Page 75 of Heal Me

“Hey,” she nods, clearly unimpressed with us, and keeps walking.

“Allie, wait up!” William calls. “Catch you later,” he says to us, chasing after her.

We make the short drive to Butter, and are escorted to our private dining room.

“There’s the graduate. Speaking of graduates, you should watch The Graduate for your movie night,” Vivian suggests.

“Never seen it,” Aubry says, straightening out some twisted balloons.

“I won’t give too much of the plot away, other than it’s an excellent movie involving a MILF,” Vivian explains.

“Please don’t ever say MILF again,” Aubry groans.

After a delicious dinner where Vivian keeps everyone except Aubry entertained, Debbie cuts the cake.

“Debbie, you’ve outdone yourself on this cake,” I say.

“Mom, you absolutely did,” Charlotte agrees. “I’ll take another piece, even though I shouldn’t.” I don’t know why she shouldn’t. She looks unbelievably sexy in a new black wrap dress that hugs her curves so nicely. “My mom’s lemon raspberry cake is my vice.”

“Every woman needs at least one vice,” Vivian says. Aubry clears her throat and gives her grandma a look.

“I’m about to start a three-day juice cleanse. Does wonders for sugar cravings if you’re interested in joining me,” Callie says. Aubry clears her throat again and gives her aunt a look.

“You know I offered to bake my famous southern caramel cake,” Amelia jumps in.

“We don’t want to kill the graduate off by choking on that sawdust excuse for a cake.” Florence scoffs.

“And here we go,” Aubry says quietly.

And so it goes.

Chapter 31

Charlotte

“Eyes, nose, mouth, throat, groin,” Sam barks as he lunges at me, and I try to hit him in one of those areas. Word of my training has gotten out—the balcony is full of Watchers…well, watching us. No pressure, right?

Sam lunges at me again, and I stumble. Showing no mercy, he pounces, and now I’m in his vise grip. Even though I know Sam’s not going to kill me, I can’t get my body to cooperate. I freeze up, which only pisses him off more. “Fight or flight, but don’t fucking freeze!” He squeezes my neck tighter to emphasize his point.

“Don’t squeeze Cupid’s girl to death, at least until I can see how she handles a gun,” someone calls from across the gym. Sam releases me and I take several steps back, arms up in defensive stance, because I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. Multiple times. “Mind if I cut in?” Amer says.

“Please,” I beg, taking in a jagged breath. I don’t know Amer very well, but I assume things can’t be worse with him. And then I remembered what Sam told me about assuming. I’ll still take my chances.

“When you’re finished with her, I want her back for conditioning,” Sam orders.

“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.

“Heard that.” Amer smiles. “Follow me,”

“Why is there an audience today?”

“We’re Watchers.” He shrugs, as if that explains everything.

Doing as instructed, we exit the gym and walk down a long hallway. Opening the first door on the left, I follow Amer inside a state-of-the-art shooting range. “Six lanes, all ten-meter Olympic distance with four marked range distances,” he explains as if that should mean something to me. We stop at the first lane, with a variety of guns laid out on a rolling cart. “You ever shot a gun before?”

“A few times. My grandpa owned several. He’d let me shoot at cans, first with a BB gun, and then when I got older, with his 22 or a pistol.”

“Good. We’re going to start with smaller handguns, and work our way up to larger pieces. You want a gun with enough firepower to kill, not just piss off your target.” He motions to the headphones and protective glasses, and I slip those on. “Let’s start with a 9mm pistol,” he says, handing me the gun.

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