She was afraid. Of me.
Careful to keep my hands visible, I collected the basics. Into the bucket of my tractor, I loaded a couple tarps, a few bundles of firewood, a handful of flashlights, and a shovel.
I gestured to the seat of the tractor. “Do you want to drive? Or?—”
“Can’t keep the gun on you if I do.” She nodded up to it. “Go on. Me and Honey will walk.”
“We’re going a solid five miles up and down the mountain.” Clicking my tongue, I shook my head. “You can’t walk that far in the middle of the night in ten-degree weather, Gwen.”
“Well, I don’t know how to drive one anyway,” she snapped. “So any other suggestions?”
“You can sit up here.” I patted the metal box behind the driver’s seat. “Not as comfy, but better than walking.”
Glaring, she gestured to the open walkway on my right. “Move.”
Like a blade through my chest.
She wouldn’t even walk past me? Why? Because I could reach her? I could grab her? I could… what?
Kill her?
She thought I would do that?
I blinked at the sting across my eyes. I moved.
With at least a five-foot berth—one my arms couldn’t reach through—she walked with her back to the tractor and her eyes on mine. That blue gaze was cold, lethal, but her fingers still quivered.
Gun still aimed at me, she lifted one foot onto the tractor. She gripped the rollbar for stability and climbed onto the tackle box.Once she was up there, she held a hand out for Honey. “Come here, baby.”
Honey did as she was told, but even on her hind legs, she could barely reach the first step. I stepped forward to help her, to give her a boost.
Gwen said, “Don’t touch her.”
I frowned up at her, only to find the gun inches from my face. “You really think that I would hurt her?”
“I think I have no idea who you are, Sebastian.” She spoke between gritted teeth. “Get back.”
The knife in my chest twisted.
I stepped back.
Gwen laid the gun on the floor beneath her feet. She kept her eyes on me, as if to remind me she could reach it before I could. Because truly, from the bottom of her heart, she believed I could do it. She believed I could point that gun and pull the trigger.
She was right.
I could use that on a thousand people. I could mercilessly fire that weapon. I was physically and psychologically able to point it at someone’s head, someone’s heart, and pull the trigger. I could paint my garage in someone’s blood, mop the white matter off the ground, neatly pack the skull fragments and tissue into black bags, without so much as a tear escaping.
But not her.
I couldn’t even raise my voice at Gwen.
With Honey in her lap, she grabbed the gun and aimed it at me. “Let’s go.”
Shoulders curling, I grabbed one of the flashlights from the bucket of the tractor and passed it to her.
She took it but said nothing.
I loaded into the seat, turned the engine over, and our trek through the woods began.
