"Always."
She looked at me, her dark eyes suddenly intense. "Will you show me how to use it?"
I let out a short, dry laugh. "Planning on killing someone, little ghost?"
"Maybe a few people," she said. Her face remained perfectly serious for three long seconds—long enough for the hair on my arms to stand up—before she broke into a small, melodic laugh. But the laughter didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm kidding. My father says I'm only a danger to myself. That's why he needed power of attorney. He told the judge I tried to jump off the balcony like my mother did."
The air in the car turned to ice. I reached over, taking her hand and squeezing it until she looked at me. "Just tell me, Chloe."
"Show me how to shoot, and I might."
I contemplated it. What harm could it be? "Alright," I said, my voice low. "But you do exactly what I say. No arguments."
"Yes, Killian."
I put the SUV in park and led her deeper into the marsh, away from the road, where the tall sawgrass and the wind would swallow the noise. I pulled my sidearm from its holster, dropping the magazine and clearing the chamber.
She watched me closely. "First rule: Don't point it at anybody unless you plan to pull the trigger," I told her, stepping up behind her.
I handed her the weapon. It looked massive in her hands, but she didn't flinch at the weight of the steel. I wrapped myarms around her, my chest flush against her back, my hands covering hers to guide her grip.
"Firm grip. High on the backstrap," I murmured, my breath ghosting over her ear. "Don't choke it, but don't let it boss you around. You're the one in charge."
I felt her lean back into me, her body humming with a strange, dark energy. Again, she was a fast learner. I showed her how to align the sights, focusing on a rotting stump twenty yards away.
"Squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it," I whispered. "It should be a surprise when it goes off."
I stepped back, giving her space but staying close enough to catch her if the recoil was too much. Chloe took a breath, her posture shifting from fragile girl to something lethal.
Crack.
The sound echoed through the marsh. The stump splintered. She didn't blink. She didn't even jump. She just reset her stance, her eyes fixed on the target with a cold, terrifying focus.
Crack. Crack.
Two more rounds, both center-mass on the wood. She lowered the gun, her chest heaving slightly, and turned to look at me. There was fire in her eyes.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "How did you learn to shoot so well?"
She blinked. "YouTube. But it's different in real life. Load it again," she said.
"You're a natural, little ghost," I said. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the humidity. I felt like I was training her for a war that would eventually make me an accessory to murder. But I took the gun back to reload the mag anyway.
We lost track of time. We were late getting back. It was 5:45 PM when we reached the edge of the estate. Panic flared in her eyes as she saw the time.
"They're home," she gasped, spotting the cars in the driveway before I did. I could see servants combing the grounds as if they'd lost something, and I knew—they knew she was missing.
"Go to the lake," I commanded. "Get wet. If they find you outside, make them think you 'escaped' for a swim. I'll handle the rest."
I dropped her off and sped to the guest house to park. I walked toward the main house just as Arthur and Olivia were coming outside. They were frantic.
"She's out!" Ava shrieked, pointing toward the lawn. "The attic door is still locked, the key is still there, but she's not there!"
"Your daughter?"
"My stepdaughter," she sneered, then straightened her face quickly.
