Page 50 of Johnny Gun

“We’re late for an appointment,” Johnny said evenly.

Isolde swallowed. She’d seen fire in his eyes before; this time, she saw deadly ice, and it put the fear of heaven in her soul. She’d pushed him too far.

She gave Buddy an appeasing smile while Johnny, holding on to her wrist, walked out in a hurry. “Thanks. It was fun, but we really must go.”

Johnny said nothing. He just gripped her arm like a vise and pushed the door out without releasing her. Unfortunately for Buddy, he followed them out.

“Yo, long hair. What’s your problem?” he shouted, striding toward the truck. His two friends walked out with him, but didn’t move from the door.

A silent Johnny, pressing his lips to a hard line, led Isolde to her side of the truck, then boosted her into the seat. He walked around to his side, and she squealed in fear and surprise. Buddy blocked Johnny’s way in a threatening stance. Quickly, she hit thetruck’s power button to lower the window in time to hear Buddy. “You didn’t answer me, asshole. We teach manners to rude people in this town.”

Buddy was a tall kid. Johnny had a couple of inches on him and years of fighting in an MC. He thrust out his arm, gripped Buddy’s throat with iron fingers, and squeezed, cutting off his air supply. Wild-eyed and fighting for breath, Buddy clawed at Johnny’s hand and arm, fighting to loosen the hold. But Johnny, a deadly expression on his face, didn’t yield or let go. Shouting at Johnny, his friends bolted in their direction.

In a panic, Isolde begged, “Please, let him go.”

She saw no expression on Johnny’s face when he released the young man. Coughing and gasping, Buddy crumpled to his knees. His friends helped him stand, then walked him back to the restaurant.

Calmly, Johnny got in behind the wheel. “I could’ve hurt that kid,” he hissed. “This was on you because you disobeyed. I’m not a boy, Isolde, and I don’t respond to games. Remember that.” He shifted into Drive, but kept his foot off the gas.

“As long as you’re under my protection, you do as I say. You don’t hesitate, or argue back. When this is over, we’ll revisit our situation. If you believe it’s fine to disobey me whenever it suits you, we’re not on the same page and you’re not committed to our relationship.” He shook his head. “I won’t settle for anything less. Much as I hate doing it, I’ll drive you back to your father’s house, where you can do whatever he allows you to do. Until then, my orders are not up for discussion. We’re not a committee or a democracy. We’ll talk when we get home. First, I have to shop for food, and you better behave at the store.”

He spoke in a slow and careful cadence. Stunned to silence, she folded her arms against her burning stomach. The silly high school game of jealousy to make him react had backfired, andbadly.

Would he really take her back to Dalton?

No, no, no.

“D—Daddy…I?—”

“No, don’t. You have to earn back the right to call me Daddy.”

Isolde glanced at his handsomeyet stern profile, and a hitched sob escaped her lungs. A stabbing sensation twisted deep in her chest, and she held back a cry of pain. Covering her face with her hands, she swallowed as stark realization and utter determination filled her soul with purpose.

One, her soul was irrevocably bound to Johnny Gun. She loved him more than life.

And two, she’d do whatever was necessary, but she wasn’t letting him go without a fight.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Isolde didn’t speak on the ride home from the food market. Johnny’s silence was an impenetrable shell around him, and she was a mass of nerves. He parked the truck before the steps to the house, but she didn’t move. Remembering his instructions, she waited in her seat until he helped her down.

“I could carry a couple of bags,” she suggested quietly.

He glanced at her as if evaluating her offer, and then, after a long pause, he nodded. “Okay, but only the light ones.” He held up two, and she quickly took one in each hand before he changed his mind. Feeling hopeful that his anger had waned a little, she climbed up the steps at his side. Once he unlocked the door, she followed him to the kitchen.

Johnny put his bags on the counter. “Why don’t you unload the groceries, and I’ll go get the rest from the truck?”

“Yes, Johnny.” Her lips trembled, but she continued to pull items out of the bag. She’d used his name, hoping against hope he’d tell her all was forgiven and to call him Daddy again. But Johnny left without saying a word.

He returned with the remaining bags dangling from bothhands. Maintaining her casual behavior, she took a couple from him to lighten his load. He didn’t protest, which was a good sign. But she wasn’t singing victory just yet. A heavy conversation with an uncertain outcome loomed ahead.

They continued to put things away in a tense silence. Johnny chose where he wanted to store things and she went along with him. Once the bags were emptied, he took a bottle of club soda and a beer from the fridge. He gave her the water and kept the beer.

“Thanks for your help. I can handle the rest.”

The floor under her feet softened like quicksand. It was pulling her under, and she couldn’t do anything to stop herself. The change in mood she’d perceived, his softening, had been a mirage, a product of her deluded mind. His hard, angry stance remained. Civility didn’t mean forgiveness.

“Is that it?”

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