Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Seven





Gunner decided he was starving and didn’t want takeout. They walked to the restaurant, which was just up the block. Avery adjusted the baseball cap she’d grabbed from her bag, noting that no one came near them as they walked together through the darkened streets, which were beginning to show signs of life, as though the music wafted along the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry—I’ll show you the floor when we get back,” he told her. “Wheels in your mind are working overtime. Relax. It’s after six. No more work tonight.”

As they settled into a table in the loud and crowded casual restaurant, a car backfired outside the open window behind them. She immediately froze, flashed back to killing the first man. She hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger, because he’d killed her mother.

She’d done it face-to-face because she’d wanted him to know who was taking his life, wanted him to see the retribution in her eyes.

“If you’re scared of a car backfiring, you’ll never survive in this neighborhood,” Gunner said, but his tone was gentler than she’d expected.

“I’m still a little jumpy. I was hoping the land of good times would make it better.”

“It’s not that anymore. Not by a long shot.” Gunner’s face was grim. “It’s a goddamned shame too.”

“But you stayed.”

“I love her too much to desert her.”

“Too bad you can’t say the same about your wives,” their waitress interjected with a smirk and a snap of her hips.

“Billie Jean, don’t go telling all of my secrets.” Gunner’s drawl was lazy, easy, and if he was pissed about what she’d said, Avery would never know it.

She looked up at Billie Jean and wondered if she really was an ex-wife. She was pretty, with long dark hair and olive skin.

“Who’s this—another secret?” Billie Jean asked Gunner with a perfunctory nod in Avery’s direction.

“Can we just order please? The usual, times two?” Gunner gave a half grin and Billie Jean relented, wrote something on the small pad and walked away.

She came back less than three minutes later with beers and a plate of small red shellfish-looking things. Avery ignored the food in favor of the beer, since her adrenaline was still racing.

Dare trusted you to do this—don’t screw it up, she told herself.

Gunner drew everywhere. She wondered if he even noticed he did it. The black pen made soft scratch marks on the white paper placemats, the napkins. When she looked, she saw a sketch of her: the cap, the big eyes . . . but he ripped it off and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Don’t want to take chances with a wanted woman.”

“But you taking me here . . .”

“People will know you’re with me.”

“Like a bodyguard.”

“Something like that.”

She was too wound up for a place like this, with its cheer and friendliness. She didn’t want to celebrate—she wanted revenge on a man who’d ripped her family apart before it even had a chance. She was hot with it, though Dare hadn’t wanted it to consume her, was worried that she’d fall over the edge, never to come back.

“You’re haunted, chère.”

“Hunted,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Not in my book.”

She shifted topics. “How long have you known Dare?”

Gunner took a swig of beer from the bottle. “Long enough.”

“You tattooed him?”

“I don’t break my clients’ confidences,” he told her. “Have a mudbug.”

She wrinkled her nose, even as he showed her how to crack them and suck out the meat. But the taste—she had to admit it was worth it. All the food placed in front of them was amazing, and she ate heartily, forgetting, for that short time at least, why she was really in this city.

She noticed all the women looking at Gunner. Some of them glared at her, like she was stealing their good time away.

“Want to tell me why you’re in trouble?” he asked finally, after he’d devoured his own plate and helped her with hers.

“How do you know I’m in trouble?” She licked the salted brine off her pinky and took another long swig of beer. She was feeling more relaxed than she had in months.

“Everyone who comes to me is. And that’s a fact. Don’t make me pull it out of you. I’m sure your brother told you not to keep secrets from me.”

In fact, Dare had. You can trust him with everything—the more information he has on you, the better. Just don’t mention Powell—I’ll break that to him.

She just hadn’t been expecting to do it out in public like this, but it wasn’t like anyone could hear them over the band. Her confession would blend in. “Someone’s trying to kill me. And I’m also wanted for murder.”

Gunner cocked his head to stare at her. Did he want her to cry? Break down? She wouldn’t, nor would she apologize. She stared back at him, brows raised, daring him to question her further.

Of course he did, but he didn’t ask the one she’d expected. “Did anyone follow you—cops or assassins?”

“No. I came here with Dare.”

“And they’re trying to kill him as well?”

“Yes.”

Gunner shook his head. “Got plenty of ammo in the shop.”

“Comforting.” And it was. He didn’t seem to worry that she was marked. “When did you meet my brother?”

“I worked with his father a long time ago.”

“Darius is my father too,” she offered. “I didn’t know until recently.”

Gunner’s expression didn’t change, but his tone softened. “He was a good guy.”

The was nearly leveled her, but she decided that the jury was still out on the good-guy part. “I never met him. I don’t know anything about him except . . .” He never claimed me. “He lived a dangerous life and he got my mom killed.”

“Seems to me that women who get involved with dangerous men know what they’re getting into. Probably because they’ve got more than a little bit of hell on wheels in them to start with.”

There was no judgment in his tone, but she bristled anyway, probably because he spoke the truth. “I gave my momma hell,” she admitted.

“A wild child.”

“I guess. I didn’t have much to rebel against, but I couldn’t sit still. I was always looking around the corner for the next adventure. I grew up in the bounty office she owned. I learned there’s a really fine line between upstanding citizen and criminal.”

Gunner raised his beer. “Sometimes, there’s no line at all.”

She clinked her bottle against his. Wondered how much longer she’d keep holding up, holding on. It was expected of her. Necessary. She’d been doing it since she found Momma murdered, and that image was something she could shake from her mind only when she was doing something that required complete concentration.

After she’d killed the men who’d murdered her mother, she’d nearly buckled, forced herself to walk away before the police came.

She still didn’t understand how the police could’ve found her so quickly, but after Dare explained it, it all made sense.

She’d killed Powell’s men, and Powell sent more after her. It chilled her to think how close they’d gotten to her, what would’ve happened if Dare hadn’t gotten involved.

“Whoever’s after you must be pretty powerful. And pissed,” Gunner speculated. “Not every day I meet a female fugitive.”

She wanted to ask him how he knew that, but maybe she should be reassured. If he could peg her, he could identify danger.

At least he was on her side. She knew better than to deny what he’d said.

When more plates of food were plunked down, with Billie Jean still smirking, Avery looked up at her. “Look at me like that one more time and you’ll have no lips left to make that face.”

The words were quiet, the threat coming through loud and clear. Avery’s own expression must’ve told the tale, because Billie Jean backed away fast.

“Scaring away my ex-wife’s a good way to stay on my good side.” Gunner grinned as he spoke, then began digging into his gumbo. “Shit is hot—hope you’re ready.”

“What happens after we eat?”

“We change everything about you.”