Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
A low murmur fills the room, and everyone nods their heads in agreement, except Matteo, who is staring at Aspen like he’s taking off her clothes in his mind. Brooks opens the door to the range, and everyone starts heading toward the door, Aspen included. Matteo follows her, and I follow him.
Aspen takes the booth all the way to the left, farthest away from everyone to the left. Matteo tries to take the booth next to hers, and all my conviction about staying away from her goes up in thin air.
“Where are you going?” Ren asks, placing his hand on my shoulder.
Fuck, I forgot he was here for a moment.
“I can’t make Aspen’s life miserable from over there.” Shrugging his hand off my shoulder, I walk over to Matteo. “Move, this is my booth.”
Matteo turns quickly, looking me straight in the eyes. “Of course.” He nods, forcing a smile. “Catch you later, rat.” He winks at Aspen and slithers away like the snake he is.
Ren takes the booth three down from me, and the blond Russian girl from PE takes the one to my right side. I’m pretty sure her name is Hannah, or Anna, or something like that.
I glance to my left and catch Aspen looking away quickly, like she doesn’t want me to notice her staring at me. A smirk tugs at my lips as I take in the gun selection before me.
“We’ll start with the two handguns. Put your ear protection on, pick a gun, load it, fire, repeat,” Brooks instructs, and the room fills with the sound of guns being loaded and racked.
One by one, I push the soundproof earplugs into my ear canal and load my gun on autopilot. The motion is already integrated into my brain enough to where I don’t have to think about what I’m doing.
Raising my gun, I aim at the target and fire off all ten rounds. Every single one hits within the smallest ring of the target, and two are dead center. I release the clip and reload before racking the gun and taking aim once more.
I’m about to take my first shot when I hear an almost inaudible curse beside me. I tilt my head and look down through the glass separating me from Aspen. She is fumbling with the gun, trying to load it with the wrong magazine.
Shaking my head, I put my own gun down. Pulling out one of the earplugs, I walk around the small separation between booths. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m loading the gun. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you are trying to shove a 1911 magazine into a Glock 19.”
“Oh, so this is not the right one?” She looks down at the gun like it’s a foreign object.
“Are you shitting me right now?”
“I don’t know these things. I’ve never even held a gun before.”
My face slackens in shock. She can’t be serious.
“Your father is an arms dealer,” I point out. How in the fucking world has she never held a gun before?
“I wanted to study medicine.” She places the gun on the table in front of her and sags against the wall across from me. Her head is down, her shoulders are slumped, and she looks at the gun like she is about to cry.
Now I’m even more confused. The entire time she has been here, I haven’t seen her cry once. Even with all the shit people have put her through, including me, she hasn’t shed a single tear in front of anyone. She’s always held her head high, yet right now, she looks like she is about to run out crying, and I can’t figure out why. Why now out of all days? More importantly, why do I care?
“I don’t know how to do any of this.”
Shots ring out all around us, but I ignore them as I pick up her gun and load it with the right magazine. “Come here. Stand like this, right foot slightly back, shoulders squared, arms bent. Hold the gun with your right hand, then wrap your left around the bottom like this.”
I show her how to stand before stepping off to the side, handing her the loaded gun. She doesn’t move, simply stares at the gun in my hand for a few more seconds. When she does reach for it, my instinct is to pull away. I’m handing my enemy a loaded gun, after all. Maybe this is a fucking trick? If it is, she deserves a fucking Oscar.
Hesitantly, she grabs the gun and holds it in her hand awkwardly. She takes a stand like I showed her moments ago. Her aim is off, but I let her fire off a few rounds before I correct her. She pulls the trigger, and her whole body jerks from the kickback that she clearly wasn’t ready for.