Page 36 of Price of Angels

“What do you call asking someone to commit murder for you?”

She blushed and looked away, shame and guilt warring for supremacy across her face. “Well…”

“It’s a good thing, being brave,” he said, taking a step in closer, not sure why. “It’s a good thing the gun makes you feel that way.”

She glanced back up at him, uncertain now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

But her good mood had fractured; he could see that in the shadowing of her face. “Gun or no gun, I’m still only me, and that’s not much to be brave about.”

“Holly…” he started, not sure where he was going. He didn’t understand why, but he felt like a shithead, suddenly. Like he’d come across a woman on the side of the road with a flat tire, and rather than fix it for her, he’d offered her a jack and a wrench and wished her luck.

She stared at him, her gaze a blend of contradictions: trusting, yet wary; hopeful, yet despairing. Life had been one long disappointment for this girl. He didn’t know how, but he knew that it had, and he wanted, standing in front of her, to do something about that.

But before he could continue, she was staring at the .45 in her hands, passing a hand along its matte black finish. “So where do I go to get one of these for myself?”

“Nowhere,” Michael said, and his voice was rougher than he wanted it to be.

Her head snatched up, confusion sparking.

“I mean,” he said, “you can just keep that one. You don’t have to go to all the trouble of buying one that way.”

Her pretty brows drew together, marking her smooth pale forehead with a single crease. “But it’s yours.”

“I’ve got plenty. Take it.” He reached into the bag, drew out two spare clips. “Here. Ammo.”

She stared at him a long moment before she accepted the magazines. Her fingers were cool and smooth against his. “Are you sure?” She was already bundling the clips against her middle, nestled beneath her breasts like a mother clutching a child.

“I’m sure.” He almost reached toward her, but had nothing else to offer. Nothing physical, anyway. “You’ll have to practice. You can’t let yourself get rusty; don’t wanna shoot holes in walls and cars and shit.”

Her smile was fleeting. “Right.” Another look his way, questioning this time. “But where would I practice?”

She couldn’t come up here alone, not when it was locked. And not when the Lean Dogs used this property for such dark-of-night activities.

“I can take you to practice.”

“You can? I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore after this.”

He felt a twinge of regret. He wasn’t a kind man; didn’t know how to be. And he’d been cold to her, maybe even cruel, and she thought he hated her. If only she understood that it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with his place in the club, his inability to put the Dogs at risk because of anything personal.

“Well, we haven’t worked on knives yet,” he said, lamely. “We can do that another afternoon. Get some more target practice in, too.”

She nodded, but she was feeling last night’s hurt, the bruise of his refusal, and the desperation of being alone.

It killed him, just a little. She was small and brunette and helpless…like his mother had been, all those years ago. It was stirring up long-buried emotions in him.

“Holly, you’ll be alright,” he told her.

The look she gave him was faraway, and impossibly sad. “No I won’t,” she said, softly. “But I never expected to be. Thank you for the lesson, and the gun.” She took a step back. “I…I won’t bother you again.” And before he could come up with something else stupid to say, she was striding back toward the car, the winter wind plastering her sweater to the curves of her body, hair snatching over her shoulder, a mahogany banner.

Michael exhaled, realizing that he was tired, sore and restless thanks to the underlying frustration she inspired in him. Telling himself he was making the right call, he packed away the rest of the guns.

With this confidence boost, Holly would stop being so frightened, and she’d get over her infatuation, her crush, whatever it was, and she wouldn’t make any more requests that he kill anyone for her.

That was his hope. Otherwise, he was in danger of doing something regrettable.

Seven

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