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‘If it’s handy,’ he grinned. ‘You’re not in a boxing ring. You won’t be circling each other, taking quick jabs. If you do, you’ll lose. Take any advantage you can and capitalize on it.’
In the days and weeks that followed, they continued to work on sharpening her reflexes and building her strength. And her mindset.
‘Think of it like a switch. Turn it on to fight and survive. That’s all you need to think about.’
He admired her dedication. She listened and practiced. Still, she kept her distance emotionally. Only touching him in training. It had to be enough.
Sarah could pictureAlex all too clearly when he flicked his own fight switch. He looked like a cold-blooded killer, a biker without mercy. The thought threatened to dislodge the memories of death she’d worked hard to bury.
She kept her focus on her training. On practicing the techniques Alex taught her over and over until they became ingrained. As the days became weeks, she could feel the physical changes. Her muscles taking shape and a higher level of fitness than she’d ever known.
Christmas came and went. The locals celebrated with all the festive pageantry one might expect. Sarah and Alex passed the day the same as any other. They bought each other no gifts. They had no tree. But they were safe. Which would do for now. Sarah knew the threat of danger still followed. Gaining on them with every passing day.
Alex incorporated weapons into the training next. Sarah shied away from knives and other sharp implements. She understood the logic in knowing how to wield one—you could usually find a knife or a screwdriver in an emergency—but she wasn’t quite ready to master that deadly art just yet.
So, Alex decided to teach her how to fire a gun. Which was much more complicated than just picking up a gun and firing, as it turned out. The first issue had been the size of the gun. The small cache that Alex had was apparently too large for her hands. But it wasn’t just a matter of getting a smaller gun, either. It needed to fit into her hand so that the recoil would be perceivably less. However, smaller guns were not necessarily easier to shoot so a larger framed gun was still preferable.
After a week of one-sided debate where Sarah had nothing to contribute, and some discrete enquiries, Alex presented her with a small, black gun that fit compactly into her hand and could be easily hidden in her jacket pocket or the small of her back. It was a Luger LC9, apparently. She also learnt it had a seven round single stack magazine chambered in 9mm Luger cartridges, and a reputation for reliability and accuracy.
That being said, the gun was only going to be as good as the operator, which meant Sarah had to practice.
At first, she was hesitant. She had this crazy theory that shooting a gun was like doing drugs. She might not like it and would struggle to do it. Or she might like it a bit too much. Shooting was so much less personal. Bodily contact was not required. Would shooting a gun become a part of her ‘don’t think, just do’ fight mindset?
The first time she shot the gun she pointed it into some trees, as directed by Alex. She held the gun as far from her body as possible, terrified it would somehow go off and shoot her in the leg. The grip felt cold and textured in her hand, triggering a memory of handing her dad one of his tools when she was a little girl, the metallic imprint foreign to her touch. Her heart beat wildly with the knowledge that she could take a life with the weapon in her hand. It wasn’t that heavy; not like holding two kilogram weights for forty-second stints at the gym. It was the weight of its potential that was almost overwhelming.
Her breathing came in fits and starts and Alex offered no words of insight as to how she might control it. Point the gun and pull the trigger. That’s all he had to say.
She held her breath and closed her eyes, every bone in her body shaking as she squeezed the trigger. The noise echoed off the trees in deafening booms, replacing the sound of her heart beating erratically between her ears. She dropped the gun and stumbled back. For all his talk, Sarah had assumed there would be no recoil. She assumed wrong, the force of the weapon had kicked against her hands, through her arms, into the shoulders, whipping her neck and head a little.
Sarah forgot how to breathe—air refusing to leave or enter her body. She felt cold inside but her skin was too hot.
‘So now you know how not to shoot a gun,’ was all Alex said as he picked the weapon up from the ground.
Doubling over, she grasped her knees and forced herself to calm down. The breath she inhaled was like jagged glass. Fuck! She couldn’t imagine ever getting used to firing a gun.
But in the minutes, hours and days that followed, Alex patiently talked her through the finer points of gunmanship until she could fire at a target with her eyes open, an even breath and the capacity to remain in an upright position. She could even hit the target if it wasn’t too far away. Of course, it was surreal. She could load and reload her weapon, felt confident to carry it without the fear it would go off in her pocket, and shoot a stationary, inanimate target. The idea of shooting an actual person was one Sarah still couldn’t fathom. And she hoped that she wouldn’t have to.
ChapterSeventeen
After training in the mornings, Sarah and Alex would head into town to meander through the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the old town. Beaune’s social scene was organized around the main square, Place Carnot, with an assortment of cafes and shops in which locals and tourists languidly coexisted.
As they meandered, they would plot escape routes and meeting points in case they were ever found or separated. Always taking care to look like tourists. It wasn’t that hard, the town had so much charm and the people were friendly. Sometimes, she could almost forget what brought her here.
After the incident in Paris and Sarah’s resolve not to be the helpless victim anymore, she had pulled away from Alex. She knew it and he knew it. He had said nothing as she often pulled out of his embrace, and he never pushed her to be intimate with him again, but she found she just couldn’t. It wasn’t that her feelings had changed. If she loved him and she knew he was a killer, then God knows what would ever change it. But to learn how to defend herself and prepare for any coming adversaries, she needed to develop a hard shell, and that meant shutting Alex out of her heart. It was the only way she could do this.
The more time she spent with him, the more her mind battled with the love and trust they’d once shared. Would that ever come back completely? She tried to focus only on learning to survive, and the events that had brought her to this place. On becoming who she needed to be now. But as hard as she tried to block the past, it kept reaching out and demanding answers.
It was ironic, really. She’d once asked him to run away with her to London. It was that very night that everything changed. He’d disappeared so suddenly, and for three days, her calls and messages went unanswered. Sarah hadn’t known what to think. Sure, he'd left for days before. But he had always told her when he would be gone and that he would call when he could. This time he just left. And he didn’t call.
Hurt and betrayal still tumbled about inside her, threatening to erupt right here in this little cafe they’d stopped in. She’d heard his explanation on the ferry for why he’d left her the way he had. But it just didn’t sit right.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
The coffee in front of Sarah had gone cold. ‘Sorry?’
‘You were miles away.’ Alex dipped his head, trying to get her to look at him.
She gave him a tight smile.
