Page 3 of Iron Princess
With my duffelbag over my shoulder, I walked three miles to the only other place I could think to go. I pushed the front door open as chimes made out of spent brass jangled to announce my entrance.
“Be right with ya,” a familiar gruff voice called from the back.
I breathed in the scent of gunpowder and mildew, and suddenly felt more at home than I had in that big, perfect house the judge had Ma spend all her time keeping fancy.
I crossed to the glass case holding shiny revolvers and matte-black pistols, letting my fingers trail across the top as I gazed down at the guns and wished I had one to go hunt down the judge and make Ma’s choice for her.
Then again, she didn’t want to visit me in prison.
“What can I help you with today, son?” The smoke-roughened voice came from the other side of the case, and I looked up. “Holy shit. Kane Savage. I had no idea you were home, soldier.”
Jeremiah Prather, Bulletproof’s proprietor, saluted me, and I returned the gesture.
“Surprise visit,” I said. The forced smile that briefly curved my lips fell away just as quick.
His gaze drifted to where I was white-knuckling the bag over my shoulder. “Surprise for your ma or you?”
Something in his tone set me on edge. “The whole town know he’s smacking her around?”
Jeremiah’s expression turned rueful. “Gossips have just started catching on. Someone heard there was some kind of dustup over there the other night from a neighbor walking her dog, and speculation has been running rampant since your ma missed church but was spotted at the corner market in dark glasses and makeup caked on about an inch thick.”
I swallowed the rage that threatened to choke me. “And no one did a damn thing?”
Jeremiah crossed his arms over his stout chest. “What do you expect them to do? Giles is in so deep with the chief of police and the DA, there’s no one who would file a complaint if your ma had the willingness to try.”
My stepfather, Bernard Giles, owned this town. Hell, the Giles family owned most of the parish. Anyone who pissed him off found themselves hauled in front of his bench before being dragged off in cuffs. His sentences were legendary for their lack of mercy, but no one dared speak out against him. Joining forces with his dirty brother of a DA and a crooked chief of police made them a lethal combination.
“I’m gonna kill him.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in my tone, and Jeremiah had known me long enough to know I wasn’t fucking around.
He glared at me, the lines in his leathery face deepening. “Don’t say that shit on camera, boy. You know better.”
He retreated into the back office before reappearing a few minutes later. Instead of returning to his position in front of me, he went to the entrance, flipped the sign toClosed, and locked the door.
“Had to erase all the way to before you came in and turn ’em off. Last thing you want to do is give them the rope to hang you with.”
I leaned back on the counter, my fists clenched at my sides. “Then give me a throwaway piece, and I’ll be gone before they know I was here.”
“Boy, I know you carry a gun every day for Uncle Sam, but what you’re talking about is something totally different. You don’t make a move like that without it staining you to the very core of your soul.”
My teeth ground together. “You think I haven’t already seen and done things that are gonna send me straight to the devil? Two tours in hell, and I didn’t come back the same person I was when I left.”
“I know. You don’t have to tell me.” Jeremiah raised his forearm, where the lines of his POW/MIA tattoo were blown out and fading. “But that’s still different. Why don’t you head out into the range and shoot a few boxes to take out some of that anger you got riding you. I’ll grab you a gun.Mygun.”
His emphasis was no mistake, nor was his choice of weapon. Jeremiah knew, or at least he thought he knew, that I wouldn’t use his gun to take out Giles. Wily old bastard.
He slipped out from behind the counter again and disappeared for a moment before coming back with an old .45. He laid it on the counter and grabbed three boxes of ammo from the shelf behind him. “If I don’t hear you firing, I’ll come track you down with my AK, and it won’t be a good day.”
I would have sworn nothing could have dragged even a hint of a genuine smile from me, but Jeremiah managed with his play on the lyrics of Ice Cube’sIt Was a Good Day.
“I’ll be shooting, but when I’m done, I make no promises. I might even borrow that AK.”
“Blow off some steam, get your head clear, and we’ll talk some more. I ain’t letting you do some fool thing without a fuck-ton of thought.”
3
Kane
Idestroyed target after target with the .45, and with every shot, I pictured Giles’s head. Instead of releasing and letting go, my anger flamed hotter than a forge and hardened into something honed and deadly.
