71

F lorence looked back at him like she wanted to hide in his confidence, but her hand shook in his grip and the stench of overwhelming fear dripped from her. It hit me what she needed, what I needed at that moment. She didn’t need to be told she would be protected. She needed to feel that she could do it herself.

“Come with me,” I said loudly, Clay’s hand tightening around hers. “I’m not going to hurt her. I think I proved that.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” His eyes skipped over mine to the tiny piece of exposed and red skin where my teeth still marked her shoulder. Florence quickly fixed her sleeve.

“Drop the fucking macho act,” I added. “This isn’t just about you, Clayton.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clay rolled his eyes. “If that was meant to be an apology for being an absolutely insufferable twat, try again.”

“I’m not apologizing,” I clipped, unable to even come up with one. “I’m moving on because we have bigger issues to deal with than your hurt feelings.”

“Wesley,” Florence spoke softly, urging me to fix it.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, everything got away from me and in the momentary lack of control I acted like an arse. ”

Clay looked like he wanted to say something but, whatever it was, he kept it to himself and let go of her. She looked at them momentarily and nodded quietly, a small chunk of her hair falling against her face.

“Where are we going?” She asked me.

“I’m going to teach you how to use a gun,” I said tightly, avoiding looking at her for too long.

Koen snorted.

“We have no idea what we’re dealing with. Do you think the best way to help is to teach her firearm safety?” Koen questioned.

“Exactly. It could be anything in the walls of this house. At least if she knows she can defend herself, she might feel more secure. Stay here with Clay and keep reading. There must be something in this fucking dust pit that can help us.” I waited for him to argue but he didn’t. He just slumped back down into his rickety chair.

“I’ll bring her back in one piece.” I looked at Clay, a silent promise that I was trying to cooperate despite every muscle screaming at me to move cautiously. “Change your clothes and meet me out back,” I told her, before exiting the library and wandering to the truck to grab a case of bullets.

The front door of the Manor slammed behind me as I exited. “Yeah, fuck you, too.” I turned to stare at the brick monstrosity and scowled. “I’m going to burn you to the ground.”

A gust of wind kicked under my feet and sprayed gravel on my face roughly, the sharp pebbles nipping at my skin. It was like Orchid Manor was mocking me. I stretched out my arm, sore from lifting Florence. The wound there had tugged under the stress and was bleeding through my shirt. I grabbed a dirty rag from the cab and tore off a piece. Stripping from my sweater, I inspected it before covering it tightly with the scrap, then tugged on a new shirt.

I scoffed as I found myself hesitating on what shirt to wear, pissed off that my brain was already starting to give in to the easy groove of needing her validation. I told myself I didn’t care if I made her smile or laugh…

Collecting everything I needed, I brought it to the backyard to find her in a pair of black overalls and a t-shirt that stuck tightly to her chest and shoulders. I shifted in the gravel and pinned my shoulders together as I fought the urge to tell her she looked pretty.

She plaited her hair back off her face, leaving a few loose strands that gently curled around her round face. “What took you so long?” Florence grumbled.

“I'm sorry, Princess . I was grabbing a few things,” I said condescendingly, setting the box on the table.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she sighed and reached out for the gun.

I hesitated to give it to her, but she noticed.

“Oh, I forgot, you can make love to me on the kitchen counter, but you can’t look me in the eye.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Romance is dead.”

“Who the hell taught you that phrase?” I nearly choked on my spit. “Don’t be so dramatic. What we did was hardly love-making. It was a sloppy hate-fuck at best.”

“Who’s being dramatic now?” She hummed.

“It was an outlet, Florence,” I said, her brows scrunched together at my use of her name. “Nothing more, nothing less. We’ve all been pent up in this house for too long.”

“Just give me the gun, Wesley,” she snapped and held out her hand .

I loaded the chamber, turned the safety off, and handed it to her. Our fingers brushed together and caused tiny sparks to explode on my skin and I know she felt it too because she rubbed them together as she adjusted the gun in her dominant hand.

“You’re left-handed?” I asked her.

“Does that make me less of a monster?” She mumbled.

“No,” I didn’t hesitate, but the thought of something as simple as being left handed tugged at the walls of my heart. Yes. I wanted to correct myself but stopped when I noticed she was glaring at me. “Point that somewhere else.” I looked down at the gun between us.

“Don’t tempt me.” She didn’t laugh but the corner of her mouth curled up when she said it and raised the gun. “What do you want me to hit?”

“Hit?” I chuckled. “I’ll be impressed if that gun doesn’t knock you on your ass.”

She scoffed under her breath and waited.

“Alright, tough guy, that statue is ten yards out.”

Florence looked where I was pointing and inhaled slowly, steadying her grip on the weapon before gently pulling the trigger and firing one perfectly straight and clean shot.

A hunk of stone flew from the statue and Florence turned to me.

“Anything else you want to teach me, Wesley?”

No, but I wanted her to keep saying my name like that.

“Why didn’t you say you could shoot?” I asked her.

“Because you didn’t ask.” Her head leaned to the side when she answered. “You made the mistake you always make. You assumed.”

God, I hated how well she’d caught on to me .

She read me like a book and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face.

“Do it again,” I nodded, not bothering to conceal the swell of pride that rose inside me and she turned back to her target.

And so she did.

Each target set up was knocked down and the longer we stood outside at target practice the better she got. It was weird to–spend time with her that wasn’t oozing with hatred.

“Where did you learn to handle a gun?” I asked her, reloading the chamber.

“My Father, God rest his soul,” she said, rubbing her hands on her pants and inhaling slowly. “Despite my husband's efforts, before marriage I was quite the–” she scrunched up her nose looking for the word. Fuck it was cute and it made my chest warm in the worst kind of way.

“A tomboy?” I offered and she furrowed her brows. I tried again, “The opposite of a proper Lady?”

“Yes. I often spent most of my days in the fields with the animals and in nature. I liked to have dirty hands and sun kissed cheeks.” Florence pointed to the soft speckle of freckles across her nose.

“I never would have guessed that about you,” I said, clenching my jaw to keep from giving her too much emotion.

“Well, Wesley, perhaps a little more time spent in conversation and a little less time spent dreaming up ways to do away with me would be helpful,” Florence hummed in a tone sweet as honey. “Sadly I don’t think a gun will help our issue in the long run.” She stepped toward me and looked down at the weapon in my hands.

“Unfortunately we’re on the same page for once.” I nodded.

Her green eyes were so vibrant under the sun and from this angle I could see all the flecks of color that hid in her irises. It caught me off guard how human she was in these moments. I cleared my throat when the urge to kiss her arose and shoved away the impulse.

“But it never hurts to be prepared.”

Florence smiled up at me, a tight smile, full of nerves. “Thank you for trying to make me feel more safe, Wesley. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.”