Page 67 of Taking What's Ours

I stand as well. “Let me help you.”

She freezes and stares toward the window. “Do you hear that?”

I strain to listen and hear distant humming. It gets closer, and I realize it’s the sound of rumbling motorcycles.

“The boys,” Isabella shouts, her eyes widening. She drops the glasses to the table with a clunk. “They’re back. Come on.”

We all follow her onto the porch in time to see them pull in the gravel drive, kicking up quite a cloud of dust.

“Did you catch them?” Isabella asks.

Trez trudges up the steps, shaking his head. “Couldn’t find them.”

Baja in right behind him and takes me in his arms. I hug him tight.

“I was so worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about, honey. Back in one piece, as you can see.”

“They had guns. Of course, I was worried.”

“We have guns, too,” he replies.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Memphis approaches Lola and smells the alcohol on her breath, then studies her glassy eyes. “How many have you had?”

She grins. “A few.”

“You gonna be able to hold on for the ride home?” he asks.

“Haven’t fallen off yet, have I?” She slaps his chest, and he chuckles.

Everyone heads out until it’s just Baja and me on the porch with Trez and Isabella.

“Hey, brother. You mind if I take Elaina out back for a little target practice? You’ve got the land for it I don’t have at my place.” Baja throws an arm around my shoulders.

“Sure, man. No problem. You need to borrow a gun for her?”

“Nope. She can use mine.” Baja leads me onto the deck and down the set of stairs into the grassy area that backs up to a field and forest. He points. “See those bottles?”

I follow where he indicates and see a couple of posts and a board across them with old beer and wine bottles lined up. “Yeah.”

“That’s the target, but first I’m gonna show you how to load the gun.” He ejects his clip and shows it to me, then demonstrates how to load the weapon, where the safety is, and how to hold it properly.

I’m surprised at the weight of the gun when he puts it in my hands.

He adjusts my grip and stands behind me, positioning my arms. “Now look down the site and gently squeeze the trigger.”

I do as he says.

Bang.

The sound is deafening to my ears, and I miss my shot.

“Try again,” Baja says, lifting his chin to the bottles.

I aim at a tall, fat wine bottle.Bang.

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