Page 51 of Reclaimed

I grimace. “It’s a little gross, but it doesn’t makeyougross.”

“Please try it.”

She actually looks like she might cry. Oh, what the hell. It’s not going to kill me. I move cautiously closer.

“One bite. That’s all.”

She nods.

With one hand on the back of her chair and the other braced on the table, I lean in and bite her weird ass ice cream cone.

“Ugh. What the fuck, Isla.” My mouth twists as the sweetness and vinegar taste coats every inch of my mouth. I seize a napkin left over from the party and wipe my tongue. “How can you eat that?”

Gone is the sad face. She outright cackles. “I can’t believe you actually tried it. Is it that bad?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” I yank open the fridge and find a can of Diet Coke. The lid cracks loudly and I dump in a hasty swallow. My mouth tastes marginally better.

She shrugs. “It tastes good to me.”

“Any other weird cravings I should know about?” I ditch my soiled napkin in the trash and put away the groceries.

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when the next one strikes. Who knows, I could be onto something.”

“I think you can safely keep pickle ice cream to yourself.”

“We’ll see.” She pops the last bite into her mouth and stands. “Don’t forget, pancakes on me in the morning.”

“After that little episode, I’m not sure if I want to trust your cooking anymore.”

“I promise if I create any inspired concoctions, yours will still be normal.”

I hold out my pinky. “Promise?”

She wraps her finger around mine. “I promise.”

The warmth of her finger wrapped around mine settles my mood some.

“I’m off to bed.” She yawns and scratches Chevy on his head. “Goodnight, Powell. Thanks for letting me have the house tonight.”

“Anytime. Goodnight, starshine.”

Her soft footfalls disappear down the hall. Once her door clicks shut, I let my shoulders sag with a sigh.

I brush my teeth and strip off my shirt, tucking the cotton into my bag. I swap out my jeans for a pair of soft flannel sleep pants and plug my phone on the charger. I keep it on the end table near my head, just in case I need to call someone at a moment’s notice. As I click off the lamp and lay down on the couch, I slip my hand into my bag on the floor and wrap my fingers around the grip of my gun, feeling the weight of the cool metal beneath my palm.

Only then do I let my eyes slip closed.

The sound of a gunshot startles my eyes open. Sweat gathers in my palms, and my fingers curl back around the grip still touching my hand. My pulse thunders hard against my ribs.

What the—

I listen. The house is quiet and calm. Chevy purrs against my side, kneading his paws into my abdomen.

I blow out a harsh breath. The sound was entirely in my mind.

Leaning up, I punch the pillow beneath my head and fall back down on my side. My shoulder screams beneath my weight, butI ignore it. Instead, I let the ache spread. The couch creaks under my movements, the only sound in the room besides my heavy breaths.

I lie there. And wait.

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