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“He’s the better man. The life he can give you—”
“I’m not like him. I’m like you. I like that gun you put in my hand. I like the high of this life, even when it scares me. And you know it or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
I think he’ll argue, that he’ll deny what I’ve said, but he surprises me by saying, “I do know.” And just that fast, his mouth is on mine and we’re kissing, touching, fucking. When we’re finally naked, it’s with his gun on the bed next to us, and it turns me on. I’m done denying that fact. The dark, dangerous side of Aaron turns me on.
“He doesn’t see it,” he says, much later, when we stand under the hot spray of a shower together. “He doesn’t see what I see in you.”
I don’t ask who “he” is. He means Smith. “I was a secretary he was protecting, not a—whatever I am now.”
He cups my face and looks at me. “A badass. You’re a badass.”
I laugh. “You’re the badass.” I smile. “But maybe I’m a badass in training.”
We laugh, and it’s one of those moments I missed with him: the way we laugh together. The way we get each other. The way we can crawl into an experience together and just get lost there. I want to get lost with this man for the rest of my life. I just want us to do it willingly, not because we have to. I want the risks we take together, and apart, to be choices, not a forced response to a machine trying to run us over.
When we finally lay down in bed, with him on his back and me curled to his side, darkness engulfs us, but we don’t sleep. I can almost feel the ticking of a bomb about to explode. Tomorrow is not going to be just another day. I feel it, and I believe Aaron does, too. Tomorrow is either the end or the beginning of the rest of our lives.
I wake to sunshine trying to burn my eyeballs from my head and to an empty bed. Aaron is missing, and that’s enough to set my heart racing and have me scooting to the edge of the bed. My gaze lands on the nightstand where there rests a slender Ruger and a note. I grab the note: I’m downstairs, baby, but shoot Smith on sight. I laugh and stand up, realizing then that I’m naked. Aaron’s shirt is on the floor, so I grab it, pull it on and hurry to the door. Peeking outside, I find the hall empty, and I step outside to the railing. I immediately spy Aaron sitting at the island with Savage, Blake and another man I don’t know, all deep in some sort of easy debate. There’s no tension, and I can feel the way Aaron has relaxed into the relationship with Walker Security. From last night to now is night and day. This pleases me and not just because we need help. I don’t think Aaron has many people in his life he can call a friend, and I sense that underneath all this bristling, he and Savage could be friends. Even more so, he and Blake could be friends. I want this for Aaron. I want him to feel that he’s not an outsider to the rest of the world. He’s not alone.
I re-enter the bedroom and snag up my clothes, wishing for something fresh to put on, and then it hits me that Aaron had on black jeans and a black tee that are not the same clothes he had on last night. Obviously, someone lent him clothes. I walk into the bathroom, and there sits a pile of clothes for me. I grab the note on top that reads: From Blake’s wife. Pleased, I look through my options and the best bet for a fit seems to be a black jean skirt and a black lace blouse. There are matching black sneakers that, after a quick inspection, happen to be my size. There’s even a flat iron and makeup.
Eager to dress, I quickly shower, dress, and apply said makeup. Once my hair is dried and flat ironed, I’m feeling fresh and more like myself. There’s a small purse in the stack of items, just the right size for a gun, which I don’t believe to be an accident. I walk into the bedroom, check the ammunition in the Ruger, and then load it in my new purse. I exit the bedroom and find the men still in the same spots, still debating whatever they’re debating, but now, they all have coffee cups. I decide not to bother them. I have a mission anyway. I walk to the shooting range.
Once there, I open the door and enter. I do a scan, put on a pair of safety glasses, grab a stock of ammunition, and head into an actual safety booth that Savage has here in the apartment. Once I’m there, sealed inside, I do what I know I can do. I unload my gun, and I do it with accuracy and skill. I do so because Aaron made me practice. I do so because I wanted to practice. I do so because the gun feels right in my hand. I reload, and I repeat. I reload, and I repeat until I feel, rather than hear, someone behind me. It’s not Aaron. I know this, too. I pull off my safety glasses and turn to find Smith standing outside the booth. He’s a good-looking man, tall, well-built, sandy brown hair, defined cheekbones, easy on the eyes in all ways. I’d thought, at one point, he might be for me. Or I’d wanted to believe that, but I’d never really believed that at all.
I exit the booth and join him on the other side. “You’re good,” he says. “He taught you?”
“Yes. He taught me. I told you that.”
“And you want to live a life where you need those skills?”
“If I were with you, Smith, would you want me to know how to protect myself?”
His lips thin. “Yes.”
“Could your job put me in danger?”
“Yes, but—”
“There is no but. Please. Accept him. And honestly, Aaron needs friends. He has none. He was betrayed by the only people he trusted. He gave up his life to take down a kingpin. Who does that? That’s how he got here. That’s how he became this.”
“You really believe in him?”
“I do, and I’m a good judge of character. I chose you as a friend, remember?”
The door opens behind him, and Aaron walks in. Smith’s expression tightens, and I know he knows it’s him. He inhales and gives me a tiny nod before he turns to face Aaron. And then to my surprise, he offers him his hand. “Truce.”
Aaron looks at me and then him. “She’s not—”
“She’s my friend,” Smith says. “And perhaps you can be, too. Truce,” he repeats.
Aaron studies him, hard and long, and then offers Smith his hand. “Truce,” he says. “But if you—”
“Forget my place, you’ll beat my ass,” Smith says. “Got it. And if you hurt her—”
“You’ll shoot me. Got it.”
And then to my surprise, we all laugh. It feels like a sign. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to get to the other side of this war to peace. I’m not, however, unrealistic. Someone, probably a lot of someone’s, will have to die before that happens.
