I pulled the door open and gestured at him to step inside, and he didn’t hesitate, his eyes widening at the large room, the walls of guns, and the large setup in the centre of the room for crafting ammunition, and maintaining and repairing the firearms.
“You don’t fuck about… you could literally hold off a zombie apocalypse with this place.”
I moved to the centre of the room, to lean on the table as he walked the perimeter, scrutinising my rifles, the sniper sights on some, the historical weapons, and even though he touched now and then, I could see the respect in his behaviour. He never touched the metal, only ever the smooth wood of the guns. He wasn’t leaving fingerprints or grease, just wide-eyed curiosity.
“How the fuck do you have all these?”
I fiddled with the tools I’d left out, tucking them into their slots. I was usually tidier than this, but Gloria’s return had fucked my head up so much.
“I’m a very careful, law-abiding person, I have memberships with several clubs, and go rifle shooting regularly. It’s a perfectly acceptable interest, and as you see, no fucker is getting in here without my express permission, which I’ll never give.”
He glanced up at the ceiling.
“Not even to her?”
I shook my head. “Not unless she got her own licence first. I’m not breaking the law and losing these. They’ve taken me over a decade to amass. Those ones there are non-firing antiques, so I don’t need to save space for them on my licence.”
Ice whistled again, starting to fiddle with my tools next, lifting up the very pieces I’d just put away, while I twitched beside him.
“Uh… can you not?”
His eyes lifted and he placed them back. “You got some kind of issue with people touching your shit? I see this place is immaculate, upstairs and here. I can look with just my eyes.”
“I just like things in their place, and especially in here, because it’s all so expensive and some of these tools are irreplaceable.”
He nodded. “Very cool setup, man. Let’s go back out there so you can breathe again.”
Yeah, his eyes definitely saw way too much.
“I’m not using these guns for crime for the club,” I said firmly, and he laughed as we stepped outside, and I gratefully sealed the room again.
“Wasn’t asking. The mercs have stuff we can use for emergency situations, but most of our business is relatively trouble free. We’re not the bad guys, remember?”
Yeah. I was on board for believing that, but I was still waiting for the hammer to fall. For me to realise they weren’t as good as they seemed. So far I’d seen best behaviour from them, even thatlittle planned scrap between Grease and Rocket, so I was waiting for a rude awakening, and dreading it all the same.
“And of course, Grease has got his fucking golden penis he likes stroking.”
I blinked at him warily, because what the fuck did that mean?
“The fuck?”
“His favourite fucking gun. I swear it’s like porn when he gets that thing in his hand.”
I had no idea what to do with that statement, so I chose to ignore it, instead casting my eyes around the barely used space I’d thought would be my haven.
“She might feel safer down here, you know.”
I blinked, turning to watch Ice as he leaned his ass against my pool table. What was it with this guy and leaving his ass on things?
“Fair point. I uh… I have chairs, you know.”
Ice chuckled, wiggling his ass against the pool table edge.
“Oh you’re gonna be fun, brother. Don’t worry, I’m not doing it any harm, but we can go back up there if you’re worried about skidmarks or something.”
“I just don’t get why you have to keep leaning against my tables, man. It’s unsanitary.”
“My ass is clean, bro.”
