Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) (2 page)

It was a long room, the buzzing fluorescents kicking on one after the other above a concrete floor. Where they stood, at the front of the room, there were wooden stalls. Definitely
not
the bedroom she had expected.

“So, you said you know how to shoot a gun, right?”

“Not that complicated.”

“Right.” He nodded and dropped his bag onto a table against the wall. Unzipping it he took out a handgun and tossed it to her. She barely caught it, and as she looked down at the dark, dull metal she had to swallow.

It was a gun. A real gun.

“Show me how you hold it. Point it down the range.” He gestured towards the end of the long room.

“Fine.” Lifting the gun in one hand she pointed it at the other end of the room and he shook his head and stepped up next to her.

“Both hands, like this.” He mimicked it with his own hands, and she tried to follow the guideline, wrapping her left hand around the fingers on her right, but he just sighed. Reaching over he adjusted her hands, pulling her pointer finger off the trigger to rest on the outside of the gun. Then he twisted her hips with a perfunctory jerk, and kicked her feet into a new stance until he seemed satisfied. His hands were sterile, business-like, and for once she didn’t feel like gutting a man for touching her. “There. Now, first rule, you should always keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. No use wasting a round because you get twitchy, and you definitely don’t want to shoot yourself.”

“Okay, I got it.” She nodded and stared down the range, imagining the face of the bastard she wanted to kill on the paper form he was clipping onto a contraption above their heads.

With the push of a button it whizzed halfway down the room and stopped.

“Well?” She asked, and she could practically see the piece of shit standing in front of her.
Joe
. The one she wanted to hear scream like he had made
her
scream before she’d stopped caring what they did to her.

“Pull the trigger.” His voice was just behind her ear, and she wrapped her finger around the metal and pulled.

Click
.

“What the fuck?” She turned on him. “There’s no bullets in this thing!”

He jerked back from her and then yanked the gun out of her hand as it passed in front of his face. “No, there weren’t any bullets, and
that
is why. You don’t wave a gun around, and you definitely don’t point it at anything you’re not planning on killing.” Shaking his head he muttered under his breath. “Never mind, I’m not selling -”

“Wait! Look, I’ll learn your stupid rules -”

“The rules aren’t stupid. You want a gun, you need to know how to use one.”

“You do this for all the people you sell guns to?” She asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wooden barrier. Those pale green eyes met hers for a moment, and then he looked away, moving back towards the bag with the gun in his hand. “Stop! Shit, I’ll listen. I swear. Just show me, alright? I’ll fucking pay attention.”

“You need to get your temper under control. That’s the next lesson you need to learn.” He sighed and reached into the bag. With a quick movement he shoved something into the bottom of the gun, pulled at it, and turned and started firing. She screamed and covered her ears, but he walked forward steady and calm, and then the noise stopped as soon as it had begun. The room smelled like the air had been burned, and he pointed down the range. “If you can ever manage to control yourself, you might be able to do
that
one day.”

Turning around she saw the tight cluster of shots in the very center of the paper outline. He had blown a hole through the middle of the thing. “Holy shit.”

“So, do you want to listen?”

“Fuck yes, I’ll listen if you teach me to do
that
.”

“Alright, come here.”

She stepped up next to him and he walked her through how to hold the gun, how to brace her stance, how to squeeze the trigger instead of pulling it. Then the man clapped a pair of headphones over her ears and let her spend a clip. Her shots were scattered along the bottom right corner, nowhere near the center. An embarrassed flush crept into her cheeks, but his face didn’t even change.

“Hmm, try this.” He adjusted her again, his hand overlaying hers to pull the trigger alongside her as she stared at the paper outline. Then he released her, and she got a new clip. He was endlessly patient, calm and steady, as he showed her again and again, until
finally
she was able to spend a full clip hitting the form on the paper. Her shots were scattered across it, the last few clips at least hitting the outline of the man, but his shots still taunted her from the very center.

Camille ripped the headphones off, the thrill of not missing the outline at all filled the hollow spaces inside her, and the edge of his mouth ticked up into a small smile.

“That was better, you’re a quick learner.” His praise made her stand up straighter, even though she knew her array of shots were mediocre at best.

When was the last time anyone had praised her about anything that she hadn’t done on her knees?

“What’s your name?”

Camille turned towards him, tucking strands of her white blonde hair behind her ears. “Candy.”

He laughed low. “Right.”

“You have a problem with my name?”

“I just thought you would have picked something better if you were going to make up a street name.” He was breaking down the gun and putting it back in the duffel and she opened her mouth to protest, but then he zipped the bag shut. “Where are you staying,
Candy
?”

“You don’t fucking need to know where I live to sell me a gun.”

The man took a slow breath, bracing his hands on the table behind him as those eyes evaluated her again. “You have a family?”

“No.”

“
Finally
, something true.” He shook his head, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “Alright, you’re going to come with me.”

“Wha -”

“No. Don’t argue, because if I think about this too much I’m going to change my mind. You’re going to come with me, I’ll get some food in you so you’re not skin and bones, and I’ll teach you how to really use the gun.” Hoisting the duffel over his shoulder he held up his hand when she opened her mouth to speak again. “I don’t want anything from you, so don’t worry about it. Just keep your mouth shut for a bit or I’m likely to realize what an idiot I’m being.”

Camille was too stunned to respond for once, so she nodded and followed him silently back out to the car while he shut everything off and locked up. As they settled into their seats she turned to look at him, confused and doubting. She didn’t trust him, hell, she didn’t trust
anyone
– but then why the ever-loving fuck was she in this unknown guy’s car?
Again
?

At least he hadn’t killed her yet, and he
clearly
could if he wanted to.

“So, what am I supposed to call you?”

He muttered under his breath as he turned out of the parking lot. “You talk too much.”

“You know my name!”

“No. I don’t.” His eyes met hers as he turned to look at her, that gaze pinning her in place. “Seatbelt.”

With a grumble she buckled herself in, and then she raised her hands up. “Seriously, do I just call you weirdo with the green eyes?”

“Smith.”

Camille laughed. “Your name is
Smith
?”

“As far as you’re concerned, yes. Now, what do you want to eat?” He navigated a slow turn, another car passing by them with the bass thumping so loud she could feel it in her seat.

“I’m not picky.”

“Good.”

After a short, silent drive they pulled up to a 24-hour café and he nodded towards the interior as he stepped out. “Let’s eat.”

Camille watched him as he shut his door and walked towards the entrance before glancing back, his silhouette outlined in the yellowed light from the interior where only a few stragglers from the streets were huddled. She muttered to herself, picking at her nails, “What are you doing, Camille? This isn’t part of the fucking plan. This guy is probably going to drag you off somewhere and sell you.”

Smith gestured towards the café and she wavered between going inside and running. His head leaned back and then he held an arm to his side, clearly tired of waiting for her. She shoved the door open with an internal curse, and stepped out, forcing herself to walk towards him. “Still don’t trust me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good. Let’s get some food in you.” He turned away from her and opened the door, letting it swing shut behind him as he nodded at a waitress behind the counter and grabbed a booth just inside the glass.

She followed and felt the blast of air conditioning cool the damp sweat on her skin. The place was mostly empty, the waitress loitering near the window to the kitchen as she flirted with the cook. Most of the others in the place were alone, a drunk couple slumped in a booth to her right in club clothes, and only one of the other patrons glanced her way before staring back at his plate. She avoided the loner’s gaze and dropped into the seat opposite Smith, her stomach rumbling at the smell of fried food and brewing coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

“Buying you food? Because you look like you’re about to drop dead.” Smith waved a hand at the waitress.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. Pick something off the menu, and no coffee, you need sleep after this.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Camille bristled, but the look he gave her as the waitress approached was cold as ice and froze her tongue in place.

“I’ll take a water, and the reuben.” Smith smiled politely at the woman before he turned to her. With a mechanical glance at the menu she looked over the list of sandwiches and salads and rolled her eyes.

“A coke and the French dip.”

As the woman walked away Smith stared at her, his gaze drilling holes through her until she felt stuck to the seat.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I have no idea,” he replied smoothly before tugging out a few napkins from the dispenser on the table.

“So, then what is this?”

“Like I said, I still don’t know.” Smith sighed and folded his hands on the edge of the table, his cool eyes still glued to her. “You intrigue me, C.”

“It’s Candy.”

“No. It’s not.” He glanced up as the waitress returned with their drinks, and then he was looking at her again. “And to be clear, I’m not calling you that ridiculous name. It makes you sound like a stripper.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe you are, but it doesn’t mean I have to call you that. I think that ‘C’ will work just fine.” He took a sip of his water. “I want you to stay with me.”

“I don’t do relationship-”

“Sorry, I rather mean I’d like you to work for me.”

“Listen, I don’t need a pimp. I’m doing just fine. What I need is the item we talked about earlier, no other shit necessary.”

Smith raised an eyebrow and leaned back from the table, his hands slipping into his lap. “You think I’m a pimp?”

“You don’t look like one, but yeah, probably.”

“I can assure you, I am not a pimp. I’ve never had any interest in the skin trade.” He glanced around, his eyes moving over the few other patrons in the café. “Tell me, where’s the waitress right now? Don’t look.”

“Chatting up the cook through the window,” Camille answered quickly, keeping her gaze locked on him.

“And how many other diners are in here with us?”

She had to think back to what she’d seen, counting in her head. “Five.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The edge of his mouth ticked up again, but he suppressed it with a drink of water. “So, you’re observant.”

“Have to be in my line of work.”

“Hmm,” he made a sound under his breath. “Do you enjoy what you do?”

The question struck a chord inside her, plucking at the things deep under her skin that she tried to ignore. Her hands balled into fists unbidden under the table. “Does that matter?”

“To me.”

“No.”

“Then why do it?”

“I have to eat, don’t I?” As if her words had summoned it, the food appeared from the smiling waitress. Plates sliding across the shiny table in front of them.

“Need anything else?” she asked.

“No, this will be fine. Thank you.” Smith nodded at her and the thirty-something brunette headed back behind the counter to continue her flirtation. He gestured at the plate in front of her. “Food will not be an issue anymore, if you choose it.”

The French bread piled high with sliced roast beef, nestled in a bed of fries, taunted her. The cup of au jus was just a garnish to the temptation he’d planted in front of her so carefully. “What exactly are you offering? You want me for yourself?”

“Not in the way you think. Eat.” He gestured at her plate before he picked up his own sandwich and took a bite.