“Valerie doesn’t do relationships, and you don’t seem the type, either.”
“Are you worried I’ll hurt her feelings?” Seamus asks with a faint smirk.
“No. I’m afraid she’ll hurt yours. Val has a… complicated past,” I say carefully. “She doesn’t really connect with people easily. She only connected with me and Cara because we didn’t give her much of a choice. I just want to make sure you’re managing your expectations and not expecting more than a short-term physical fling with her.”
Seamus smiles, but a muscle jumps in his jaw and his shoulders tense, giving away that he’s not quite as easy going as he’d like me to believe. “Don’t worry about me, love. I have no expectations beyond a few good fucks.”
I watch him for a few moments. “As long as it stays that way, everything will be fine.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The gun range Asher owns is in a repurposed factory. Long and triangular, the building rises two stories high, with a hidden basement known only to a select few. Inside, the brightly illuminated lobby features a granite counter standing before gleaming display cases filled with an array of firearms. More guns hang on the walls behind the front counter, their sleek exteriors glimmering under the bright, fluorescent light of the room. The faint scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, a subtle reminder of the building’s purpose, while the industrial past of the space is hinted at by exposed beams and weathered brick walls.
Standing at the counter is a young man who looks to be high school age. He’s reading apornmagazine and loudly chewing gum. He looks up when Seamus and I walk in, quickly folding and putting away his playboy.
“You two have reservations?” he asks, powering on an ancient-looking computer.
“Nope, we’re walk-ins. I’m actually here to see Asher, the boss.”
The boy frowns. “You know Asher?”
It’s a fair question—Asher is a bit of an introvert. He doesn’t have many friends, though hedoeshave endless connections.
“Yep. Tell him Mira Greene’s here, please.”
The boy smacks his gum. “Your funeral.” He disappears up a staircase in the corner of the room, one leading to Asher’s office and personal apartment on the second floor.
“Charming place,” Seamus drawls. “Not many people, it would seem.”
“It’s a weekday morning,” I point out. “Not a lot of people choose this time to visit the range. It crowds up on weeknights and weekends, though.”
Two sets of footsteps sound from the staircase. The boy working the counter comes down first, closely followed by Asher.
Asher’s dressed in army-green pants and a black shirt. His hair has greyed since the last time I saw him, now a salt-and-pepper color. He has a strong, stubborn jaw, piercing grey eyes overcast by bushy eyebrows, and a permanently severe expression. Tattoo sleeves on his muscular arms show off several symbols with personal meaning, though the largest and most eye-catching is a stamp representing his time as a Recon Marine.
Asher stops on the bottom step, eyes narrowing as he gazes at me. There’s affection in his steely orbs, along with a great deal of worry.
“Mira,” he says, exhaling a long breath. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief, and swiftly crosses the room to fold me into a warm, comforting embrace. He’s a big guy, and he’s stayed in excellent shape after his time serving. To most other people, I figure he looks intimidating; huge biceps, thighs like tree trunks, an eternally angry resting face. To me, though, he represents the calm in the storm. In another life, my mom might’ve ended up with him, and none of the bad shit that happened to me would’ve come to pass.
“Asher,” I respond, giving him a squeeze. After a long moment, I step back, looking him over. “It’s good to see you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, though I have to wonder what the fuck you’re doing back in this shit hole.” He folds his arms over his chest. “You got out. We agreed you’d stay out, sweetheart.”
Asher’s the one who bought me the plane ticket to Greywood. I didn’t have the money, and though I tried to refuse, he insisted. He said it was a gift with the condition that I make something of myself and stay the hell out of town.
“I’m not back permanently,” I assure him. “Not even for long.”
Seamus clears his throat, prompting Asher to turn a dark, threatening stare on him. I take a few steps back to stand next to Seamus. “Asher, this is my friend, Seamus.” I swallow. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Asher glances at Counter Boy. “Go take your lunch break.”
Counter Boy pops his gum again. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Then you’re off for the day,” Asher growls. “Go home and do some fuckin’ homework, kid. Or go to school for once. Ditching class may seem cool now, but it’ll make your life a lot more difficult than it should be.”
Counter Boy doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks up a backpack from behind the counter and strolls out, closing the front door behind him.
“How serious is this talk gonna be?” Asher asks me.
