Page 43 of Property of Rattler

“Back at the cabin.” Before she asks if we can waste more bullets, when there might come a time we need them, I get in before her. “You’ve done good. Let’s call it a day. We can practice another time.”

“At least I’ll be able to double-tap an enemy,” she tells me, gleefully.

How the fuck does a girl like her know about double tapping?

“Two shots in quick succession for maximum damage,” she elaborates. “Or if I want to go for a professional hit, two in the chest and one in the head, yeah?”

“What the fuck do you know about it?”

“Forensic science.” She shrugs. “I’ve read about it.”

Of course, she has.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AMES

Although I was nervous when I first held the Glock, as I’ve seen firsthand what damage bullets can cause, I’ve got a morbid fascination with causes of death, so have flicked through a few books in the library studying it. Of course, my official studies would be more about looking at the trajectories a bullet had taken and blood splatter information, but my curiosity extends further.

While I was cautious about handling a weapon, I’d really enjoyed this morning. Once I’d gotten a handle on what I was doing, I found it came naturally. At least I might have better luck at winning trophies at carnivals now that I can line up a target. Or perhaps not, those things are always fixed.

One part of this morning that I also didn’t find as distasteful as I thought was when Rattler had put his body around me, helping me get into the right position. I’d gotten butterflies in my stomach. Had I imagined his cock poking into me? I must have done. He hates me. And I hate him… only today, maybe I didn’t find him quite so distasteful.

Now I’m following him back into the cabin. I can’t help watching his exaggerated limp, worried he’s been standing too long on his ankle. I resolve, once we’re back inside, I’ll get him to ice it again. Luckily, I’ve got in the habit of refreezing the peas every time he uses them. I make a mental note to throw them away when they’re no longer of use—heaven forbid what would happen if someone tried to eat them after they've been frozen and defrosted multiple times.

After I catch up with him, I casually slow my pace to match his. As we walk, I notice the sun has disappeared and the sky is darkening. “Storm coming,” I warn him. As if to prove I’m right, a peal of thunder sounds in the distance.

“It’s some way off,” he states.

A blinding flash illuminates the area around us, and this time the roar comes from almost right ahead. On cue, the heavens open, and saucer-sized raindrops start landing around us. Both of us speed our steps, wanting to get out of the trees.

“Lean on me.” I put my arm around him and try to hurry us along, not quite sure whether I’m helping or not. But we do seem to move faster, now he doesn’t have to put all his weight on his gimpy leg.

By the time the cabin comes into sight, both of us resemble drowned rats, and shivers rack our bodies. One thing I hate about my home state is how quickly the temperature drops during a summer storm. It’s even worse out here in the mountains, as the temperature is cooler to start with at this elevation.

We crash through the door together in our eagerness to get out of the monsoon.

My teeth chatter as I tell him, “I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.” Without waiting for an answer, I race through the living room and climb that loft ladder as fast as I can.

Then I go to the bedroom and start wriggling out of my form-hugging jeans, wincing at how the denim sticks to my wet legs, regretting I chose fashion over practicality. Next time I shop, I really must consider how fast I can strip off after having been caught in a storm. Finally free, I take hold of my shirt and pull it off over my head. My underwear is also soaked, so my panties, socks and bra land on the soggy heap. I’m just heading toward the closet where I know there’s a pile of clean towels, when my door bursts open.

“Are there any spare…”

I swing around as Rattler’s voice trails off, finding him come to a stop inside the door. With one hand, I try to conceal my breasts, with the other, I attempt to protect my modesty.

Instead of immediately backing out, he huffs out, “Well, damn.”

In turn, rather than yelling at him to get out, my eyes are drawn to the only article of clothing he wears, tight briefs, which, especially when wet, leave nothing to the imagination. It’s only when I see his package growing in front of my eyes that I squeal, sidestep with my hands still in place, then, turning my back on him, reach into the closet and grab first a towel to put around myself, then, suitably covered, I pull out another which I toss to him.

He catches it in one hand and then wraps it around his waist. “Thanks, babe.” He winks. “Nice ass, by the way.”

Utterly mortified, I stand in place until he smirks, then turns and leaves.

Insufferable dick.And to think I was starting to soften toward him. Surely, he could have guessed that I’d be in a state of undress. Part of me envies him for obviously wearing looser jeans.

As I start drying off, my face turns red as I realise I might be being unfair. I didn’t exactly avert my eyes either. In my defence,I’ve never seen a near-naked man before. Actually, that’s not true. Growing up, I’d seen my brother in just his underwear before, but his cock certainly didn’t grow, and I hadn’t bothered to stare. Oh, and there was that time when I’d received an unsolicited dick pic on my social media account. The image had been seared into my brain, but I didn’t recall it looking anything like as impressive or being anywhere the size of the outline I’d just seen.

Rattler’s probably seen hundreds of naked women and obviously has no need to be ashamed of what he’s packing in his pants. But does it mean he’s attracted to me? Or would any female body turn him on? I’m hoping it’s the latter. So far, being at the cabin together has been awkward for both of us. What just happened has the potential to make things one hundred times worse.