Golden Arrow

The Target

Of course it's Wilson Scarlet that greets us as LJ helps me hobble through the door of our small cabin outside of the city.

"Yikes, Robin. That's going to leave a nasty scar. That'll be attractive." He flicks his shaggy auburn locks out of his face as he eyes the slash in my thigh.

"Shut up, Scarlet. Go moisturize your face or something else as equally as important as sneaking into a highly secured building."

Wilson holds his hands up in surrender. "Chill out drama queen. Did you at least get us our tickets to tomorrow's party?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" I snap.

Wilson scoffs and then backs away and heads upstairs, but I can hear him mutter something about moisturizing being a good idea right now with the dry summer heat. A door slams, followed by the muted tinkering and tuning of a guitar. If Wilson weren't my cousin and my only remaining relative, there would be no way that I'd tolerate living with him. He is a "tortured" musician, forever writing and rewriting lyrics and messing around with chord progressions. Wilson gets his inspiration from his many short lived relationships. The boy is blessed with his looks, conventionally handsome with high cheekbones and piercing green eyes (the one aspect of our appearances that prove we're related), meaning he is never lacking in the girl department.

My leg suddenly buckles and LJ reaches under my knees to lift me into his arms. "Tucker!" He calls out. He kicks the wooden door closed behind him, causing the pictures on the log walls to rattle.

"Kitchen!" Of course, Tucker is always in the kitchen.

As we enter, Tucker looks up from his foot long sub and his eyes widen as he takes in my injury. "Lord have mercy!"

He immediately slides two chairs over so that LJ can set me down in one and lift my leg up onto the other. Tucker leaves the room to get his medical supplies and LJ sits down at the other side of the dining table. He brings out his phone and starts scrolling through the internet like he always does after our raids. I close my eyes and listen to his tapping and his low whistle whenever he finds something interesting.

Tucker returns and stuffs a washcloth into my mouth. I'm about to question his action, when he wipes what feels like acid on my cut and I let out a scream that gets muffled.

Yep, that's why.

My eyes water and I clench and unclench my fists as Tucker cleans and stitches me up. His tufted blonde hair sways with every move. While he may be the size of a small bear, he is as gentle as a mouse. As he works, I can hear him murmuring a prayer.

"Lord Jesus, you are the master of life and death. Everything I have is yours. Just one touch from you restores the sick, heals the broken, and transforms the darkness."

"I haven't heard that one before. Is that new, Tuck?"

Tucker looks up to me with his baby blue eyes, his dimples standing out on his plump cheeks. "Yes, mam, it is. I heard it on a new sermon podcast I discovered today."

I smile. "I like it. But, I'm too young to be a mam, Tuck. I've told you this before."

He nods his head as he finishes up the stitches. "It's out of respect, mam."

I look over to LJ, who just shrugs and rolls his eyes.

"Find anything good?" I ask, wanting to be distracted from the fiery sensation of my leg.