Page 112 of Rugger: The Huntress

I ended the call with Psalms without another word. The doors ofOpéparted as I approached them. Staff waited inside to keep warm.

“Good evening, Mrs. Pickman.”

I was greeted upon entry. The tallest of the hosting trio stood behind me, preparing to remove my coat.

“Good evening.”

He slid the cashmere from my shoulders. With a loud thud, it hit the ground.

“Oh shi– shoot. Uh. I apologize, ma’am.”

With eyebrows that attempted meeting at the center of my face, I observed as he attempted to rectify his mistake. I was both unimpressed and unconcerned with his efforts. In my opinion, no mistake had been made.

No, I didn’t want my coat on the floor of a restaurant that had heavy foot traffic throughout the day, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Besides, we weren’t near the main entrance. We were at the private wing of their establishment.

“I– uh–”

The weight of the coat had his tongue tied and his thoughts jumbled.

“Hmph,” I murmured.

“I– sorry–”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve never had the pleasure of feeling the steel of an automatic weapon in your measly palms. I’m sorry you’ve never felt that kind of power. I’m sorry you’ve never experienced that rush. And, I’m sorry it’ll be at least another day until you do.”

His shift would end and he’d be home in bed before the clock struck twelve. The next day, he’d get up and do it all again. It was the cycle of life and it would stop him from living out my greatest fantasies as a kid his age.

Nevertheless, I allowed him to regain control of the fabric and hang it in the closet where they stored their guests’ coats. I’d vomited at the mouth to a total stranger and needed to escape the repulsed feeling I’d been plagued with.

Food. I concluded.And, Sonnie.

“Don’t get curious, George,” I warned, certain the name I’d given him wasn’t on his identification. His name was Kaden. I’d studied his tag and those the others wore as well.Shana, Quinton, and Kaden.

“Right this way, Mrs. Pickman,” Quinton greeted me as he waved a hand in the direction we were headed.

I placed one foot in front of the other, managing a very straight, very fine line. The beige aesthetics of the restaurant was soothing. Six-foot tall lamps with warm white bulbs inside lit the pathways.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

My center ached with anticipation. Sonnie had been missing for far too many days and I had been far too busy to realize how much I missed the sound of his voice and the feeling of his skin against mine.

His presence brought me relief. When he was near, naturally, my head and heart could relax. I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to speak. I didn’t have to engage my senses at any point. He managed my existence and his simultaneously and with so much grace it left no room to wonder.

His ability to lead wasn’t questionable. He handled things well. He handled me well. His patience was no playground, but he exercised it freely. Because of it, we’d survived the hurdles we faced with our occupation, personal rules, and standard regulations. Now that we were on the other side of things, I could see the vision. I could seehisvision. And, it was slowly becoming mine.

I entered the private sector dedicated to us. My heart ached as I got closer to the table in the middle of the floor. I waited for the overwhelming feeling of comfort and contentment. There was nothing.

There was nothing but a long man with a meaty frame standing mere feet away from me. I shoved my hand in my purse and gripped the Beretta inside. Either I’d been escorted to the wrong room or something incredibly sinister was going on. I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

“Gazelle?”

I halted. The voice felt oddly familiar. I've heard it almost every day over the last two months. But, this one was older, seemingly wiser, and much more gentle than I’d recalled.

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