First impressions were everything—or, so her mother liked to say. Unfortunately, Emily had never been the type to make good first impressions. She still wasn’t sure if it was accidental on her part, or an unconscious rebellion against her sweet, ol’ mom.
She sat in a beaten down blue truck outside of Bloodbath and Beyond, windows rolled down and elbow leaning haphazardly on the edge. Logic told her that there was probably a better way to go about this than what she had in mind, but if there was she couldn’t think of it. Her brain was fried. It had taken her long enough to get here—ten days on the road, exactly, constantly looking over her shoulder. There were deep, dark impressions under her eyes and she was sure she looked as grimy as she felt. Now wasn’t the time to throw caution to the wind, she should be on the top of her game, but she was tired. It was hard to get a good night’s sleep when you jumped at every shadow.
The bag of peanut butter M&Ms in her hand crumpled as she scooped the last of the candy into her mouth. She grabbed an old, frayed green messenger bag from the passenger seat and slipped it over her shoulder as she got out of the car. “Wait, shit.” She leaned through the car window, head ducking inside as she balanced on her toes, reaching for the keys that she had conveniently left in the ignition. Great start, she applauded, mentally kicking herself. She was going to get herself killed. Everyone said it, Marcus had said it—but he was dead now, so she supposed that didn’t really matter anymore.
A bell above the door chimed as it swung open. Emily strode in, a low, appreciate whistle escaping her. Damn. She hadn’t seen a locally owned, incredibly sourced, gun shop like this in…well, ever. The closest she had gotten was to the chain stores like Bass & Pro. This place, though, this place was freakin’ firearm heaven. She could practically feel her fingers itching to latch on to the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle. Despite her better intentions, her feet carried her over to the showcase. She felt like a kid in a candy store. It would be a good rifle for hunting, she could probably shell out a few hundred dollars for one, and the black finish was sleek as hell.
But then reality kicked in. Practicality demanded that she walk away. She wasn’t hunting deer. She was hunting people, and the handgun shoved into her messenger bag could do the job just fine. She gave one last longing look to the rifle and turned to the employee.
“My friend Marcus Donnavon told me this was the best place to come to if you were looking to buy firearms,” she threw the name out casually, moving towards the pistols and revolvers as she talked, “but I didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.” Lord help her. There was a pink semi-auto pistol and she wanted it. But the pink was just as inconspicuous as her red hair. There were some things that people didn’t forget, that made you stand out, become more of a target.
Emily had learned that the hard way.
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dailybridgerton
