I roll my eyes. “And here I thought I was dramatic.”
But I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to me, always protective, always calculating. He’s serious. Damn serious. And when Beau gets like this, there’s no arguing with him.
He heads toward the handgun section, and I follow, my boots clicking against the floor. He picks up a sleek black Glock and studies it, the weight of it in his hand like he’s been holding guns his entire life, which, knowing their past now, probably isn’t far off.
“This one’s easy to conceal,” he says, his fingers brushing the barrel. “And it packs a punch. You can carry it on your waistband. Right here.” He taps the side of my hip. “I’ll show you how to handle it later once we get back home.”
I glance at the gun, uneasy. “I’ve never used one before.”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Jackson and I will teach you. We can take it as slow as you need.”
I give him a look, my arms still crossed, but a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “So, you two will be my personal instructors now?”
Beau chuckles, and it's a sound that sends a strange mix of warmth and danger flooding through me. He sets theGlock down and picks up another gun. This one is a little bulkier, with a heavier frame. “This one’s for when you need more power. You know, more oomph, if you catch my drift.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Oomph? Are you seriously using that word?”
Beau narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t hate on my vocabulary, babe.”
He slides a few more handguns, ammo and holsters into his basket. Every time he picks one up, he explains its benefits in his low, steady voice. It’s all starting to blur together, and honestly, my head’s spinning. I know I need protection, but I didn’t think it would come with this much stuff.
He picks up a taser next. “This,” he says, holding it up, “will put anyone down with a little zap. Just press here.” He pushes the button down. “And boom. They’re on the ground.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to carry this too?”
Beau’s smile turns almost wicked. “It fits in your pocket and drops creeps like dominoes. What's not to love?”
“Great, so I’m going around like a walking arsenal now.” I glance down at the basket, which is quickly filling up. “What else are you going to grab? Some mace? Brass knuckles?”
Beau doesn’t miss a beat when he adds, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He picks up three sets of daggers. Each one gleaming with lethal potential. “These are for close combat. You’re strong, Aria, but a blade is always useful when things get up close and personal. Or even for surprise attacks.” He grabs the first one, a sleek silver blade. “You can keep this one in your boot, this one hangs around your neck and lands between your breasts, and then one goes on your belt.” He finishes throwing all three knives in the basket.
Then, he reaches for the mace. I chuckle despite myself. “Are we really doing this?”
“I’m not taking any chances,” he says, slipping it into the basket. Then, as though he’s done this a thousand times, he picks up the brass knuckles, sliding them into the palm of his hand. “These are for when you don’t want to kill, but you want to hurt. You can slip them on like rings.”
My mouth goes dry, and I glance at the growing pile of weapons. There are five guns, three daggers, a can of mace, a taser, and now two pairs of brass knuckles. “You really think I need all this?”
Beau looks over at me, his expression unreadable. “I think you need whatever it takes to keep you safe. Until I’m sure this motherfucker is dead, you’ll carry whatever I give you.”
I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. I don’t like the idea of needing all of this protection, but I get it. He’s not just thinking about what’s best for him or even Jackson. He’s thinking about what is best for me.
“Fine,” I mutter, giving him a playful shove. “But you’re carrying the damn bag to the car. I’m not hauling around all this stuff.”
Beau laughs, a quiet understanding mixed with a fierce protectiveness. “Deal.”
We head toward the checkout counter. Today has made me wonder just how much darker this world of ours is going to get.
We reach the counter and walk up to a young guy, probably in his early twenties. He looks up at us and jumps up to the register. His eyes flick to Beau and then land on me, lingering just a second too long.
"Hey there," he says, his voice betraying his nervousness. He looks at the basket Beau empties onto the counter, eyes scanning the array of weapons before he starts scanning them one by one.
I notice the way his eyes flick back to me when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s subtle, but there’s that look. The kind of look I’ve seen too many times from guys who think they’ve got a shot. His gaze lingers longer than it should, and I almost feel the heat of it on my skin.
He rings up the first item, his fingers brushing over the handle of one of the guns, but his eyes? Still on me. It’s the same kind of stare that makes you want to reach over and slap someone upside the head.
I sigh, already over it. This is the last thing I need right now. My nerves are frayed, and I don't need some kid in a store thinking he can get away with acting like I’m some sort of toy while Beau’s right here.
