Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Alright now, Brooklyn. That’s enough.” I smiled like an immature prick at Brooklyn’s scolding. We just had that kind of relationship. “You know he can’t get her just one kitty cat. It would be lonely.” Brooklyn laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks at her victory, while an oblivious Dallas looked on and smiled in confusion, her mind filled with thoughts of two little kittens playing in my fucking front yard. Shitting and pissing on my shit. Clawing my fucking Harley seat. Just the thought of one of them furry bastards climbing on my bike had me seeing red.
“You ain’t gettin’ no fuckin’ cat. You might as well get that shit out of your head,” I said to Dallas, who pouted. She poked that fucking lip out, and I wanted to cave right then. I pushed my chair away from the table, standing and looking down at Ronnie and Brooklyn’s laughing faces and Dallas’ exaggerated pouting one. I had to get away from this table before I did one of two things, choked Brooklyn, or asked her to find Dallas a kitten. My money was on the latter.
Plan A involved Dallas having a gun. She needed to know how to shoot, just in case she found herself in a situation she couldn’t get out of. I figured that if she practiced over the next week and a half, she’d be ready. I walked her down to the river behind the house, where Ronnie had set up a shooting range. Behind the targets across the river was a huge bluff, so shooting someone accidentally wasn’t an issue. He had rigged up a pulley that could go back as far as one hundred yards, depending on how far away you wanted your target to be.
“Okay, babe,” I said, pulling my Beretta M9 from under the back of my shirt. “We are going to start at close range. Hold the gun like this,” I said, holding the gun in my hand and showing her the stance she needed to take. I turned to look at her and found her looking at me like I was crazy. “I just want to show you how to shoot. I thought it would be fun.” Shit. Had I freaked her out?
“Luke, I know how to shoot a gun.” All chicks said that.
“I’m sure you do, babe, but I want to show you the proper way.”
“Give me the gun, Luke.” She said, as if my lecture was boring her.
“Babe, let me show you first.” She gestured with her hands for me to go ahead, and I shot her a warning look. She rolled her eyes, and I was tempted to throw her ass in the river. So I could see her in leather. Wet. And shivering. I could warm her up. By taking her clothes off. I bet her nipples would be hard as fuck. I could warm them up with my mouth, along with other parts of my body. Like my cock. In her smart mouth. She let out an impatient breath, and I was snapped back to reality. I seriously needed to get my shit together. I showed her how to hold the gun, informing her of the safety, and how to load one in the chamber. She stood listening, completely uninterested in anything I had to say. That pissed me off. “Here,” I said, holding the gun by the barrel in my hand and offering it to her. “Since you’re so fucking smart, you do it.”
“Thank you.” She replied in that smart ass tone of hers, greedily grabbing the gun and mirroring my stance. I had set the target ten yards away. If she had to shoot, it would be at close range. She squeezed off five rounds without even flinching. I didn’t have to pull the target in to know she had delivered five perfect head shots. Without looking at her gloating face, I moved the target back five yards just because I was an ass. I crossed my arms, waiting for her to continue to show her skills, hoping like hell she would miss. Again, she squeezed off five rounds, and this time, I retrieved the target to find five perfect neck shots. Ha! She missed. “I shot him in the neck so that you wouldn’t say I missed. His head is already almost blown off.” I would be lying if I said it didn’t get under my skin that she was good. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t proud either.
“Who taught you to shoot like that?” I asked, praying to the gun gods that she wouldn’t say an ex-boyfriend.
“My ex,” she said simply, and I wanted to kill someone. “I’m kidding.” She said, laughing at my murderous glare. “You’re such a man.” I ignored her comment. Our shooting session was over.