Page 46 of Captive Ruin

“Sure.” The guy walks to one of the display cabinets, unlocking it and pulling out a snub-nosed pistol in black. He adds a box of nine-millimeter rounds, and waves us to the range.

Lucy collects them all and leads the way. “This is what I started with,” she tells me as we walk in. It’s empty; we have the place to ourselves. “It’s light, easy to use, and the recoil isn’t too bad.”

“Have you done much shooting?” This is a side of my sister I’ve never really seen. I knew she had the license, but not why or what she did with it.

“A bit, yeah.” She gives me a small smile that suggests she’s been in places like this every other week, then hands me a set of ear defenders.

Shooting a gun has never really appealed, but I’m motivated now. I want to know how to use the damn thing in case Van Wyk ever returns. I’ll shoot the fucker in the leg if I need to. Maybe even a little higher.

Plus, Lucy is good at this stuff. When she takes her turn, her shots are more accurate than mine, her grouping tighter. It brings out my competitive edge.

An hour later, we’re out of rounds and my hand is aching, but I feel I’ve gotten the hang of it.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Lucy asks back in the shop, bright-eyed.

“It was.” I enjoyed it more than I expected, particularly when picturing Van Wyk’s face on the targets.

Lucy pays for the gun, a case, and a box of rounds. I know how to load the thing, but not how to clean or maintain it, and she promises she’ll come and check on it from time to time.

“Thank you.” I give her a hug on the street outside. “Do you need to get back to work, or do you have time to look around the gallery?”

She glances away, biting at her lip, cheeks tingeing red. “Uh… I have plans this evening.”

I blink twice. “You do?” That sounded a bit incredulous in my own ears, but she caught me by surprise. She normally tells me about her men, and this is definitely a man. I try again, with more enthusiasm. “That’s great! Who is it?”

“Uh…” She can’t meet my eyes.

The cold chill of foreboding runs over my skin. “Lucy…”

“I’m just having dinner with him,” she mutters.

“Shit. It’s Serranto, isn’t it?” I know it is, and her kicked-puppy expression only confirms it. “Goddammit, Lucy!” She has no idea what I went through. What I’m still going through. What I just bought a fucking gun for. “Why?”

She says nothing, just stares mournfully at the sidewalk, still unable to look at me.

“I can’t believe you,” I snap. “You know what he’s like. I proved it to you. And you go back to him anyway?” I throw up the hand that’s not holding the gun we just bought. “Why did I even bother?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes liquid. “I’m doing it for you, Ammy. He…” She swallows. “…he said if I didn’t meet him again, he’d make sure your ‘fucking gallery would never get off the ground.’”

I stare at her as cold rage fills me. Not just at Serranto, but at that bastard Van Wyk. He told me this would be dealt with. I should’ve known he couldn’t be trusted.

Underneath it all, my guilt swells. It’s my fault she’s with him, and my fault again that she hasn’t said no.

Fine. I’ll do it for her.

“No.” I give the word as much vehemence as I can muster. “No, hell no, and abso-fucking-lutely no.”

“He’ll go after your gallery…” she says on a breath, eyes wide.

“Let him,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “I’ll take that bastard head-on if I have to.”

I can’t help but glance down the street to where my beloved gallery sits, clenching my jaw.

Let Serranto do his worst.