Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Also behind the counter, but situated in a way that no one else could see, was a giant monitor full of little screens. Of the common areas and lot, but also, mostly, each individual range.
I’d gone for hardwood floors in the lobby—a light Acacia wood that gave the place movement—and gray and lighter wood accents on the walls.
There was a seating area with couches, chairs, a coffee table, and a TV.
Next to that was also a little coffee station.
For staff, but also for guests.
You can never go wrong with free coffee, my sister, Kit, had insisted.
There was art on the walls. And it wasn’t prints of guns or people shooting animals or shit like that. Just art.
As soon as I went in, I put on the music too.
The TV was just going to have to be closed captioned because I couldn’t spend the whole day listening to fucking talk shows or the news.
I brewed a cup of coffee, turned on the TV, made sure all the lights were on, and greeted my range supervisor—a giant wall of a man named Amos with dark skin, close-cut hair, a granite jaw, and golden-brown eyes.
And we were open for business.
I didn’t expect much.
At least not for a few hours.
But not ten minutes after I walked in, the door was opening, and in was walking my first—hopefully—customer.
And, fuck, what a customer.
Proof to the hard work at making the place welcome for femmes, it was a woman.
On the tall side with a curvy figure clad in a pair of knee-length shorts and a simple white tee with a button over one of her full breasts.
Her brown hair waved slightly and fell to her shoulders around an angular face with a generous mouth, cleft chin, and warm brown eyes.
I was so busy checking her out at first that I missed the sort of urgent aura about her as she glanced at the TV, then the coffee, and lastly, the seating area.
“Ready to shoot something?”
Christ.
Great opening line.
Her head whipped to me, brows raised, eyes wide, looking a little stricken for a second, then shaking it off.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lana
I’d parked down the block in an attempt to not come off as a complete and utter psychopath.
But, yeah, I’d been waiting for the range to open.
I’d been counting down the days, in fact.
I’d forced myself to wait a few minutes after I saw the guy showing up on his bike, then the other guy coming out of his SUV, before I pulled my ancient car that was making an alarming clanking noise that I couldn’t afford to fix so I was trying to ignore into the lot.
I took a second to ease my nerves, pulling down the visor, and checking out my face.
I was still inspecting my skin, like a part of me was expecting to see a bruise or a cut. Despite knowing there wouldn’t be. It was all smooth skin. Alright, maybe a little creasing around the eyes that I really needed to find a somewhat cheap serum for, but smooth, unmarked. Even without makeup for a change.
Exhaling hard, I climbed out of the car, grabbed only my wallet and keys, and made my way up the smooth sidewalk.
It was a pretty building, I had to admit.
When I’d done research on shooting ranges, I’d anticipated something that would resemble some serial killer’s garage. I mean, there were even little pink rose bushes and stunning, dinner-plate-sized blood red hibiscus standing tall in the flower beds.
My heart was thrumming in my chest as I pulled open the door to the glass vestibule.
I had a roundabout idea of what to expect.
Again, from some online research.
You went in, gave them your license to copy, picked a gun to rent, went to the range, put on glasses and ear protection, and then shot at the target.
That was it.
There was nothing to feel so nervous about.
It wasn’t like the guy was going to look at me, realize my motivations, and was going to call the cops on me.
I don’t know what I was expecting about the inside of the place. The website was nice and functioning, but there hadn’t been any images of the interior, so I was left guessing.
And, honestly, it looked like a really nice living room. If you didn’t count the big, long, glass case full of mounted guns, muzzles down.
I felt some of the anxiety falling away.
And the smell of coffee might have had more to do with that than I was willing to admit. What can I say? I practically lived on the stuff. If a doctor drew my blood and declared it had more caffeine than red blood cells, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
It smelled like good coffee too. Not the bitter stuff I’d been getting from the dollar store lately.
But I wasn’t complaining about that.
It was all worth it.