Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 35

THIRTY-FIVE

“ T wenty bucks says I miss,” Savannah laughs.

I clip the magazine into my gun, pulling the slide back and repositioning my aim. “You do realize you’re betting against yourself?”

She shrugs back, aiming her gun at the target ahead of us. “It’s better to keep the bar low,” she comments. I watch her for a moment, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. Then she pulls the trigger, the loud fire of the gun muffled through our ear protection. Of course, she misses as predicted, hitting the shoulder of the man outlined on the target. She turns to me with a less than surprised look on her face. “That way, you don’t get disappointed.”

I fire off a round, hitting my target where the head is. “That’s a real morbid way of looking at things.”

“Says the woman who can kill a man blindfolded,” she scoffs.

I laugh at her comment as I slide the safety on. Only half of what she said is correct; I could definitely kill a man if I set my mind to it. I’ve never had to, but I’ve prepared myself for when the time ever comes. Doing it blindfolded though? That’s a stretch.

“You’re a drama queen,” I say, rolling my eyes.

She doesn’t deny it as she fires off a few more rounds at the target. We’re only two months into our training, and considering the girl has never fired a gun before joining the academy, she’s not doing terribly. I have a good few years’ practice on her, so I know it takes time to perfect. You’ve either got the skill, or you haven’t. Unfortunately, this is the one class where Savannah is failing. She’s ranked last—not just in the class, but the entire intake. Everything else, she excels in. First Response, Emergency Vehicle operations, she can even recite the Radio Codes off by heart. But weapons handling… not her forte.

The problem is, she’s doing everything right. Her stance is perfect, her preparation is faultless, but it’s like as soon as she pulls the trigger, something gets in the way of the damn bullet.

Then I notice it. It’s subtle at first, but as each round pops off, I hone in on it. “How did your dad get injured again?” I ask.

She flicks the safety on her gun and rests it on the shelf in front us before turning to me. “Shot on duty.”

I step towards her, picking up her firearm and handing it back to her. My instincts are telling me it’s fear holding her back. Like me, she’s never had to kill anyone, much less aim a gun at somebody. Where I learned for my own protection, refusing to allow misogyny pave my path, Savannah has always had a guiltless life.

“Who do you picture when you’re pulling the trigger?” I inquire.

She shrugs nonchalantly, like I didn’t just pinpoint the one thing that could be holding her back. My guess is she’s imagining her dad, but I know better than to assume.

“I always picture the people I hate,” I explain. “People that I wish I could hurt.”

“Long list then, huh?”

I chuckle back at her, stepping sideways so I don’t get the recoil. “But it works.”

Huffing, Savannah clicks the safety off and repositions her arms. “The guy who did it is dead,” she tells me. “I’ve got no one else to focus on.”

“What about Prescott?” I suggest.

“Ooh, good one!” She takes a deep breath once more, exhaling so slowly you can barely hear it. Every second, it feels like she’s redefining the target, molding it into the perfect image of Prescott. Then she squeezes the trigger, and I watch as the bullet hits the target square in the head.

She squeals out loud, the sound echoing down the aisle. I have to say, I’m impressed. We could call it a fluke, but I’m not about to diminish her success. It’s the first time she’s actually hit the target where she was aiming.

“Looks like he’s a dead man,” she says with the widest grin.

We spend the rest of the day at the range with the instructors pacing up and down behind us, drilling us on safety and the importance of keeping our weapons clean. We run through drills, marksmanship, and protocols until it becomes natural. I can’t help but shudder every time one of the instructors passes by me. It’s like I’m always being watched—and not in the way I like.

Yeah, sometimes I like the way Roman always keeps a watchful eye.

By the time we’re packing up and leaving, I feel uneasy, and not from the eyes I feel branding me every time I turn around, but because Savannah picked up on a rumor that has me on edge.

“Maybe your boyfriend got ahold of him,” Savannah whispers as we leave the range. I hate that her thoughts go there, but she’s right. It’s very possible Roman has something to do with Prescott’s recent disappearance.

It’s been almost a week since the guy had me tasting my own blood, and I haven’t seen him since. We’ve had replacement instructors for the defense tactics lesson, which wouldn’t be suspicious in any other circumstance, but the fact I told Roman about what happened between us makes me believe he had something to do with it.

I know how ridiculous that sounds— because no way would The Five get involved with anything like that, right? Then again, Roman Genovese has no boundaries, especially when it comes to me.

Now that the rumors have confirmed Prescott isn’t actually on vacation or sick leave, I’m growing more and more nervous that it’s something more sinister. It’s not that Prescott doesn’t deserve whatever Roman dishes out. The man is a top tier asshole, and the fact he tried to not only humiliate me in front of the class, but take his obvious hatred for my family out on me, is what I cling onto. But I’ve been trying so damn hard to prove I’m not like Roman, or Varo, or my dad. I’m not a criminal, but making him pay would be incredibly satisfying.

“Sav,” I huff, quirking a brow at her.

“What? I’d be surprised if he didn’t have that guy bleeding out!”

Sometimes I wonder whether she actually thinks before she speaks. Talking about my criminal boyfriend surely goes against some code when you’re around police— not that it stopped my aunt Lexie. Lucky for us, we’re not officially police officers yet.

“You did tell him what happened?” Sav questions dubiously.

“I did,” I reply nervously. “But he assured me he wouldn’t get involved.”

Savannah scoffs as she swings her bag over her shoulder. “Like that’s ever stopped a man like him before.”

Shit. She’s right. Roman doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to staying out of things, especially when it comes to me. Ashton Greedy went missing because of him, and I’m certain he’s not going to be making an appearance anytime soon. Roman doesn’t necessarily act before thinking, so he’s definitely had time to consider his next move. What pisses me off more is he thinks I can’t handle Prescott on my own.

It’s six o’clock by the time I get home. The place is empty, as usual, meaning Roman is off doing Roman things. My immediate thoughts go to Prescott and whether the two are connected. It wouldn’t surprise me, but I know if I ask him about it, he’ll just lie to me or be deliberately vague.

Pulling my phone out of my bag, I click on my brother’s contact. I’d like to think I can trust him to tell me if he knows anything about my missing training officer, but even I’m not na?ve enough to think he won’t tell Roman if I start asking specific questions. I stare at the screen for what feels like too long before I decide how smart I need to play this.

Me: Have you seen Ro?

I tap my fingers impatiently on the countertop as I perch at my kitchen island. The dancing spots on my phone screen catch my attention, only there for a few seconds before a reply comes back.

Varo: Yes, we’re at The Ravenite. Why?

Me: No reason.

It’s a total lie, but it gives me the element of surprise. I doubt Prescott will be there, but if I can at least look Roman in the eyes and squeeze the truth out of him, I’ll feel a little better. I just hope he’s not behind this.

Shoving on a pair of jeans and a tee, I grab my leather jacket and bike keys from beside the door and head out. Luckily, the club isn’t too far from my place, and I manage to make it there in twenty minutes. Every mile I close in, my thoughts grow frantic because I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how I’m going to react, and I sure as shit don’t know if Roman is truly behind this.

Baz is already at the front door, frowning at me as I switch off the bike engine and slip my helmet off. “Bit early,” he comments gruffly.

“I’m here to see a man about a dog,” I reply sarcastically, pushing past him. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop me, which I almost wish he had because no sooner have I reached the steps that lead to the basement do I start to get a bad feeling. Add that to the groans echoing towards me and my palms become a sweaty mess.

I push through the door carefully, spotting my brother immediately. Slowly, my eyes move to Roman, then to the body he’s blocking. His sharp blue eyes gravitate towards me like a storm roiling through a sea. There’s no stopping the anger that rolls off of him as he approaches, still blocking whoever he has in that chair.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Roman growls, caging my face between his palms. It’s then that I notice the blood decorating his crisp white shirt; the coldness of his steel knuckle dusters pressing against my skin. Fear wraps around my vocal chords as I glance at my brother over his shoulder.

“We need to talk,” I say with a shaky breath.

“Not now.”

A cough wheezes through the room and it’s the distraction I need to sidestep Roman. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d done as I was told. I wish I’d stayed away, and never even thought about coming here, because not knowing is far better than what my eyes land on.

My blood runs cold and the frigid sensation of fear holds me in place. My voice is barely a whisper as my next words tumble out, but it’s loud enough for Roman to hear.

“What did you do?”