Goodbye, Kate, page 24
Leaning closer, I brush my mouth against his, not touching, barely breathing. “I need you to believe that you can depend on me. And that I depend on you, too. Stay with me, Lincoln, not just in body, but in spirit, like you have tonight. I won’t let you down. I won’t abandon you. I will teach you to trust me…if you let me.”
His arms snake around my waist, embracing me, enveloping me in the heat of his body. “Sophia, I…”
I kiss his lips, gently, scarcely. “Please,” I whisper. “You don’t have to commit to anything tonight. Just allow me to try. Let me prove it to you.”
Moving my fingers to the sides of his neck, I feel him swallow his trepidation. “Yes,” he breathes. “I will…try. For you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lincoln
Upstairs, in bed, Sophia is sleeping soundly on my chest the next morning, her cheek over my heart. I’ve been watching her for an hour or so, studying her face, mourning her innocence. She looks so serene. Pure. Harmless. But she’s none of those things anymore. She will never know what it feels like to live in a safe world again. The thing that unsettles me is that I don’t think she wants to.
The knowledge she has now, the fury and vengeance, fuels her. I see it every day, pushing her further, changing her perspectives and goals. I think, at last, she’s starting to believe in herself, realise what she’s capable of, see what she’s worth. But it’s happening for all the wrong reasons. It isn’t a natural evolution. She’s becoming a product of injustice. She’s retaliating against all the wrongs committed against her. The lies, pain, abandonment. The betrayal. Even the tamest of dogs can only be kicked so many times before it bites.
I never wanted this for her…but it is time to accept it. The damage has been done. She cannot go back. I know this because I have been her. I am her. We are more similar than I ever wanted to admit.
I cannot think of a way to bring any semblance of peace back to her now.
I could end the trauma, though. I could take it all away, erase the pain in her heart and turmoil in her mind before she has to wake up and face it, leaving her to rest in this serene slumber forever. One bullet is all it would take. She wouldn’t feel it. She’d never know it was coming. She would die living in whatever tranquil dream is keeping her so content right now. My Glock is within reach on the nightstand. I’d only have to extend my arm a few inches…
Something disturbs her, forcing a small moan to escape from her throat. Her neck stretches, bringing her face into full view as she settles her head closer to my arm. She’s still sleeping, though restlessly, her breath heating my skin as she huddles closer again. Her eyes begin to flutter and her lips morph into a tight line. Her subconscious is fighting something. I should wake her, or hold her tighter, but I do nothing. Instead, I give her the chance to win whatever battle she’s facing…because she deserves that opportunity.
Right now, she’s broken and misguided, which makes her as dangerous as she is vulnerable, but I could teach her. I can never bring her innocence back, offer the peace she’s lost, but I can show her how to channel all that hurt and misplayed loyalty into real strength. I can show her how to use it to survive. I can help her develop her instincts, recognise others’ weaknesses. I could train her to be the best version of her and not the best version of what I need, like Cowan did with me.
I glance over to the gun, and then back to Sophia. I know which choice is best for her and it isn’t living the life I have had to. But…that decision isn’t mine to make. She’s been sheltered, manipulated, since the day she was born. I can change that, give her the power she craves, the ability to control her own destiny. Like my finches, she could probably survive for a while on her own out there, but with me guiding her she could flourish.
And maybe…maybe she can offer me a little hope in return. I know I’m damned, I’ve accepted that, but if I can right just one wrong in this world before I leave it, create something good, then perhaps I will be able to die with a sliver of dignity. Whatever that feels like.
So, possibly selfishly, I keep my arm where it is, pressed to her naked back, and squeeze her to my body a little tighter.
“Mmm.” Her soft groan vibrates against my chest and every nerve ending in my body prickles with the desire for her voice to follow. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I run my fingers through her tangled hair as I return the greeting, becoming painfully aware of what a grave error I almost made. Hearing her voice, feeling it against my chest as the sound enters my ears and ricochets through my blackened soul…I could never snuff that from existence. It is probably the only act on this earth I am not capable of carrying out. Sophia needs me, Christ help her, and terrifyingly, I think I need her.
“Thank you for trusting me last night,” she whispers, stroking over my stomach.
Wait a goddamn minute. Trust? I never said anything about trust. Clearly, I was simply aware of the fact she has nobody else to run her mouth to.
Fuck. It feels like I’ve twisted a muscle in my chest. This isn’t some imaginary, unfathomable emotion. It physically hurts. “We need to get up. Train.” Pulling out from her embrace, I jump out of bed.
“Lincoln?” More than just my name rolls from her lips. The single word is loaded with unspoken questions. Are we okay? Did I say too much? Do you regret it? Are you pushing me away?
Shit.
I look back at her. She sits up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. A pointless move, seeing as they have just been pressed against my skin. She’s nervous. Hiding before I hide from her.
There are only two ways this can possibly go. Sophia Prescott will either be my saviour, or she will destroy me. Only one way to find out…
“No time to waste.” Tipping my chin, I flash her a lopsided smile. “Get up before I pick you up.”
We spend the entire day outside, only coming in to refuel. Sophia is a fast learner and much fitter than I gave her small frame credit for. Her lightness makes her quick on her feet, which is what she needs to focus on. She needs to become an opportunistic fighter. Be conniving. Smart. Exploit weaknesses. After today, I’m beginning to have faith that she can achieve it. Is she a killer? If it’s up to me she won’t have to be and that’s the only answer I’ve got right now.
I feel…different, somehow, today. As if there has been a temporal shift in the atmosphere. At times, the interactions between Sophia and I remind me of before…when I was pretending. When I was Simon. Only, I’m not pretending anymore and she isn’t being manipulated. I’m not sure I like it. If I’m honest, it alarms me how easily I keep relaxing in her presence. Knowledge is power, and she definitely knows too much about me, more than I’ve ever told anyone. Not even Toff knows the details of my childhood. Liliana doesn’t know why I use species of birds as codewords. My life is a secret. Secrets keep you safe. And I’ve just given up everything I’ve ever believed in to a woman I was supposed to bury, giving her the tools to bury me.
Yet…I wouldn’t take back a single word.
Is this trust? Could I possibly trust Sophia? She’s had a thousand chances to end me and she hasn’t. I cannot find a single part of me that believes she would, either. I’m not talking about killing me, of course. She could never overpower me. But she’s had more than enough opportunities to try by now, or to run, call the authorities like she wanted to initially. This feels like trust. If I’m wrong, well, I can’t think of a face I’d rather close my eyes to for the final time than hers.
I let the day bleed into another one, telling myself she needs another day of training to perfect her newfound techniques. It’s bullshit, of course. She has the basics down, but after three days she wouldn’t stand a chance against a group of Cowan’s men. A one-on-one perhaps, if she threw her all into it, but to stop herself being captured, or worse, she would need to spend months training at the same intensity we’ve been going at for the last few days. Truthfully, I’m enjoying myself. Out here, we might as well be living on our own private island. Our new routine is refreshing, comforting almost. Wake up, eat, train, shower, eat some more…all while squeezing in a few fuck marathons here and there.
I can see why Sophia doesn’t want to leave. Neither do I, which surprises me, but I’ve been around the block more times than she has. We are hidden for now, but wars don’t end until the enemy has been eliminated. They will find us unless we find them first.
By the afternoon, I decide it’s time to move Sophia onto firearms. Again, we only have time for the basics. That is all she needs for now because when we get back to the UK I will be dealing with Fletcher and Cowan alone. There’s a been a glimmer of excitement in her eyes since I mentioned it and I need to knock it out before we start. Guns are not toys. This is nothing to be happy about.
“Get that grin off your face,” I tell her, refusing to move an inch until she does. “What you’re about to do is not fun. Do you understand me? One accidental wrong move with a tool like this has the power to end a life, including yours.”
“Okay.” She nods, reining in her smile. “Okay, I’m sorry. It is kinda cool though.”
Exasperated, I roll my eyes. I set up a target sheet earlier next to the tree at the end of the garden. However, she won’t be getting anywhere near that stage until she starts taking this more seriously.
Her gaze doesn’t leave the gun in my hands while I remove the magazine. “What are you doing?” She sounds disappointed.
“If you thought I was about to hand over a loaded gun and let you play cowboys and Indians then you were wrong,” I say, racking the slide.
She knits her eyebrows together, clearly sulking, but doesn’t argue. “So that’s the bullets?”
“That’s the magazine which, yes, stores and feeds the bullets into the chamber. But first things first, you need to learn how to hold it.”
“That looks like the one Liliana gave me.” She shrugs away a little, as if she’s afraid of it. That’s a positive, at least. “Those aren’t safe, right?”
Confused, I cock an eyebrow. “No gun is safe, Sophia.”
“No, I know. I mean there’s no safety thingy.”
“Ah.” I nod, amused, but also troubled by her lack of knowledge. “There is a safety. Three, in fact. This is a Glock. Unlike other pistols, the external safety is built into the trigger. See?” I point out the small lever sticking out of the trigger. “The trigger won’t release unless that lever is depressed. It’s designed for speed and simplicity.”
Her nose wrinkles as she looks at me through narrowed eyes. “That doesn’t seem very…safe. It must be super easy to unlock it by accident.”
“Well, yes, if you go around holding your weapon with your finger on the trigger, but you’re not going to do that, are you?”
She shakes her head. “Uh, no.”
“Good.” I walk behind her, moulding my front to her back. Reaching around her waist, I place the gun in her right hand. “First rule, always treat your weapon as if it’s loaded, even if you’re confident it’s not. Now, I want you to rack the slide a couple of times to make sure there are no bullets left in the chamber before we reassemble it.”
“Um…”
Placing my hand over hers, I guide it to where she needs to be. Her fingers are small beneath mine. So deft and gentle. It’s difficult not to get lost in memories of them on my skin… but I must. “This bar here. Back and forth. That’s it.”
Finally, she seems to be concentrating. “Now what?”
“Show me how you held the one Liliana gave to you.”
Curling her fingers around the very base of the grip, she raises it into the air. “Oh, wait. She said to use two hands…but I couldn’t. My left hand wouldn’t fit properly. Plus, there wasn’t time. Point and shoot was all I really remembered. They were coming at me too fast. I just…shot.”
“Okay, okay…” Smoothing my palms along her arms, I whisper into her ear. “Relax. Draw a breath. There are no enemies here. Concentrate.”
Nodding once, she sucks in a deep breath and blows it out through pursed lips.
“Now, take it with your dominant hand.” I mould her fingers into position around the weapon. “Good. Now with your left, place the heel of your hand just here, and fill all these open spaces around the grip. The gun’s recoil moves everything towards the path of least resistance. This will give you control.”
Straightening her back, she lets me adjust her fingers.
“A little looser. You want to hold it firm but not tight. Good. It will feel unnatural at first, but you will adjust. You and your weapon simply need to get to know each other, spend time together.”
Craning her neck, she looks back at me like I’ve gone insane.
“Do you want to learn or not?”
Silently, she resumes position.
“Now, look at your hands from the top of the barrel. See how they mirror each other? This is what you should aim for every time. A two-handed grip gives you the most stable and accurate shot and should always be aimed for.”
“What if I can’t for whatever reason?”
“We’ll come to that later. Now, it’s not all about your hands. There’s a lot of power in that machine. Your body needs to be prepared to take it. Steady your feet shoulder width apart.”
She does as I say.
“Good. Now bend your knees slightly but keep them loose. Square your shoulders and lean forward, just a little, with your torso. Excellent. Hold the gun closer to your chest...not that close…just there. Perfect. Finally, we need to establish which is your dominant eye.”
“My what?”
“You get a better focus with one eye, your dominant eye. Don’t assume it’s the right one just because you’re right handed.” Removing one hand from the gun, I stretch Sophia’s arm and hold out her index finger in front of her. “Line the tip of your finger until it’s sitting just under that bird nest,” I tell her, pointing to the tree in the distance, above the target.
“Done.”
“Now close one eye at a time. Whichever eye makes your finger move away from the bird nest is your non-dominant eye.”
“Oh my God! That’s so cool! Who knew that was even a thing?” Her voice is songlike, filled with enthusiasm. “Turns out my right eye is my dominant eye.”
“Great. That means when you are aiming at a target, close your left eye. Got it?”
“Yes. Yes, I think so. There’s so much to remember.”
“I’m going to show you how to insert the magazine now, an empty one, and you can practise some dry firing.”
I expect her to sag with disappointment, but she doesn’t. She’s attentive and determined. Finally.
We go through several dry rounds and I talk her through each one. I coax her arms into the correct firing position, tell her how to use the front and rear sights on the top of the gun to take the perfect aim. It’s going fairly well, but I don’t feel comfortable moving onto live ammunition yet.
“You’re focusing too much on the shot,” I tell her after the latest click. “Concentrate on the aim, your technique. The shot should always come as a surprise to you. If you’re waiting to hear it, you’ll drop your front sight trying to see where the bullet lands. If you’re aiming accurately, it will go where you intend. Don’t anticipate it. Trust your abilities. Trust your weapon.”
Sophia huffs and drops her head. “It looks so easy in the movies.”
A small laugh escapes. “People’s lives aren’t genuinely at stake in the movies.”
She doesn’t return my amusement. She’s frustrated, and for no reason.
“You’re doing great,” I assure her. “Loosen up a little. Drop the tension in your elbows. Don’t be afraid of it.”
“You literally haven’t stopped telling me how dangerous it is and how it will kill me if I’m not careful,” she counters.
“But you are being careful. If you respect it, no harm will come to you. Like I said, trust your technique. Relax. Breathe.”
After shaking out her irritation, she resumes her stance. “Okay. Ready.”
She goes again, shooting several more dry rounds, growing in confidence with each one. She has a tendency to use the pad of her finger on the trigger but, eventually, she starts to heed my advice and slip through to just above the knuckle. When I’m satisfied she’s locked down the basics, I push her to carry out a few more practice shots before suggesting we begin live firing. When the time comes, after loading the gun, she seems ready but not eager, which is a good thing.
Going to my black case on the garden table, I pull out two pairs of ear defenders and hand one to Sophia. She gives me a puzzled glance. “What are those for? I mean, I know what they’re for, but are they really necessary?”
“Yes. Obviously, if you were out on a job, or unexpectedly defending yourself, you wouldn’t have the luxury of protecting your hearing, but while training it’s senseless to risk damage to your ears when you can so easily avoid it.”
She takes them, but her expression remains unconvinced. “I’ve heard louder things.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’ve shot one, remember? It had one of those silencer things stuck on the end of it, but it was broken, so I know how loud they are up close.”
“Broken?” Liliana wouldn’t have been in possession of a defective weapon, let alone handed it over to Sophia.
“Yes. It didn’t make the little zip sound. It was really bloody loud. I think the only reason I didn’t crap my knickers was because they hadn’t fed me for two days.”
I don’t know whether to laugh, sigh, or punch something. I don’t want to think about what they put her through. “That would be why they are technically called suppressors, not silencers. The barely audible zip you hear on TV? That doesn’t exist. A suppressor does exactly what it says on the tin. It suppresses, it doesn’t remove sounds altogether. Without one, though, the noise is enough to blow your hearing right out.”
Her eyes widen a touch and, finally, she slides the muffs onto her head.
