Page 35 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
He shook his head. “I don’t like you with this, but if you’re determined to have a gun, I know you can just get another one. I’d rather you know what you’re doing with it than shoot your leg off.”
Chapter Eighteen
We spent the next hour with him showing me how to load and unload the subcompact and covering the many safety rules. When I had passed each of his instructions and questions multiple times, he took me outside, armed with rubber earmuffs and eyewear. Red concentric circles had been painted on a couple of trees. With me standing behind him, he took aim and shot. The report was loud even through the earmuffs, and a small tuft of tree bark flew out from the center of the red circle and fell to the ground.
He handed the gun to me and stepped back. I looked at the gun, then back at him, but he only waited. Right.
I tried to remember what he’d told me. Widen my legs for a firm stance. Left thumb on the side, not wrapped around the back. Aim using the sights. Finger off the trigger until I was ready to shoot, and then pull, slowly, steadily, until—I blinked. A new hole had been created in one of the outer circles. Not even close to the center, but…I had hit a tree. That was a hell of an improvement over barely being able to look at the target. I laughed, giddy.
He was smiling too, but he nodded again toward the tree. I turned and shot off the rest of the clip. A few of them even landed inside the smallest circle.
When I was done, I set the empty gun down and jumped at him. It felt…freeing. Violent too, but maybe a little violence was what I needed in my life, perpetrated by me this time. It was exactly like Marguerite had said. I felt empowered, like I was doing something more than running, like I was finally fighting back. I knew that a single shooting session wasn’t enough to combat all of Henri’s men, but the real value was the power that coursed through me. I could fight back.
His grin faded slightly. “How’s your shoulder? Did the kick bother it at all?”
He was referring to my gunshot wound.
“It’s never felt better,” I said honestly. That small radius had always made me feel like a victim. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way.
“Listen,” I said. “Do you remember when I went in the bathroom with that girl?”
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He got a faraway look. “I’m sorry I waited un
til you were gone to ask about Daisy. That wasn’t fair to you.”
Deep breath. “She told me something about Henri while we were talking.”
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “We were partners in there, and you should have had all the information.”
“There’s a warehouse or airport hangar or—”
“I just didn’t want you to think less of me,” he said.
Distracted, I asked, “Why would that make me think less of you?”
“The way I grew up.” He focused on me. “There was a reason I fit in so well at the club. I know you noticed.”
I had. “I figured it was your cop prowess.”
He laughed shortly. “Not exactly. I grew up dirt-poor, in the scariest fucking neighborhood around. It’s gone now. They razed it down, built some fancy houses on top. It was for the best. That place needed to go.”
My hand found his.
“We lived in the basement of this house, renting, but my mom was a nurse, so she was gone for full days at a time. The guy who owned the house was a real jerk. It was worse when I got a job after school. Daisy would lock herself in her room until one of us got home.” He looked down at our linked fingers. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
I squeezed gently. “Because you can. Remember? You don’t have to pretend around me.”
A faint smile brushed his lips. “That was supposed to go the other way. So that you could relax.”
“I’m relaxed. And I don’t think less of you.”
“It got worse.” He grew grim. “My mom died when I was fifteen. Some lunatic came into the ER, waving a gun around. Shot her and three other people because his wife had died there. How does that make sense? What kind of logic is that?”
“I’m so sorry.” My heart ached for the grief on his face.
He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, the guy who owned the house ransacked our rooms. He took the money, any documents, everything important. When the police came, they said Daisy and I should stay there, that he had allowed us to live there and continue going to school until they determined a permanent solution. I guess he was supposed to be our temporary guardian, but we knew it would be bad. Maybe if I had said something. If I had spoken out against him then, they might have removed us from the home.”
The way he spoke, it was clear he’d been down this line of questioning before, that the path was deeply rutted with guilt and what-ifs. I knew how dangerous that path could be. “You did what you thought was right at the time. You were a kid.”
