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It’s just me, the targets, and him.
Dixon, the infuriating, loving man who is my rock in this storm.
At some point, we switch turns shooting. I hand him the gun and then I stand back, watching him — the way he holds the gun, the look of concentration on his ruggedly handsome face, the breadth of his muscular shoulders, the way his jeans fit perfect to his ass, the bulge of his crotch, the sweat that makes his shirt cling to his skin under the relentless afternoon sun.
I realize then, watching him, that there's no other place I would rather be than here in this barren landscape with Dixon. The anger that has been my constant companion has long since ebbed away, thanks to the man who loves me, and pisses me off, often in equal measure.
As the sun dips lower in the sky, painting the horizon with streaks of orange and pink, we pack up our things. The gentle whisper of the wind replaces the sound of gunfire, rustling through the grasses along with the distant call of a hawk on the hunt.
"Let's head back," Dixon says, his voice soft and warm against the coolness of the evening air. “It’s time.”
Just those words are enough to send my thoughts spiraling back to where I don’t want them to go: to murder, betrayal, grief. I’m not ready yet for this peace to end. I want something more, something that’ll overwhelm these terrible thoughts that keep threatening to take me over.
Then I’m struck with an idea. An urge. A need.
“Let’s go down to the beach instead. There’s a path just around the bend that’ll take us below the bluffs.”
I don’t even wait for him to answer. I just start for the path and trust that he will follow.
He does.
I’m familiar with this stretch of coast, just like most everyone who lives in Costa Oscura. You can’t move to this pretty seaside town and not immediately want to learn every nook and cranny, every cove and bay, every grain of sand along the coast as soon as possible. It becomes a part of who you are with each breath of salty sea air you take in.
So, as we descend the switchback path down the bluffs, I have a good idea where I want to go.
I walk the coastline for just a short while. Then I spot it. This part of the coast has seen its fair share of battery from the sea, enough that the rock in some places has been worn down like swiss cheese. Walk long enough, and you’ll find a cave, and it just so happens that one isn’t that far. It lurks like a dark shadow set inside the rock, a blackened mouth just waiting to eat us up.
“Come on. Follow me,” I call to him as I turn and wave. “Hurry.”
He raises an eyebrow at that word — hurry — but I can see the tide is coming in. It’s still a long way out, but it’ll make what I have planned into a race just as much as it’s a respite.
“Are you leading me here to kill me?” He calls out, half joking.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“You’re still carrying the gun.”
I realize then that I am. And I’m leading him toward a dark hole in the earth where there’d be no witnesses. “Yes, still have the gun. All the more reason for you to do what I say.”
I beat him to the cave. I watch him approach. It seems like with every crash of the wave, every step he takes, the anticipation builds inside me until my heartbeat seems louder than the sea.
“What’s this about, Alexandra?”
I gesture toward the rock wall of the cave with the gun. “Stand over there. Against the wall.”
He complies, a curious look on his face. “Now what?”
“Take your shirt off.”
That smirk returns to his face for a flicker of a moment.
“What is this? You want me to strip naked in a sea cave? Sounds like something Moose would do.”
With one motion, I take the safety off the gun and fire it into the wall. It’s swift enough and loud enough that even Dixon flinches. “Did I stutter?”
He complies. The shirt comes off, and my eyes are rewarded.
“Now what? Are we going to stop this game?”
