I wait for her to nod before placing the gun in her hand. Her brows furrow as she stares down at it, but she doesn’t dump it and run as I anticipated.
When I told her we were going to a shooting range today, she flatly denied my remark as if it were a suggestion. Pity for her I wasn’t joking. There is a deranged man threatening to harm her. Anything I can do to make sure she is prepared for his attack, I’ll do. She has a gun. She has the confidence to fire it. Now, with my help, she’ll have the skills to protect herself. I’ll never let anything happen to her, but I can’t be her shadow 24/7. My parents’ story is living proof of that.
My dad believed keeping my mother in the dark would ensure her safety. It nearly cost him everything. I won’t let that happen to Regan. Her attacker is smart. He’s hidden his tracks so well, even Grayson is having a hard time locating him. But I’ve studied criminals long enough to know he won’t stop until he accomplishes what he set out to achieve. Stalkers don’t fail and give up. They keep going until they’ve either killed their victim or themselves. There is only one result I’m aiming for: the latter.
After curling myself around Regan’s back, I show her the stance required to fire a high caliber weapon without injuring herself. “When you’re handling a gun, you must maintain gun safety at all times. Don’t load a weapon unless you plan to fire it. Keep the safety on at all times, even when the gun isn’t in use, andneverpoint it at anyone unless you’re hoping they’ll die.”
Her pulse quickens during my last sentence.
“I asked Ralph to put on a suppressor to dampen the noise and smooth out the recoil. It won’t be like that when you’re firing in haste. Despite what Hollywood tells you, most perps don’t use silencers.”
Her panicked eyes lift to mine, reminding me she needs more protection than just a few rules. I stop feeling her pulse thrum through my body when I move to the bench at our side to secure a set of earmuffs and protective glasses. Regan reveals she’s been paying attention when she lowers the gun so it points just left of her shoes instead of my chest. A ghost of a smile cracks onto my lips when I spot the heels she’s wearing. They’re the same pair she threatened to gouge my eye out with months ago. I still can’t believe that was only a little over two months ago. Feels more like a lifetime.
After putting on Regan’s glasses and earmuffs, I don my own set. Her pulse returns to its frantic pace when I curl my body over her back and raise her hand again. “Stop panicking. This can be as much fun as it is a lesson,” I shout to ensure she can hear me.
“Shooting a guy in the gonads to stop him from hacking me to pieces is not my idea of a fun time.”
My throat works hard to swallow. Just as her tone insinuated, she’s aiming extremely low on the paper silhouette. She’s not here to take him down. She’s aiming to hurt him as badly as he wants to hurt her.
“Aim for his chest.” I smile when she huffs. “It is a broader area, meaning you’re less likely to miss.”
I can’t see her, but I can imagine her rolling her eyes. “Watch your thumb. You don’t want it anywhere near the slide.” She nods, remembering the run down I gave her on gun safety during our travels. “Your fingers also shouldn’t be anywhere near the cylinder. That fucker burns.”
In the corner of my eye, I spot her lips curving high. She’s probably remembering my whine last night when I showed her the burn I got during my first trip to the range. I was six and shit scared of firing a gun for the three years that followed. Thankfully, my father showed me what I’m hoping Regan will soon realize: guns can be as much fun as they are dangerous.
My eyes stray to the target to calculate its distance before returning them to Regan. Ralph brought the target a few feet closer. It’s a smart move. If a new shooter has confidence in their precision, they’ll be more likely to continue with lessons. If they fail on the first go, or worse, injure themselves, they’ll be reluctant to return to the range. Considering I want Regan’s marksman skills to be on par with mine, making her comfortable is a step in the right direction.
I switch off the safety, then press my lips to the shell of Regan’s muffs. “Alright, when you’re ready, fire at your target.”
Usually, at this point in a lesson, I’d step away from the recruit. I don’t go far. I stay close enough they can sense my presence, but far enough to show my confidence in them. But since Regan isn’t a cadet, and I can’t be reprimanded for my cock getting cozy with her ass, I’ll stay put.
I’ll never see marksmanship training in the same light now.
“Come on, Rae. You’ve got this,” I encourage when she stalls firing. She has her arm up and ready, her eye glancing down the sight. She’s just frozen. Mute. Shit-fucking scared. “Take charge like you did last night, baby. Show them fuckers how it’s done.”
She exhales loud enough for me to hear through my earmuffs before firing off a shot. I don’t know if the unfavorable nickname is the cause for her sudden burst of determination or because she’s noticed the handful of gun-toting men hovering close to watch the spectacle of Barbie unleashing her anger.
They’ve underestimated the strength of my girl, but it won’t be long until they discover what I learned the moment I laid my eyes on her. She’s not just strong. She’s fucking dynamite.
The vein in Regan’s neck flutters when the bullet pierces the left upper quadrant of the paper silhouette.
“Again.”
This one shreds the paper silhouette’s stomach in half.
“Again.”
She continues firing until the magnum is depleted of bullets, and the paper target is hanging by a thread.
“Now switch on your safety and lower your weapon.”
She does as requested without hesitation.
“Well done,” I praise when Ralph drags in the target. Every bullet hit the target, one in a spot I’m certain Regan aimed for.
“If a bullet to the heart doesn’t kill him, I’m sure the loss of his cock will make him wish he were dead.”
I laugh when her comment forces the men circling us to wither away. I swear some even grab their crotches on their way by.
