Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“When do we get to blow shit up?” he asks, and I have to admit his excitement is kinda cute.
“How about we teach you how to use a gun first. The explosives can be like positive reinforcement. Do well with a gun, you get to play with C4.”
“You’d make the bestest parent ever.”
“At least you’re willing to admit you’re basically like a child.”
“Where’s my gun?” He’s like a damn puppy.
“I’m already regretting this.”
“Nah, it’s going to be fun.”
“Getting shot could be considered fun, I guess. Follow me.”
The ranch is on acres of land in the middle of nowhere near Palm Desert with no neighbors. It means we can make as much noise as we want without alerting anyone.
Harley walks through the halls with a look of awe in his dark blue eyes. We really should call it the mansion instead of the ranch.
Our bed is a four-poster, and the room has a bear-skin rug. Not even joking.
Trav as a person is a basic man. Which is why when he hired a decorator and told them to “go nuts,” they turned this brand-new, empty mansion with high ceilings and marble tile throughout into a pimp’s heaven.
We’re talking animal print everywhere, plush couches, and tacky furnishings that the designer supposedly called “retro,” but it looks like there should be hookers swinging from poles and neon lights everywhere.
Trav says it’s fine for what we need, but I have to secretly wonder if he likes how over-the-top it is.
Harley’s house is decorated for beyond his years, and Trav’s … well, I imagine the interior decorator he hired also works on porn sets. I could totally see porn being made here.
Maybe I’ll suggest it to Trav as a backup career plan if Mike Bravo folds.
Not that it will.
Trav’s too well-known and too successful in his field.
The shooting range is separate from the house and very much more in line with Trav’s personality. It’s barren and army green. It’s within walking distance, so I take Harley through the perfectly manicured gardens.
Trav has people looking after this place, and I have to wonder how much they’re paid to keep it secret.
We get to the walk-in weapons locker, and I punch in the code. I take out a Glock 26 with a red dot scope to start him on because it’s small, compact, and easy to aim.
“Aww, it’s a baby.” Harley reaches for it.
“No touching.”
He pulls his hand back fast. “Why not?”
“Lesson one. Never touch another man’s gun without asking first.”
“Aren’t these technically your boss’s guns?”
“Lesson two. Don’t be a smartass to the person teaching you how to use a deadly weapon.”
Harley nods. “Okay. I guess that’s a fair rule.”
“We’ll start with this one and see how you do.” I take out ammo and put it on the table, grab two sets of ear protection and glasses, and then turn toward the Kevlar. “Think I need this?”
He doesn’t reply. His face says he wants to say something but is trying to hold back.
“No opinion?”
“Well, you said I’m not allowed to be a smartass, so …”
I can’t help smiling. “Let’s go.”
There’re two ranges here. One long and one short. I take Harley to set up in one of the booths on the short course.
There are metal circles that fall when hit along the back, and then other targets throughout the space.
I go through the basics, showing him the gun while it’s still unloaded and pointing out everything he needs to know.
While I’m midsentence, it looks like his eyes gloss over, and I ask him to repeat what I said.
He shakes out of his stupor. “Huh?”
“That’s what I thought. You do realize you’re going to be shooting a gun? It’s not a toy. And unlike the last one you used, this will have real bullets.”
“Sorry. I know all that. I got … umm, distracted.”
“The Evah thing?”
He glances away. “Sure. Uh, the Evah thing.”
“Well, distraction is what we don’t want when you’re working with guns. Especially loaded ones.”
“No shit. Sorry. I’m here. I’m focused.”
Yet, I don’t miss the way his gaze moves over me or the way my chest puffs out automatically.
I like him checking me out.
I like a lot of things about my client I shouldn’t.
“Brix?”
It’s my turn to have tuned out. I shake it off. “I was just checking you were still paying attention.”
Right.
After I finish the safety briefing and show him the proper stance and how to aim the still-unloaded gun, I finally put in a ten-round magazine.
“Earplugs,” I say.
When they’re in place and his glasses are on, I hesitantly hand him the gun, and I’m reluctant to let it go.
Until he smiles. “I won’t shoot you. I promise.”
Geez, with his angelic features, he could’ve told me he will shoot me, and I’d still hand over the gun.
“Wow, it’s a lot heavier.” He tests it out in his hand.