Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(37)

Over the last few weeks, Dingane and I had intermittently examined those parts where we suspected the soldiers had stalked us from. We hadn’t seen any sign of boot prints since that first day, but Dingane refused to relax.

“Can you not calm down for a few moments?” I’d asked him at the time.

“Do you not remember the village?” he asked me in answer.

That was the end of that.



Dingane and I had come to an understanding of sorts. I kept as quiet as possible, did my work and he would tolerate me. But after those first few weeks, I’d grown tired of submission so I showed him what I was capable of. I showed him I had enough initiative, enough industry, to strike out. I was also, simultaneously, recognizing something in myself I didn’t know could exist.



I was worth more than the sex I’d defined myself with.



Yet Dingane still treated me with latent disdain.



The child survivors of the village were adjusting swimmingly apart from a few minor hiccups here and there, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Charles, Karina, the rest of the staff and I were becoming great friends. I was truly falling in love with them and my purpose for being there, which I discovered was more than just serving a sentence.

I was learning Bantu, not enough to hold a conversation but enough to ask the younger ones if they needed to use the restroom, if they were hungry, etc.

Mandisa had started eating again thanks to Dingane and me. After our powerful breakthrough in the kitchen, she’d warmed up to me though I hadn’t any idea why at the time, but Karina helped me see that Mandisa chose who she thought could help her the best and she felt that was me. Who was I to argue? If I could help, I was going to. She’d gained almost seven pounds in two weeks. Mandisa had even taken to occasionally sneaking into my hut late at night and sleeping with me. I wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone but she was my favorite.



A week after Mercy came back, Dingane and I had to make another patrol near the watering hole. After classes, we got into his truck and headed that way.

“Oliver’s driving me nuts,” I told the window.

“He drives us all nuts.”

I laughed. “He’s too smart for our lessons.”

“I know this.”

“So why don’t we alter his curriculum accordingly?” I asked.

“That’s a fine idea,” he conceded too easily.

I sat up a bit and stared at him in shock. “What? No argument?”

He only rolled his eyes.

“No, seriously. No argument? No telling me ‘you’ve got this’ or dismissing me? I must confess, I suspect I’m living in an alternate universe.” I pretended to check out the window. “Nope, pigs aren’t flying.”

“Har, har.” He sighed, parking the truck.

He leaned over and removed his pistol from the glove compartment. I got out, not wanting to be anywhere near it. I had a healthy respect for guns. Very healthy.

“You’re scared of it,” he proclaimed to the wind.

“I’m not,” I said, moving to the other side of him, the side without the gun.

“After we check things out, you’re going to shoot it.”

My mouth dropped open to my chest. “Absolutely not!”

He stopped short and grinned at me. “You absolutely are. I can’t have you frightened of it. What if there’s occasion to use it?”

“I’ll never have need to hold it, much less use it.”

“Don’t be naive, Sophie.”

“I won’t need to know.”

“This is a ‘just in case’ kind of situation. Once I teach you how to aim and shoot it, I won’t ever ask you to use it again.”

“Fine,” I gritted, continuing on without him.

I could hear him snicker below his breath behind me. “It’s not funny,” I sang.

“I beg to differ. This is going to be delightful for me.”

I deliberately walked faster.

“Stop,” he said, catching up. “I’ll stop teasing. Just stay near me.”

I obeyed but didn’t acknowledge him. We searched the entire watering hole and found no evidence that anyone was there. We rounded the entire bit of land and were nearing the truck. I made a mad dash toward it, hoping he’d have somehow miraculously forgotten our lesson, but there was no such luck.

“Wrong way, Sophie,” I heard him say. I stopped, disrupting the dirt beneath my feet and turned around, slightly winded.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious. Now, follow me.”

He led me toward a covered area and found a thick rotting stump, picking it up as if it weighed nothing and setting it against a still-standing tree.

“This is your target,” he said, checking the barrel and unloading the gun of all bullets.

“Why are you removing the bullets if this is a shooting lesson?”

“Because there are a few rules you need to recognize first, and I think you’d be more comfortable holding an unloaded gun.”

He was right.

“Okay,” he continued, “first rule’s you always handle a gun as if it’s loaded, even if you know it’s not.”

He handed me the gun and I reached for it with a shaking fist. I took it and held it in my palm.