Under the Gun Read Free

stomach lurched and bile tickled the back of my throat. “That’s nothing,” I whispered
     hoarsely, my smile painted on.
    “So it’s settled. You’ll stay here.” I looked around my apartment, feeling suddenly
     hopeful. “Yeah. Yeah, you could stay here. They wouldn’t come looking for you here,
     no one would.”
    “And what about Nina? You think she won’t notice a big hairy wolf on her couch? Or
     smell me?”
    “First of all, it’s our couch. And you’re right. Nina smells all my friends.” I cringed. I wasn’t sure what
     was worse: the need to hide someone I cared about deeply from someone else I cared
     about deeply, or the fact that I cared deeply about someone who had the tendency to
     smell all my visitors.
    I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it! I read on the Internet—work is slow, I’ve had
     some time to read—that drug dealers pack dryer sheets with their pot so dogs won’t
     be able to smell it. We could do that.”
    Sampson’s smile was staid. “Well that’s . . . offensive.”
    “I could make it work.”
    Suddenly Sampson’s smile was gone.
    His hands closed around my forearms, his eyes wide and dark. He shook his head. “No,
     Sophie. You can’t tell anyone I’m here. And I don’t want to put you out.”
    “But—”
    “No one. Please. Please tell me I can trust you to keep my secret.”
    I nodded, and the relief was visible on Sampson’s face.
    “Wait—where are you going to go?” I asked. “Where are you going to stay?”
    Sampson’s hands dropped to his sides and the deep look of exhaustion haunted his eyes
     again. He sighed. “I’ll find somewhere.”
    “But where? And, how will I be able to find you? I’m going to help.”
    “Sophie, I don’t want you to get involved.”
    I crossed my arms in front of my chest, feeling indignant. “It’s a little late for
     that, isn’t it?”
     
     
    Nina and I sat in my car, silent save for the nattering of the morning DJs on the
     radio.
    “I didn’t mean to overhear,” she said finally.
    “Oh, I know,” I said, lightly pushing the gas.
    While I was flopping over the couch and narrating an M. Night Shyamalan film, Nina
     had been in her bedroom finishing off a Zumba DVD.
    For a vampire who could eat all the fat guys she wanted and never gain an ounce, I
     had to admire her pluck.
    “So what are you going to do?”
    I shook my head, gnawing on my bottom lip. “I don’t know. But I can’t just let him
     go on running. What kind of life is that? Always looking over your shoulder, never
     getting close to anyone.” A little prick of pride poked at me. “I’m going to help
     him, Neens. After all he’s done for me? I owe him that. I can totally help him.”
    Nina didn’t even bother to hide her skepticism. “You’re going to help him not be a werewolf?”
    “I’ll figure something out.”
    My sudden bravado was stemming from the new leaf I had been considering turning over.
     In my life, I did a lot of crying. And sniveling. And falling down. For a girl whose
     CONTACTS list was loaded with the undead, the overpowering, and the often stinky,
     I didn’t have a heck of a whole lot going for myself other than my near infallible
     ability to screw things up.
    That stopped now.
    “Yeah,” I muttered to the windshield, my super-hero grin widening. “I’m going to save
     Sampson.”
    Nina eyed me, then squirmed in her seat. She folded her shoulders in and put on a
     pair of sunglasses that covered up the majority of her flawless pale face. “Sure.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “It’s hot.” She rolled down the window and tucked one of the many pieces of discarded
     clothing-slash-garbage that I kept in my car just for situations such as these—or
     just because I’m lazy—in the window. “Didn’t anyone tell the sun that this is summer
     in San Francisco? You’re off for the season!” she yelled out the window.
    While summer in San Francisco usually consisted of hoodies and hot chocolate,