself just a bit more for my cowardice. He fired a few rounds of my gun, hitting the center target each time. It was effortless for him. Second nature.
“The Army taught me. They did a damn good job of it, too.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes. “For teaching me, I mean. I sincerely appreciate it.” I feel sick. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Especially with what I know is coming for me.
Chapter Fifteen
Mia is a different woman after leaving the desert and the makeshift gun range behind. Quiet. Introspective. Rattled. I want to take her home with me. I want to take her up to my apartment and tuck her in my bed. But she needs her space and I respect that. I guide her across the lobby, regretting there is no way to access her floor from my elevator. Mine only stops at the forty-ninth floor, which is all villas. I should have given her a villa. That way I’d have better access to her, but that made me feel… well, like a creeper, I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t do it, so now I have to take her to the fucking guest elevators every asshole uses.
She eyes me the entire way, waiting for me to say something I refuse to acknowledge. On the way home, she said it can’t happen again. It felt like she was referring to more than the shooting.
“Why can’t it happen again?” I ask before we reach the elevator. Because screw that. Being with her is too good not to happen again.
“You’ve done so much for me. And I’m grateful.” She turns to me. “More than grateful. But I can’t tell you more than I already have, okay?”
“You haven’t told me anything.”
She nods like I’m getting it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say slowly, carefully, like she’s a caged animal I’m afraid of upsetting. “I promise you, I will never hurt you. Ever. I think you know that already, but I’ll tell you a million more times until you believe it, if I have to. Because it’s the truth. You. Are. Safe. With. Me. That means you can tell me anything. I’m in, Mia. I’m in. You’ve got me.”
She blinks back her impending tears.
“Mia,” I reach out my hand for her and she reluctantly takes it, “Who’s after you? Why are you so afraid?”
She doesn’t respond and I’m losing my last shred of composure.
“I don’t know what to say. What to do. I know you ran away from home, because you pretty much said so that night I picked you up. You were afraid I was going to hit you.” I glance over, checking her reaction to that last statement. “Right?” She’s frozen, standing against the wall of the elevator, still holding my hand. “You had a panic attack that night after Brent spoke to you and today we’re firing guns.”
“Please stop,” she whispers.
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on!”
Her eyes widen, and I hate myself for yelling at her. Shit and fuck, that was so goddamn wrong. The elevator doors ping before they open, and even though it’s so early, there are people milling about the casino floor.
“I ran for a reason,” she breathes out softly, staring up at me like she’s trying to convey a message I continue to miss.
“I know.”
“From a dangerous man.”
“I figured.”
“Then don’t go all caveman on me, demanding shit I can’t give, okay?”
“Caveman?” I tease, because I hate seeing her pain. I point to my chest. “Me?”
“Maybe,” she muses, relaxing some at my playful tone. “I guess you can count your lucky stars I think cavemen are sexy.”
I give her a lopsided grin. Anything to let her know I didn’t mean to yell. That I’m sorry if I startled her or sca
red her or anything else. I’m trying to prove she’s safe with me and I’m doing a shitty job of it. “Sexy, huh? You think I’m sexy?”
She shakes her head, biting her soft bottom lip as she tries to hide her smile. “I said I think cavemen are sexy. Not you specifically.”
“Nah, you let me kiss you. You think I’m sexy.”
Now she can’t fight her grin. I reach out and cup her cheek, my eyes locked with hers. “You said shit.”
She scrunches her eyebrows.
“You said shit. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard you swear. You’re this perfect, proper lady who uses these formal words with me like pardon instead of what. And now you said shit.”
She shrugs a shoulder.
“We okay?” I ask.
“Yes. We’re okay. It’s everything else that isn’t. You’d be smart to leave me alone.”
“Probably. But I’ve never been good at doing the smart thing. Why start now?” I lean in and press my lips to hers before pulling back, my face inches away. “You’re going to live in the hotel room I did not give you.” Kiss. “We’re going to call you Sunshine, because I know Mia is not your name.” Kiss. “And you’re going to see me again and again and again.” Kiss. “And everything else we’ll figure out as we go along.” Kiss. “And when you trust me more than you do this minute, you’re going to tell me absolutely everything there is to know about you.”
“I can’t afford that hotel room, Jake. And I don’t like you paying for me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She blows out an exasperated huff, but I think at this point, she’s too tired to fight me.
I kiss her goodbye because there is no way I can’t. She throws a smile over her shoulder and heads up in the elevators that will take her to her floor.
Here’s the problem. I’m crazy about this girl. And she has me teaching her to shoot a gun. And she just admitted she’s running from a dangerous man. Lines are getting blurred. Right and wrong and smart and stupid all seem to be mixing into one. But I can’t stop. I can’t walk away from her. So now what do I do? Especially when everything I am, my whole world is at risk.
Then I feel movement on my right. I turn to find Brent. Doesn’t this guy ever sleep? He watched her go. Just as I did. I clench my fists so tight I can feel the blood draining from them.
“I thought I told you to leave her the fuck alone,” I snap from beside him. If he’s surprised by my outburst, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps his focus on the elevator she just left in. “You were gone. You told her you were leaving, and you were gone. So what the fuck?”
“And I told you, you don’t know shit.” He spins around, pinning me with an arrogant smile and a menacing gaze that say I really don’t know shit. “You think you can get her a hotel room, teach her to fire a gun and keep her safe? You think you know what game you’re playing or who you’re fucking with?”
Ho. Lee. Shit.
“Who are you?” I ask and then that smile grows. The creepy asshole looks like the cat who just ate the canary.
“I bet you’d like to know. Especially since I know everything about you, Mr. Turner.” My heart starts to beat harder, punching out an angry rhythm against my ribs. “But try as you might, you won’t know anything I don’t want you to. And as for Fiona—” Fiona? “—I’ll let you continue to play your hero games with her. I never relished the idea of her sleeping outside anyway.” He takes a step forward, totally and completely unafraid of my extra height and weight. This tells me two things. One, he’s probably packing heat, and two, he can absolutely handle himself in a fight. Well, that makes two of us. “But if you fuck with my objective, I will take you down. I do not give a flying fuck if you own this hotel. I will end you. Don’t think I can’t.”
And then he walks away like he didn’t just threaten me. Like he didn’t just shake-up my entire world. I’m too stunned to respond. To charge him or have him thrown out. Because a guy like that does not make a threat he can’t back up, and even though I can play it off like I’m the one in charge and invincible to the world, I’m not. These hotels are not. He could out me to the media this minute. He could ruin everything I’ve spent the last six months of my life trying to build.
Is she worth this? Worth the very real risk that evidently comes with her?
Yes, my subconscious answers before I can even finish my thoughts. It’s not something I didn’t assume about her before. I just never anticipated this. I presumed she was running from a guy who beat her. Not a man like Brent who referred to her as an objective.
But first things first.
I count to ten so I can get my anger under control because right now I’m ready to plant my fist through concrete. Then I’m moving, quick and with purposeful strides. I hit the back door, the one no one notices off the casino floor because it’s neatly tucked away behind a sign, and then I’m punching in my code and swiping my badge.
I get those three green lights and that beep and then I’m racing up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I punch in the next code and swipe my badge again and then I’m in the security tower.
We have a hundred screens taking up an entire wall. We have even more in the form of monitors, attached to computers or tablets. This is our control center where we can see any public space in this hotel in under a second, and all of it is voice activated. We just have to say the command and it’s there. We have facial recognition, and along with that, any public information that is legally found on the internet can be ours within minutes.
We have other less legal, but not illegal, methods as well. All casinos do, don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. Gambling is a cutthroat business responsible for hundreds of millions of dollars a year, mostly in cash. Think about that. Cheaters are everywhere. Everyone wants to beat the house and go home a winner.
“Cash—” Yeah, that’s really this guy’s name “—I need a face.”
Cash turns away from the command board. This place is basically his home and he rarely leaves. His discerning black eyes see absolutely everything, and this motherfucker is the definition of ruthless. He’s also as loyal as they come and will keep his mouth shut about anything I ask him to do. “Where?”
He’s also a man of very few words.
“Outside the guest elevators with me. Five minutes ago.”
He nods, doesn’t ask any more questions as he picks up a tablet, punches in some numbers and then his finger swipes around the screen until he gets me to where I want to be. Then he hands it to me. It’s a playback of me standing there, talking to Brent.
I nod and hand it back to him. “That’s the guy. I need everything you can get on him. Text it to me the second you have it.”
“You got it.”
His brevity almost makes me want to laugh. It might if I wasn’t so fired up. What the hell is going on with this woman? Who is she? Do I dare look her up? I sigh inwardly as I pause at the exit, my eyes focused on the dozens of people working and the big monitors displaying feeds of people gambling and drinking and generally having a good time in my hotel. Do I look her up? If I thought curiosity was a nefarious bastard before, I know that for sure now.
I have no idea what this guy Brent is after with her. Does he want to hurt her? Kidnap her? Is he a hired gun? Police? No, I discount that last one immediately. Police don’t dress the way he does, but he could be government. Ours? A foreign one? I have no idea how far or how deep this thing with her goes.
But I do know she’s scared. That’s she’s running from something or someone and she’d rather work multiple jobs in a strange city and sleep outside than return to whatever life she had before. And if I had to place my bets, I’d go all in that she’s a victim of regular abuse. Women don’t flinch from men the way she does unless that’s the case.
Do I look her up? Not yet, I decide. I’ll start with Brent and see how far that gets me.
Then I have a very big decision to make.
; Fiona. Shit.
I leave the security area and slowly move through the main floor. I should go straight home, but suddenly I’m in no rush to be cooped up in my apartment with nothing but my thoughts. I could get on my bike and ride around town, but I don’t want to leave her here alone until I know what’s up with Brent.
That’s probably not even the cocksucker’s real name.
And just as I think that, I get a text. Staying in this hotel, room 24-072, under the name Brenton Michaels. ID he showed the desk along with a copy of the credit card, attached. No other data available.
What the hell? That doesn’t even make sense. Everyone has some data to be found. Unless this guy is a professional. Or his name is as fake as Mia Jones’s. But even then, his face should come up. Jesus Christ, he’s a ghost.
I take a look at the photo ID. Los Angeles, California. I have no idea if this is legit or not, but if it’s fake, it’s flawless.
It’s well after nine in the morning here, but I can’t wait, so I find an empty seat in the Sports Book and make the call. It rings through to voicemail and I hang up, but he’s usually good about getting back to me. Come on, Ryan. Call me back.
If he does call me back, I should not be down here when he does. So, I get my sorry ass up and off the stool and make my way over to my elevator. The elevator doors open once again when I reach my place and I’m immediately struck with images of Sunshine’s sweet face staring up at me from across the counter as she ate the breakfast I cooked for her. Of the way she felt in my arms while we watched the sunrise.
I don’t bother with lights. All the curtains are open, and both the lights of the strip and the fireball of a sun give me plenty of illumination to see by.
I head for my bathroom and rinse my face, strip out of my clothes that smell like gunpowder, Sunshine and desert. I throw on a pair of shorts and a clean tee and fall onto my bed. I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in months. But I’m too jazzed-up to try for a catnap now. My mind is racing. And just as I begin to settle down and my eyes finally close, my phone rings.