Page 124 of Vengeful Secret

“I bet she will. Go down and ask her,” Gray says, smiling and ushering her out into the hallway.

She hums as she skips down the stairs.

I look up at Gray with worried eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out today.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“I mean, they may be watching.”

Gray sighs, taking my hand in his. “We can’t live our lives in this house, Sutton. Ciara deserves to get out on the weekends, not just for school.”

“I know, but right now may be a bad idea.”

“Take your gun. You know I stay strapped.”

He puts his hand at the small of his back, turning to show me the black gun.

“I’ll take it. I wish I had a holster.”

“I’ll have you one made,” he promises. “In the meantime, I have a leg strap that I think will work.”

He goes into the closet and pulls down a holster, leaning down and strapping it to my thigh.

I gasp at the feel of his fingers on my skin, and he smiles, kissing the top of my thigh after he straps on the holster.

“See how it feels.”

I go into the gun safe and put my gun in the holster, turning around to see how it feels. It’s heavy and a bit scratchy, but not bad.

“Okay,” I breathe, feeling a bit better now that we’re both armed.

I put on a flowy maxi-dress to hide the holster and gun, putting on a bit of light makeup and putting my hair in a braid across one shoulder.

“Cute,” Gray mumbles, kissing me softly before we head downstairs.

Ciara’s already sitting at the table in her booster seat, mouth full of pancakes.

“I guess Marisol said yes.” I chuckle.

Ciara grins, her mouth full.

Marisol comes from the kitchen. “There’s plenty of pancakes,” she says. “You two hungry?”

I shake my head. “We’re having a picnic later.”

“Luckily, Ciara is a bottomless pit, so she’ll eat twice,” Gray says with a chuckle.

Marisol frowns at him. “Don’t call her such things. She’s a healthy, growing girl.”

Gray holds up his hands in defense. “Of course, of course.”

“Lara was a little chubby when she was a girl, too,” Marisol points out. “And now she’s willow-thin. She’ll grow out of it.”

“I'm never going to grow out of pancakes,” Ciara pipes up, and we all laugh.

Ciara finishes her pancakes, and I take her to the downstairs bathroom to wash the syrup off her face and hands. She’s still in her pajamas, so I carry her upstairs.

“Dots,” she says firmly, taking the leggings out of the drawer, and I’m not fighting this fight, so I just nod, helping her pull them up.

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