Two Can Play At That Game

14.

Not even bothering to knock, Brooklyn twisted the handle of Simon's door and barged in. He seemed to be waiting for her anyway, sitting on the bed and holding a plastic bag.

"This is it?" Brooklyn inquired, glancing at the bag that rested right next to Simon. She could see the outline of the gun, a dark silhouette that contrasted with the sheer white of the bag.

Simon nodded, grimly. He stroked the bag with the back of his fingers as if it was a kitten rather than a deadly weapon.

Brooklyn snatched the bag from Simon's side and untwisted the knot that kept the bag closed and almost dropped it as she fumbled for the inside contents. She felt how cold and smooth the gun was, the handle seeming to fit right in her hand perfectly. It was a simple black handgun, that could almost be described as elegant.

"It's not loaded," Simon commented, as he gazed at Brooklyn with watchful his eyes. She flexed her fingers around the gun, almost in admiration of how her red nails matched the exterior of the handgun.

She furrowed through the bag and saw a little container filled with metal bullets.

"Do you know how to use it?" Simon asked.

Brooklyn's eyes snapped up at him. "Of course," she lied. She had been to a gun range once when she was younger with her father. She touched a shotgun that her dad had been using, but quickly recoiled away from it when she heard how loud it was and the force it had.

Simon held his hands up like he was surrendering. "Well, if that's all..." he trailed off, hinting at her to leave.

Shoving the gun back into the plastic bag, she carefully folded it up and placed it inside her purse, remembering to zip it up. "Thanks, Simon. Seriously," she said, with gratitude.

Glancing up at her with what seemed like both surprise and suspicion, he offered a single nod. As Brooklyn turned around to leave, he suddenly spoke. "Are-are you in danger?"

Turning around, Brooklyn looked at Simon for a moment, trying to answer his question. She counted five of her heartbeats before answering. "I don't know," she admitted. It felt good to say how she really felt, even if it was to somebody she barely knew.

"Okay."

Brooklyn finally left and went straight back to Windsor, where she was alone. At least, Elena wasn't home yet, so it gave Brooklyn time to figure out a safe place to stash the gun.

She surveyed her room, trying to think of a place that was both discreet and near her bed, so she could grab it quickly if need be.

Bending down under her bed, she spotted a vent that had been blocked years ago. The heating system was updated a while back. Brooklyn crawled towards it and used her fingers to unscrew the screws and pop the front off. She opened the plastic bag, loaded the bullets in the gun, turned the safety button off, and placed it inside the vent. After doing so, she screwed the front back on, fumbling a few times.

When Brooklyn crawled out, a figure was standing right in front of her. She let out a stifled scream, but promptly shut her lips together when she saw it was only Michael.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, sighing. She ran her fingers through her hair as she made way to the trash can to discard the plastic bag with gun residue.

Michael stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and bounced on the balls of his feet before answering. "I know you're probably the last person I should be talking to about Diana-"

Brooklyn stiffened, feeling her chest tighten up. She clenched her teeth together, as a feeble attempt to stop herself from blurting out something stupid.