Page 50 of The Hitch
He groans and looks at the clock, rubbing his face at the time. We really do have a nice routine going. He goes to work, I stay home and hang out with Helena. And, of course, he fucks the life out of me whenever I ask.
I plod my way into the bathroom and stare at the industrial-sized pack of ovulation test strips while I pee. I don't like them. I don't like the idea of tracking this so meticulously. At least hehasn't peeked into the little journal I'm supposed to use. I'll bear his child, I'll do all the things I'm supposed to do, but I'll do this shitmyway.
And my way includes fucking his lights out at every given opportunity. It doesn't have to include feeling like a lab rat.
My line of vision keeps drifting back to the test strips and the box of pregnancy tests in the little shelf alcove built into the tastefully tiled walls. It's only been a month since the appointment with Doctor Hamish, but I am getting closer to my next period. I think. I had it all tracked on my phone, nice and neat in a little app, but then Dante and Roman went beast mode on my phone when we got hacked.
And then Ella showed up out of nowhere. Itcan'tbe a coincidence. A shiver rolls down my spine as I brush my teeth, thinking about the cops watching our every move. They have to know something. I don't know if they've completely figured out my connection to Chicago, a brutal murder, and a missing woman. Not to mention the handful of missing men here in Philly.
Dante assures me that everything is taken care of. He tells me not to worry. He tells me to focus on whatever I want to do. Sit tight and wait to get pregnant, basically. But I can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs, running through every possible scenario leading to my future arrest. Sure, he has resources and connections. But can he get me off a murder charge?Multiplemurder charges?
"I want to learn how to shoot," I announce as I exit the bathroom. Dante looks up from lacing his leather dress shoes, with his jet-black hair fallen into his eyes.
"Really? Why's that?" He slicks his hair back, but it falls again. I hate how cute it looks.
"Someone bugged our phones. The cops came sniffing around shortly after we got rid of them. I don't trust it. What ifsomething happens, and Helena isn't here? Roman isn't here?You'renot here?" The panicked questions fall rapid-fire from my lips, and I realize I'm sweating a little bit.
"That won't happen," he quips back. "We have the best physical security money can buy."
"I don't care. You want me to get pregnant? You want me to carry your fuckingheir?I want a gun, and I want to learn how to use it." I cross my arms and look down at him. Schooling my face into an intimidating expression, I glare with all the rage I can muster. But my stomach growls at the most inopportune moment, and he chuckles.
"Fine. You can learn in the basement. Helena will teach you." He stands and readjusts his tucked-in shirt. "You'll start tomorrow. By the end of the month, I want you to be able to plug someone between the eyes from fifty meters."
"Someone?" I'm intrigued. "Anyone in mind?"
"That's to be decided."
My stomach still feels a bit queasy as Helena adjusts my stance and extends my arms.
"It's going to be loud. Louder than you think. And the kickback will surprise you," she says. "Don't hit yourself in the face. Dante will have my head."
I nod and remember everything she told me. Legs apart, one in front of the other, slightly bent. I wrap my hand around the grip and stabilize the gun with the other. The basement isn't a replacement for a shooting range, but it's big enough for me to give some targets acute lead poisoning. Helena pokes my arm into the proper position—again—and slips protective earmuffs around my head.
"Three, two, one, go." She commands, and I exhale, pulling the trigger.
Bang!
"Oh fuck," I gasp out. The kickback feels insane—how am I ever going to be able to do this properly? With shaking hands, I click on the safety and inspect my target. I didn't even comeclose. Helena's laughing and pointing at the concrete wall where I've lodged the stupid bullet.
"Okay, so, good first try. But you're trying to hitthere, not here." She points to the target, which looks like a pleather-wrapped couch cushion, and back over to the wall. My cheeks flush red, and I stare at the floor. Fuck.
I can't do this. What if I can never do this? What if something happens, and I can't defend myself? What if I'm caught by the cops? What if I'm the reason we all go down? Because I can't shoot a stupidgun?
"Oh—oh, shit. Melody, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to upset you," Helena apologizes with concern. She gently removes the ear protection and hands me a tissue from her pocket. I didn't even realize I was crying.
"I feel so stupid," I confess as I wipe my tears away. "You're so good at this."
"I was in the military for a decade, babe. You weren't. There's no reason to compare yourself to me. What's that saying? Comparison is the death of joy? Something like that." She pats my shoulder. "You'll get better, you just need to practice."
Even though the contents of my stomach threaten to make an appearance, I swallow hard and steel my nerves. "You're right. Let's go again."
Half-deaf and thoroughly frustrated, I emerge from the basement with Helena in tow. Marie gives us a sideways glance and gestures towards bowls of fruit and yogurt on the kitchen island.
"I don't mean to be rude, miss. But could you please warn me if you're going to be shooting in the basement? I nearly broke the fruit bowl diving for cover." Marie offers a tight smile, and I feel even worse.
"I'm so sorry—I didn't think. Of course, Marie. I'm sorry. Really." I look down at the yogurt bowl with tears in my eyes. Marie artfully drizzled honey over slices of strawberry and cantaloupe with a dusting of granola. Usually, I'd be wolfing it down. But I don't think I can manage to choke it down today.
Taking a test bite, my stomach instantly revolts, and I drop the spoon back down. "Ugh."
