“Do you need me to recite the statistics onthat? Also, don’t you think walking around with a gun all the time is overkill?”
“You’re the one stalking the guy, Rahm. Not sure why arming yourself would be considered overkill. Also, I’ve seen the way you handle your gun. The statistics are definitely skewed in your favor.”
“Whatever.”
“Seriously, why spend all those hours on your grandparents’ practice range and not protect yourself?”
Here’s the thing I don’t want to admit: I’m not sure I could take a life.
I mean, guns were always one of those automatic things for me. Bullet speed vs. wind speed vs. distance? I might need a refresher to work out the math on that, but my body always knows how to adjust to hit my mark.
If I’m armed and get into it with someone, they’re not coming out alive. That’s not bragging. I just have no idea how I’d handle taking a life. Meanwhile, Silas walks around with multiple weapons, always, because he would one hundred percent kill anyone who came after him and have zero remorse afterward. I know I’m not supposed to know that, but…c’mon.
Finally, I respond with the truth, “I’m just not built that way, Sy.”
Silas returns his gaze to Oak for a few laps before pivoting back to me. “If you don’t want to go out at night, you could put a tracking device on Truett’s car.”
I swear, I love my cousin, but he needs a refresher on how humans do things.
“Sy, no. I draw the line at actualstalking.”
Silas shakes his head, like I’m some kind of disappointing protégé.
“Boundaries, man,” I insist. “Consent.”
Lifting his glasses, he narrows his eyes at me. “You normies draw your lines in the weirdest places.”
Fair, but I have no intention of invading True’s privacy that way.
Like, zero intention.
…
…
…
Okay, but I do lose him a fair amount of the time.
As I’m considering it, Sy slips on the sunglasses again and answers, “Fine. Keep your boundaries. But don’t forget you have a gun and one of Uncle Mads’ trackers in your glove box.”
Honestly, I had forgotten about those.
Before I can overthink the fact that I completely blanked on having an actual fucking firearm in my glove box, Silas switches it up again.
“Have you done any work with the veteran groups this month?”
I scoff. “Of course I have. I had to smooth over the Brantley debacle with the veteran charities, after all. By the way, can you believe he’s still in jail?”
“Yes.”
I turn and stare at the side of his head. “What do you mean, yes?”
Silas shifts his focus from Oakley’s impressive stamina to raise his eyebrows at me.
“Eyebrows are not answers, Sy. Why would he still be in jail?”
“You’ve already asked me if I think he’s guilty, and I’ve said yes.” Silas lets out an impatient breath. “As for why they keep denying his bond, I blame his father.”
