The Fired Gun

Introduction-3

“You doin’ okay?” a voice broke through his haze.

Staring down at a worn photograph, Dakota hadn’t moved in at least twenty minutes. Barely blinking. Hunched over. His thumb traced the right edge of fraying paper. A shallow visage of a genuine smile from a girl whose life consisted more of pain and hardship than joy. The image, though, was merely a suggestion. He lost himself in a maze of thoughts about Kenna. About the time he wasted in places like this. About shirking his responsibilities to her. When he dove head first into a job, he could ignore the hurt this photograph evoked. But not during the pointless hours of waiting, where he had only himself and his thoughts to hound him.

Except that, now, he had a spectator. Someone to notice him obsessing over a picture.

“You miss her?” Gage prodded.

Dakota shook his head. The hustle and bustle of the airport grated against his senses as he brought himself back to the here and now. Conversations, shoes shuffling, voices over the intercoms, and children playing unattended all met his ears. Boring and meaningless s**t. He hated traveling.

“I should be with her,” he corrected with a dark annoyance creeping into his tone. “She’s my responsibility.”

“She needs you.”

He shrugged. “She needs someone. I’m just the best candidate right now. And I don’t like leaving her. With anyone. But especially not Adelaide Price.”

“Did you feel better when I was there?”

“Maybe. But not by much, to be honest.”

Gage sat back in a plastic chair and locked his fingers behind his head. A seemingly chaotic mass of small braids, all bleached to a dull yellow, dropped over his hands.

He couldn’t keep his feet still. Probably nicotine withdrawal. Gage smoked like a chimney. But he certainly couldn’t light up in an airport. Their flight would be a few hours long, too, so it could prove an arduous journey for the addict. But to his credit, he didn’t show even an ounce of irritation outwardly. In part, his carefree attitude shone through like always. Perhaps his unfounded fascination with Dakota was involved. Whatever the cause, he effortlessly bounced between bubbly sociability and genuine interest in Dakota’s personal life.

It was mildly aggravating, to have himself and his one intimate relationship suddenly put under a microscope, albeit an innocent and friendly one. Dakota had grown accustomed to flying solo. When he wasn’t looking after Kenna, he preferred to be by himself. The things he had to do on these trips—

While he’d numbed himself to it all, he didn’t have any desire to talk about it. He could easily imagine how he’d appear to any normal person who found out about his profession. He’d seen that look before.

Fear wrapped in disgust.

“I dunno if it’s my place to mention this or not, but, well, I figure you might like to hear it.”

The quiet, serious approach was enough to tear Dakota’s attention away from the photo. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his head. “What?”

“When you’re not around, she calls you ‘dad.’ Talks about you all the time. You’re like her hero.” He laughed. “And she’s very defensive of you, even to Adelaide.”

Practiced as he was in hiding his emotions and keeping a cool head, Dakota could not help but react profoundly to that. His eyes widened considerably, and his mouth dropped open. While he was certainly Kenna’s parent, as far as anyone was concerned—hell, thanks to some creative forgery, she now bore his last name—not once had Kenna ever called him that to his face. And he never pressed the issue or asked her about it. He didn’t think he had a right to. Her biological parents were dead, and her real father had been an abusive tyrant.

But he was her dad, nonetheless. Too young for the job, perhaps, and regularly engaging in a violent business that probably should disqualify him from the role. But in every moment of every day, he thought of himself as her father.

He couldn’t help it. Everything he did was for her. Either to care and provide for her directly or to make the world a little safer for her future. This trip and every one before it. All the fighting and killing. Each injury and every execution. Everything.

Not once, however, had the child—gradually becoming a teenager before his eyes—ever indicated that she thought of Dakota as her dad. Sure, she looked up to him, relied on him, loved him. But calling him a pet name like that? No way. It was always “Dakota.” Always. What reason would she have to use “dad”? He didn’t blame her for not saying it. How could he?

And yet, if Gage could be believed, she did. Just not in front of him. As though she was afraid of what he would say. As though she feared that he might tell her he wasn’t her dad, that he might reject her as his child. When in reality, he would probably start crying and hug her.

Gulping, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He turned to face Dakota. Ghostly blue eyes studied him with equal parts curiosity and confusion. “You didn’t know about that, huh?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Stop me if I’m bein’ too nosey for my own good, but maybe you two should talk about it, you know, when we get back? I think she’d like to know that you think you’re her dad, too.” Gage cleared his throat out of nervousness and turned away.

When they got back? f**k, he wasn’t sure he could wait that long. Dakota wanted to turn around right now and go talk to Kenna. To hell with the mission. He’d gone so long hoping she thought of him as her father, but never knowing. The revelation was truly profound. It was deeply, powerfully important. He ached to speak to her about it, to tell her that it was more than fine. To put her fears to rest. Of course he was her dad, in every sense that mattered. And he always would be. It was the one thing that still fulfilled him and made him feel human.

“Anyway, there are far worse people than Adelaide and the Inner Circle to babysit her. When it was my turn, all I really did was spoil her rotten with too much candy and make sure she did her homework. They might actually teach her somethin’.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Gage chuckled and patted Dakota on the arm. “You still don’t trust them? They’re good people, and they love Kenna. You don’t have to worry about them corruptin’ her or anything.”

“Man, I dunno about that. What do you think they employ me to do?” he asked in an incredibly low voice. Last thing he needed was for someone in the airport to think he was a terrorist. Or for anyone to learn the truth, for that matter: that he was a hitman en route to his next target. “Gage, these people essentially pay me to kill other people.”

“Bad people.”

“Doesn’t matter. If they expect me to do that, and they think it’s fine and dandy, then I wonder what else they think is okay. Especially without you to relay s**t back to me. For all I know, they’ll have her carrying buckets of water upstairs or smashing four-by-fours until her knuckles are f*****g raw. She’ll be a black belt in Tae Kwon Do or some s**t by the time I get back! Or worse, some kind of little soldier…”

Blinking, Gage’s expression grew pensive. “Are you sure that’s bad? With things escalatin’ like they are—”

“f**k yes, it’s a bad thing! Kenna should get to be a kid. I won’t let her be forced into that s**t. It’s the whole reason I’m doing this.” He rubbed at his temples as a headache began to form. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let them f**k up her life even more than it already is.”

“I don’t think Adelaide or anyone else’ll force that girl to do anything. But you have to figure she might choose it on her own. She’s a bright girl.”

He shook his head. “If they pressure her, it’s not a choice.”

“No, c’mon. I’m not talkin’ about that. She looks up to you, right? And what you do—I mean, I haven’t seen it in action yet, but the way you describe it, ain’t that like bein’ a soldier? Somethin’ like that? If anything, she might choose the life because, quite frankly, it’s what her dad does. Like father, like daughter.”

Oh f**k, he hoped not.

The last thing he wanted was to raise her to become a killer. Hell, he didn’t even want the kid to use any of the talismans if he could help it, though when she’d insisted on her own inherited necklace a few months back, he couldn’t withhold it from her. It was rightfully hers. Still, if he could shield her from this violence and everything that came with it, he intended to. She’d already seen enough of it in her short life. More than any one person should have to witness.

“Not if I can help it,” he said finally.

“It might not be up to you.”