Page 65 of Pretty Lethal
Depositing me outside the bathroom with a kiss on the cheek, I shrug off his vague response and go to shower and get ready for a day with Hadley.
* * *
I stareout the car window at Nocturnal Enterprises. “I thought we were having a spa day? Unless Nocturnal Enterprises has its own in-house beauticians that I’m not aware of?”
“Definitely not,” Hadley deadpans, pushing open her door and getting out.
Okay then, out we go.
“So what are we doing here?” I try again.
She gives me a knowing look before striding toward the building, and I hurry to catch up, following her inside and over to the bank of elevators. “If I were in your shoes, after what happened, I’d wanna be doing everything I can to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
My ears perk up, even as my heart falls at the disappointment of a no spa day.
When the elevator doors open, we step inside and Hadley pushes the button for the basement. “Where was your knife?” she asks, and I cringe.
“In my purse on the bedside table.”
She nods, probably having suspected that. It’s a fact that I repeatedly kick myself over. Of course, I’ve carried it everywhere since she gave it to me, but what good is it if it’s in my purse on the table when someone sneaks into my room?
I remember Wilder telling me he slept with his knife under his pillow, although I insisted he didn’t do that on the nights I slept with him because I didn’t want to accidentally stab myself in my sleep. Well, my stance has completely changed on that theory. I will happily bleed over my bed sheets if it means there’s a weapon at hand when some psycho society comes to grab me in the middle of the night.
I don’t know what Hadley reads from my expression, but she attempts to reassure me. “They snuck in while you were at your most vulnerable. Even if you had a weapon at hand, it might not have done you any good.” She swallows roughly, glancing away before saying. “When I was a kid at the compound, they used to do stuff like that—sneak into our rooms and see how we’d respond or drag us out of our beds and force us to fight. It’s a cruel form of punishment, yet there’s no denying that it taught me to always be prepared,especiallywhen I was at my weakest. By the time I was ten, I couldn’t sleep unless I knew I had at least three weapons within reach.”
“That sounds… awful.”
Hadley simply shrugs, more than used to her own fucked-up upbringing.
“Please tell me you’re not going to advise I deck out my bedroom with weapons?”
She smirks. “I think the three guys who threatened me on pain of death if I let you out of my sight today solved that problem.”
“No they didn’t?!” I groan.
“Oh, yes, they did. Even Hawk.” She grins so broadly that I’m shocked it doesn’t split her face in half. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so serious, and that’s saying something! Dude has a perpetual stick up his ass—at least, he did before you arrived, but it was back in full force this morning while he read me the riot act if I let so much as a fly land on you.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“Not as bad as Wilder’s very colorful description of what he would do toanyonewho lays a finger on his little angel,” Hadley continues to tease as the elevator doors open and we step out onto a fluorescent-lit, underground corridor.
“Please don’t tell me any more,” I plead. “Or I might murder all of them myself.”
Hadley simply laughs. “I thought it was very sweet.”
“Of course you did,” I drawl. “Violence is your love language.”
She smirks, a glint in her eyes that lets me know I’m right, before pushing open one of the numerous doors in the hallway.
I follow her in, quickly discovering that we’ve entered an indoor shooting range. I take in the six lanes, all of which are currently empty, while Hadley stalks off to do whatever one does at a shooting range.
She comes back a few minutes later carrying a couple of handguns, a box of ammunition, two sets of earmuffs, and a paper target and sets them all down on the narrow ledge in one of the nearby lanes.
“Ehhh, I hope you don’t expect me to shoot and hit that thing,” I state as she clips the paper target up and sends it zooming halfway across the long room.
“Not the first time,” she says with a teasing smirk as she loads bullets into the gun. “Our lessons aren’t enough,” she states with conviction. “Hawk is one of the best fighters I know, and Kai has his army training—you should ask both of them to train you.” She catches my look of distaste. “I know exercise isn’t your thing—“
“It’s not that…” I begin, trailing off. After that night, I realize my aversion to physical fitness may kill me someday if I’m not careful. The thought terrifies me—the notion of simply running out of steam and being unable to push my body further. What if those men had continued to pursue me after I’d made it past the treeline? What if they’d been there when my adrenaline ran out, and I dropped like a brick to the ground? A shiver rolls through me at the mere thought.
