Page 111 of Last Man Standing

“I want a handgun. A large one,” she orders, faux confident. “Please.”

“Uh…” He scratches his stubble, the coarse scrape filtering audibly through the phone. “W-what for, ma’am?”

If he asked me to explain myself, he’d be out of a job. If he asked my mother to explain herself, he’d be exiled. If, in any other circumstances, he asked Scarlett to explain herself, I’d rip his fucking face off and feed the skin back to him. But this time… right now… I need to hear her explain herself, too.

“It’s for documentation purposes, ma’am.” Dayden’s voice turns firmer. “Whenever any of us checks a weapon out of the cages, we must do the paperwork. I’d be happy to get you what you need, but⁠—”

“Come with me, please.”

I don’t see her. But I fucking hear the heavy thud of her hand, and then Dayden’s explosive exhale as she whips him into the hall. “I’d like to spend a little time at the shooting range. I believe there’s a soundproof space here on the Jamesons’ property where I can practice?”

“Uh—”

“Take her,” I grit through tight teeth. And since I know they’ll be heading away from where I stand, I continue following. “Get her a 20 and a few dozen rounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What?” Scarlett asks.

“So sorry.” He fucking wheezes. Dude is not cool under pressure. “I’m used to saying that. I meant to say yes, ma’am. This way.” He leads her from one underground passageway to another, through the almost pitch darkness and deeper into the ground, which would, ironically, be warmer than outside at this point. “I’m authorized to get you any weapon you request, ma’am. Would a Glock 20 satisfy your needs?”

Why the same as my gun, Princess? Why the big one?

“Y-yes. Thank you.” She takes on her princess’y tone. A little too fancy to be near, a little too untouchable to consider dirtying up. “How long is the range?”

“Two hundred and fifty feet neat, ma’am. Do you have experience with weapons, or would you require assistance?”

“I’ll do it.” I quicken my steps. “You get her there. You arm her. That’s as far as your job goes.”

“I have experience.” She noisily swallows her nerves and sheds a little of her polish. “My brother taught me, actually. We have a tradition.” She silences for a beat before adding, “Every year on my birthday, he takes me shooting before we get dinner. I didn’t get to do either of those things with him yesterday. But I intend to speak with him on the telephone shortly.”

“Why is that their tradition?” I question quietly.

Like a good soldier, Dayden asks, “Why is that your tradition, ma’am?” He coughs out an uneasy laugh. “If you wish to share. Also, come this way.” He pushes through the heavy steel door guarding our shooting range, leads her in, but doesn’t shut the door.

I’d know if he did. I’d hear it.

“Why?” Scarlett exhales a shaking sigh as, along the line, the rattle of keys and a cage door tells me exactly where they are and what Dayden is doing. “Because my brother cares very much that I’m able to defend myself when the time comes. I haven’t quite mastered the art of not freezing,” she snickers, though I swear, the sound is more like a fucking whimper. “So I try to make it a routine to practice. At least once a month, and definitely on my birthday. Thank you, mister…” She stops, even as the sound of a magazine being clipped into place bounces along the line. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

“Dayden, ma’am. Boston Dayden.” He closes the cage again, then the shuffling of feet on the floor follows. “You’re down here alone, ma’am, and I can ensure you stay that way if you prefer. Except if a Jameson orders otherwise,” he nervously adds. “This is their property, after all.”

“Of course.” Scarlett draws a deep breath. Fuck knows, I can’t see her. But I feel her in my bones, I see her in my mind, turning her weapon over and studying the thick handgrip. The etchings on the side. Weighing the heavy gun and comparing it to whatever else she’s used in the past. “Thank you for showing me the way. If, uh…” Unsure of herself, she hesitates for a beat. “If it would be okay and if it wouldn’t get you in trouble, I’d like you to stay by the door, just in case someone else comes down here.”

“Yes, ma’am. I can do that.” Already, I feel the vibration of my phone, where the remaining three in the security room request a fourth. There must always be four, and Scarlett just commandeered one of them.

“And I-I don’t know if you can, but if you see Sebastion walking the grounds in a little while after he wakes up, he might be looking for me. So if you could let him know where I am and that I didn’t run away or, ya know, kill his mother or anything, that would be really helpful.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Dayden exhales an explosive breath. Because she just said… those words! She just threatened the fucking matriarch. Ish.

If the poor prick isn’t already buckled at the hips with his head between his knees, he must be close to it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaks. “I’ll inform Mr. Jameson just as soon as I can.”

“And Mrs. Jameson is safe and alive in her bed, right?” She coughs out a tense giggle. “God forbid anyone assume I’ve started a coup while she sleeps.”

Just shut up, Scarlett. Fuck.