Broken Hero Page 18

  “So what?” he said, waving his hand away. “We’d have money and power and status. We wouldn’t be some little operation doing small-time bodywork—we’d be in the big leagues.”

  “Not going to happen,” I said. “So put that shit out of your mind right now. We stay above board.”

  “But Gar—”

  I raised my hand, cutting him off. His shoulders slumped and he looked away for a long moment.

  “But what about Ellie?” he asked.

  “Told you,” I said. “I have contacts in the area. Got a group of mercs keeping an eye on her. If Joey pulls anything, they’ll move in and make sure she’s safe.”

  “Fuck,” he said. “There’s no talking you out of this, is there?”

  “Nope,” I said. “And if it helps, you can consider this an order.”

  Stan opened his mouth to speak, his jaw slack for several moments. I watched him carefully, waiting to see what his next move would be. His body was tense, as if he was preparing for a fight.

  But, after a few tense beats, his shoulders slumped, and he sat back in his chair.

  “Fine,” he said. “You’re the boss.”

  I gave a slow nod.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  NATALIE

  I was back. Finally, after weeks of hiding out at Garrett’s place, I was in my own home again. And what was more than that, I was safe.

  For the most part.

  I’d gone over the specifications for the place while Garrett was gone with Stan, getting acquainted with the ins and outs of the new, expensive security system that I’d had installed.

  It had everything, from the bulletproof windows to hidden alarm panels to a small panic room built into the back of my walk-in closet. Even if someone managed to break into my apartment, all I’d have to do would be to hide out, call the police, and wait for them to arrive.

  As I walked through my place, savoring the feeling of being back, I noticed a small compartment built into the wall in the hallway. It was a rectangular outline, barely noticeable. I stepped up to it and placed my fingertips onto the panel. I pressed down, and to my surprise, the panel moved in with a soft click and opened.

  I gasped at what was inside.

  “Found the secret stash?”

  I looked up to see Garrett standing at the front door.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “How the hell are you able to get in here without me noticing?”

  “Because I’ve got admin privileges,” he said as he stepped toward me. “Keys to the kingdom.”

  “Don’t know how I feel about that,” I said.

  “That right?” he asked, coming to my side. “Why—don’t trust me?”

  Then an odd look flashed across his face, one that I couldn’t quite make out. But before I could give it too much thought, it vanished and was replaced with his usual cocky smirk.

  “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s that if I’m going to have a system like this—” I made a sweeping gesture toward the apartment.“—I want to be the one in ultimate control of it.”

  “Fair enough,” said Garrett. “But I’m here to protect you. It’s not going to do either of us any good if I can’t get to you right away if there’s a problem.”

  His words made sense, but they still sat uneasily with me.

  Garrett seemed to sense this, and he placed his hands on my shoulders.

  “When this is all over with, I’ll make sure to turn off my admin settings. But for now, I don’t want to take any chances, not when your life is on the line.”

  Normally, I would’ve bristled at this. Letting a man have control in this way typically didn’t feel right to me. But there was something in his eyes, something that let me know that this wasn’t about him wanting control. No, it was about wanting to keep me safe.

  “OK,” I said, glancing down. “OK.”

  He leaned in and kissed me softly on the forehead, his lips melting the tension inside of me.

  “But there’s still the matter of that.” I pointed toward the item in the compartment.

  A gun. A small silver pistol.

  Garrett picked it up and held it pointed down in front of him, as if checking to make sure it had been properly assembled.

  “I don’t know how I feel about having a gun built into my apartment.”

  Garrett set the pistol back down.

  “I know it’s strange,” he said. “But if something were to happen, if I were to be caught off guard and not near my sidearm, then I’d need something to defend myself—to defend you.”

  “I mean, I get it,” I said. “But that doesn’t make it any less weird.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Garrett’s face.

  “Have you fired one of those before?” he asked.

  “A gun?” I asked. “You mean, actually pointed this thing at something and pulled the trigger?”

  He let out a dry chuckle. “I’m going to take that as a no,” he said.

  “It’s a definite no,” I told him. “I’m used to doing my fighting with words, not with little pieces of metal being shot out of tiny cannons.”

  “It’s a much more direct way to make a point,” he said.

  “No kidding.”

  I glanced down at the gun again. “I just don’t know if I could ever do it,” I said. “Walking through the process in my mind, actually pointing the end of that at a living person and pulling the trigger. One minute they’re standing there, the next they’re on the ground bleeding. It’s so bizarre to even to think about.”

  “Spoken like someone who’s never fired a gun before,” he said. “Listen. If I do my job the right way, you’ll never have to pull a trigger. But I’ve been in this business for long enough to know that the unexpected can happen at any time. And when it does, you’ll need to be prepared.”

  I said nothing, my eyes moving back and forth between Garrett and the gun.

  “And think about it this way,” he said, picking the gun back up. “Men are bigger than women—stronger. Ninety-nine percent of the time, if a woman has to go toe-to-toe with a man and her life’s on the line, he’s going to overpower her. A gun, however—” He raised the pistol and pointed it toward the far end of the apartment. “—it’s the great equalizer. With one of these, a five-foot-nothing woman is a match for a guy like the one who broke in here. You want to be safe, it’s the next best thing to having a full-time mercenary at your side.”

  “OK,” I said. “I like the sound of that.”

  He winked. “Thought you would. So, what do you say we take this thing for a spin?”

  “At a shooting range?”

  “At a shooting range,” he said. “I’ve got a buddy who owns one down in Greenpoint. I can take you there, show you the basics. Make sure that if it ever comes to it, you know what to do.”

  It still seemed so strange to me. But I knew that Garrett was right—if I wanted to take my safety into my own hands, a gun would be the way to do it.

  “OK,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  “Atta girl,” he said with a smile. He leaned in and kissed me, this time on the lips. Just like before, his touch and his warmth made my tension disappear.

  Garrett placed the gun into the solid lock-and-key box that was in the compartment, and we were off. One wonderful motorcycle ride later, we were in a nondescript warehouse in Greenpoint. Garrett took out his key ring and opened a second door, revealing a long shooting range.

  “Damn,” I said, stepping into the vast space. “Nice setup.”

  It really was. Despite the run-down exterior of the building, the inside was sleek, clean, and modern. The walls were a gunmetal gray, and all manner of tools and accessories were there for the using.

  “It’s where I like to go to blow off steam,” he said, stepping over to a display of various weapons hanging on the wall and looking them over. “Nothing works out the tension quite like firing off a few rounds into a paper target.”

&n
bsp; “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a small smirk. “You’ll know what I mean pretty soon.”

  I stepped up to one of the three ranges and looked down. I raised my hands up as if pointing a fake gun. I squinted one eye and pulled the pretend trigger, my hands flying back above my head.

  He shook his head in a good-natured way. “If I didn’t know you were an amateur before…” he said.

  “Well then, deadeye,” I said. “Why don’t you come over here and show me how it’s done.”

  “Gladly,” he said. He took two pairs of orange earmuffs from a nearby rack and handed me one. “First thing’s first,” he said. “Ear protection. You’re going to be learning a lot about how shooting a gun is different than it looks in the movies. First thing is how freaking loud it is. Not those little pops you hear.”

  He handed me the earmuffs, and I settled them on, brushing my hair back from my ears.

  “Had a buddy who got into a little scrape on a mission inside a car with the windows up. Gun went off a foot from his head, and he lost just about all his hearing. No good.”

  “You don’t need to talk me into it,” I said.

  He then took a paper target—the standard black shape of a man with a few different circles on it—and put it onto the hanger and pressed a nearby button. A motor started, and the paper traveled downrange about fifty feet.

  Garrett set the black gun container down, popped it open, and took out all the necessary parts.

  “Is that the clip?” I asked, pointing to the black rectangle that held the bullets.

  “Nope,” he said. “Common mistake. This is called a magazine. Clip is something that just has bullets. A magazine is something you use over and over.”

  He walked me through the process, showing me how to turn off the safety, letting me know how a bullet stays in the chamber after you take the magazine out—all the basics.

  “Now,” he said, “here’s the important part. Stand back.”

  He stepped up to the range, raised the gun, and fired off five shots in quick succession.

  The paper flicked as each round hit. When he was done, he pressed the button again and brought the target back. Five holes had been neatly placed into the target’s head.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Now let me show you how to do that,” he said.

  He held out the gun in front of me.

  “Now,” he said, “I don’t want to sound condescending, but this isn’t a toy. You need to have respect for this thing, and the first part of that is making sure you don’t point the end at anything you don’t want to kill.”

  I nodded, my eyes fixed on the gun.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  He handed me the gun, and I took a moment to get used to how it felt in my hands. It was solid, cool, and heavier than I was expecting.

  “Now,” he said, “go ahead and point it at the target. Keep your feet a few feet apart, and hold the gun out directly in front of you, right at the middle point of your body.”

  I did as he said, my hands shaking slightly from the nerves.

  “Now shoot.”

  I took in a deep breath and pulled the trigger. The gun let out a sharp bang and kicked back. A “pang” sounded out as the shot went wide.

  “Wow,” I said. “I was worse at that than I was expecting.”

  “No worries,” he said. “That’s what I was hoping for. I wanted to see how you took a shot on your own.”

  “And it was bad.”

  He smiled. “It was bad. But nothing we can’t fix. Hold the gun out again, but don’t shoot.”

  I did as he asked, my eyes fixed on the target. And as I did, I felt a presence behind me. Garrett pressed against my body from behind, his arms extending to enfold mine.

  As always, I loved the feeling of his body pressed against me, solid and warm. He wrapped his hands around mine, holding my grip steady. His touch alone was enough to calm my nerves.

  A tingle of pleasure ran through my body from down below, and for a moment I wanted to put training on hold and do a little something else to help clear my mind.

  “Key is to relax,” he said. “If you tense up, you’re going to shake, and the shots are going to go wide. So, I want you to take three full deep breaths. Ready?”

  I nodded, my arousal growing by the second.

  “One,” he said.

  I took in a breath and released it as he did the same.

  “Two. Three.”

  By the time I let out the last breath, I felt much calmer. But I was still majorly turned on.

  “Now,” he said, “you’re going to squeeze the trigger very gently. The harder you pull it, the more you’ll end up giving it a pull and making the shot go up. Last thing is when you pull the trigger, do it with your lungs empty. Taking in a breath, or holding one in, will mess with the shot. Got it?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and nodded.

  I did as he asked. I relaxed my hands, tensing them just enough to hold onto the gun. Then I let all the air out of my lungs. Finally, I squeezed the trigger gently.

  Bang.

  The paper flicked as the bullet hit home. I couldn’t help but let out a little squeal of happiness. “Got it!” I said.

  I flicked the safety back into the “on” position and hit the button to bring the target back in. I watched it with eager eyes, excited to see where I’d hit it.

  Sure enough, it was a shot right in the middle of the chest. I yanked the paper off the rack and held it up with pride.

  “Look at that!” I said, pointing to the hole I’d made.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”

  My competitive drive began to kick in. I was ready for more.

  “Put this thing back on,” I said with a smile. “Time to make you look bad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  GARRETT

  After an hour of shooting, the two of us decided to call it quits and grab something to eat at a nearby coffee shop. We sat down with our sparkling sodas and sandwiches, our seats near the window and looking out over the busy Brooklyn day.

  “So,” she said, her eyes lighting up, “what did you think?”

  “I’m thinking about how surprising it is to see you go from being afraid of a gun to wanting to be the best shot in the city.”

  “That’s just how I am,” she said with a winsome smile. “If I’m going to do something, I want to be the best. You should know this about me by now.”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that,” I said. Then I thought about her question. “You were pretty damn good,” I said. “Not bad at all for an amateur. Not sure if I’d consider you Annie Oakley just yet, but give it some time and you’ll get there.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “Give me some time, and I’ll be making you look like an amateur.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said.

  She flashed me one more smirk before taking her sandwich into her hands and sinking her teeth into it, her eyes fixed on me.

  Made me think of something else she could fit into her mouth.

  I took a bite of my own, and as I did, I felt something brush against my feet under the table. A glance down revealed that it was Natalie’s foot, the tip slowly dragging against the side of my shoes.

  “Playing footsie, huh?”

  She set down her sandwich. “You know,” she said, “part of the fun of playing footsie is not drawing attention to it.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s been a while since the eighth grade.”

  She grinned and whipped a potato chip at me. “This sort of stuff is still kind of new to me.”

  “What sort of stuff?” I asked.

  She glanced down, as if she’d said something that she hadn’t fully thought out.

  “That’s a good question, actually,” she said. “I was going to say ‘dating a normal guy,’ but we’re not really dating, are we? And you’re not exactly
normal. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said. “Normal’s boring.”

  “You’re right about that,” she said. “But…”

  “Well, let’s see,” I said. “You and I are spending a lot of time together.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “And we’re having a lot of sex.”

  She gave me a sensual smile. “That we are,” she said.

  “But…” I said.

  “But…” she echoed.

  “There’s the whole matter of why you and I are in each other’s lives to begin with,” I said.

  “There’s that minor detail.”

  “Things have been looking good so far,” I said. “Joey’s been giving us space, and it sounds like the NYPD is slowly but surely getting their case together. If things keep going like this, then they’ll be able to make an arrest, and that’ll be that.” I knew there was much more to it than that. But I also knew that if I played my cards right behind the scenes, I could make sure Joey ended up behind bars and Natalie was safe.

  “That’d be nice,” she said. “This has been going on for so long that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to not live in fear.”

  “Hopefully, you’ll know again soon,” I said.

  “OK,” she said. “Let’s say that everything goes according to plan—the NYPD comes through, they take him off the streets, and I—we—don’t have to worry about him any longer. Then what?”

  “As in, what happens between you and me?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I know this is all so strange, but dammit Garrett, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like having you around.”

  “You want to keep me around, you know my rates,” I said.

  Another potato chip came soaring in my direction.

  “Seriously, smartass,” she said. “What do you want to do about all this?”

  She swirled her hand in the air between us.

  “Because once I’m safe, officially the work between us is done. We can go our separate ways, write off whatever we had as what naturally happens when you put two people, who are very attracted to each other, in close proximity for an extended period of time.”