“Oh God. Is that it? Your gun?”
He smiles like I’m funny. “Yes. These are my guns.”
“Guns?As in plural? More than one?”
“Yes, I own more than one gun.” He slams the lift gate closed, locking the car with abeep. “Three, to be exact.”
“Three?Why do you need three guns?”
“I don’tneedthree guns. I wanted three guns, so now I own three guns.” He prods me toward the door.
“You’ve had them in your car this whole time?”
I’m panicking. I take in my surroundings, belatedly realizing the dangerous situation I’ve placed myself in. I’ve traveled off the grid to an unknown location with my sworn enemy and histhreeguns. What if I’ve been a long con, and Ben’s taken me to a secluded field in Maryland to finally off me? I should text Stephen my coordinates.
I’ve probably been watching too muchHouse of Cards.
Ben’s talking, blissfully unaware that I’m picturing him in a perp lineup. “I normally keep them in my apartment, but I put them in the car earlier. I had a feeling if you saw me carrying them, you’d run screaming.”
It’s disturbing how well he knows me. “You feel correct.”
He smirks and raises an eyebrow as if to say,See?
I let him guide me through the door, then take a guarded look around my prison for the next hour. At first glance, the room looks like a typical retail store—albeit for the firearm obsessed. Shirts with gun graphics and slogans likeSUNDAY GUN DAYandKEEP CALM AND PACK HEATare hanging on clustered clothing racks. Displays of trucker hats and aviator sunglasses flank a long, wide countertop.
What isnottypical are the rows upon rows of menacing-looking assault rifles, shotguns, and handguns crisscrossing the walls.
I stop dead in my tracks.Nope.I can’t do this. I shuffle backward, inching toward the door.
When he glances over his shoulder and sees I’m moving in the wrong direction, he pivots, walks back, and stops in front of me. “Kate.”
“So, here’s the thing. I thought I could do this, but it looks like I can’t. You can go in there and shoot it up, that’s cool. I’ll just wait for you in the car. I’ll have Tim to keep me company, so we’re good. Seriously, I think I’m going to be sick if I stand here a minute longer. And that’s no big deal, I guess, since you’ve already seen me do that, but it’s actually pretty embarrassing for me and I don’t—”
He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me a little, crowding my field of vision. “Kate, look at me.”
I drag my eyes from the wall of weaponry to his face. My feet itch to run out to the car. Or maybe all the way home.
“You are not going to be shooting those guns. Don’t even look at them.”
I plead silently with my eyes:Please don’t make me do this.
“You’re only going to shoot my guns. They’re much smaller and totally manageable for you. I know how to use them, and I’m going to teach you.” His voice is calm and steady. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”
I let out a brittle laugh. “Nervous doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling. Terrified, maybe. Disturbed. Sickened.”
“You’ll be fine. I promise.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. Then another. He waits patiently, and when I open my eyes he raises his eyebrows in question. When I give him a small nod, he takes my hand firmly in his and leads me up to the counter.
“Ben, how you doing, man?” A tall guy in a baseball cap leans over the counter, doing that shaking-hands, slap-on-the-back routine guys do. Of course they’re on a first-name basis. How often does Ben come here? He probably has a frequent shooter card.
“Hey, Rick, I’m great. How are you?”
“Good, man, I’m good.” His eyes flick to me. “And who’s this?”
“I’ve got a newbie here. She needs some eyes and ears.” Ben glances at me and squeezes my hand. “And could you give us a lane that’s away from other people? If you can.”
“Sure, I’ll put you at the end.” He nods at me. “She gonna be all right? She doesn’t look so good.” Gun Range Rick is very astute.
