I’ve ever dreamed of having, we have. We’ve got forty-six thousand rounds of ammunition and counting. You can go shopping in there and arm yourself with any type of rifle, any pistol you want to keep yourself protected…and you’re telling me you don’t want a damn thing?”
“I don’t want a gun,” she yelled.
Eyes hard, he leaned into her. “You’d rather be defenseless if we run into another group of men who manage to take me out and decide they’d like to spend their free time raping and torturing you?”
“Of course not, I’m not too stupid to live. I want to learn how to defend myself. It’s the gun.” Her voice cracked. “It’s the gun… Can’t I have something else? Like pepper spray? A stun gun? A knife?”
He stilled. “What do you mean it’s the gun?”
“Adam—”
Deep-throated barks sliced through their conversation, ending it as effectively as flicking off a switch. Rachel jumped and placed a hand over her heart. Adam spun around and zeroed in on three guard dogs throwing themselves against an ornate black iron fence. He’d noticed them before and had already checked on them, planned on setting them free just before they left. He’d lost count of how many trapped, desperate, starving animals he and Rachel had rescued in the last twenty-four hours.
Too many.
“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed.
The dogs whimpered and sat down.
Adam turned back to her, managed to control his irritation and said in a calm voice, “Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “You can’t handle the truth.”
He blinked. His lips twitched at her off-the-cuff movie reference. “What do you mean? Of course I can handle the truth. I’m a Marine. Do you realize how much shit I’ve seen in my life? Just tell me.”
“Okay!” She threw a hand up. “I hate guns. I can’t stand them. I can’t even touch them.”
He stood still for a moment, stunned, then burst out laughing. “That’s it? That’s the big secret? You’re fucking kidding me? What are you? Some tree-hugging NRA-hating crazy pacifist?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve just never liked guns.”
“What’s there to like? There’s no like or dislike, there’s just point and shoot. Have you ever shot a gun?”
“Once, when I was much younger—”
“Well, that’s the problem. This is what I was trying to tell you earlier. You’re scared of what you don’t know. I need to teach you how to shoot. We’ll start target practice tomorrow.”
“No, no, no. You don’t understand. I’m afraid of guns because…because, I had an accident with one.”
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
She looked down at her shoes. “I shot my sister, okay? I shot her…”
“What the fuck?” He put his palm up. “Hold on. You shot your sister? How old were you?”
She glanced back at him, her eyes filled with anguish. “I was six years old. She was four.”
He took a deep breath, trying not to go ballistic. “What idiot left a loaded gun for a child to pick up?”
“Um…my uncle. My aunt was watching us while my parents were out of town for the weekend.” She paused and took a deep breath.
“And?” he prompted.
“I don’t remember much. I think I’ve blocked it out. I was really young. I must have seen my uncle take a gun out from under the bed to clean. Later, I was curious. You know? Kids get curious. So I snuck in there and picked it up. My sister followed me, she was always following me. I pulled the trigger and accidentally shot her in the chest.” She blew out a breath and her blue eyes watered. “In the chest . I almost killed her. Luckily, I missed her heart, but she had to have so many surgeries. She was in and out of the hospital for months and eventually made a complete recovery, but she almost died. I almost killed my sister. I’ve had to live with that all these years. Can you see why I can’t touch a gun? The last time I shot a gun, I almost killed my sister.” Her shoulders slumped, her
“I don’t want a gun,” she yelled.
Eyes hard, he leaned into her. “You’d rather be defenseless if we run into another group of men who manage to take me out and decide they’d like to spend their free time raping and torturing you?”
“Of course not, I’m not too stupid to live. I want to learn how to defend myself. It’s the gun.” Her voice cracked. “It’s the gun… Can’t I have something else? Like pepper spray? A stun gun? A knife?”
He stilled. “What do you mean it’s the gun?”
“Adam—”
Deep-throated barks sliced through their conversation, ending it as effectively as flicking off a switch. Rachel jumped and placed a hand over her heart. Adam spun around and zeroed in on three guard dogs throwing themselves against an ornate black iron fence. He’d noticed them before and had already checked on them, planned on setting them free just before they left. He’d lost count of how many trapped, desperate, starving animals he and Rachel had rescued in the last twenty-four hours.
Too many.
“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed.
The dogs whimpered and sat down.
Adam turned back to her, managed to control his irritation and said in a calm voice, “Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “You can’t handle the truth.”
He blinked. His lips twitched at her off-the-cuff movie reference. “What do you mean? Of course I can handle the truth. I’m a Marine. Do you realize how much shit I’ve seen in my life? Just tell me.”
“Okay!” She threw a hand up. “I hate guns. I can’t stand them. I can’t even touch them.”
He stood still for a moment, stunned, then burst out laughing. “That’s it? That’s the big secret? You’re fucking kidding me? What are you? Some tree-hugging NRA-hating crazy pacifist?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’ve just never liked guns.”
“What’s there to like? There’s no like or dislike, there’s just point and shoot. Have you ever shot a gun?”
“Once, when I was much younger—”
“Well, that’s the problem. This is what I was trying to tell you earlier. You’re scared of what you don’t know. I need to teach you how to shoot. We’ll start target practice tomorrow.”
“No, no, no. You don’t understand. I’m afraid of guns because…because, I had an accident with one.”
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
She looked down at her shoes. “I shot my sister, okay? I shot her…”
“What the fuck?” He put his palm up. “Hold on. You shot your sister? How old were you?”
She glanced back at him, her eyes filled with anguish. “I was six years old. She was four.”
He took a deep breath, trying not to go ballistic. “What idiot left a loaded gun for a child to pick up?”
“Um…my uncle. My aunt was watching us while my parents were out of town for the weekend.” She paused and took a deep breath.
“And?” he prompted.
“I don’t remember much. I think I’ve blocked it out. I was really young. I must have seen my uncle take a gun out from under the bed to clean. Later, I was curious. You know? Kids get curious. So I snuck in there and picked it up. My sister followed me, she was always following me. I pulled the trigger and accidentally shot her in the chest.” She blew out a breath and her blue eyes watered. “In the chest . I almost killed her. Luckily, I missed her heart, but she had to have so many surgeries. She was in and out of the hospital for months and eventually made a complete recovery, but she almost died. I almost killed my sister. I’ve had to live with that all these years. Can you see why I can’t touch a gun? The last time I shot a gun, I almost killed my sister.” Her shoulders slumped, her
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