Page 64 of Booked for Murder

“Yep. I haven’t been so proud and mad at a single person in my entire life.”

Poor Bitchageddon, forced to wear purple glitter grips to match my glasses. “Do I want to know what the last one is named?”

“Doomsday.”

“Why is Doomsday a smaller weapon than Bitchageddon? That somehow seems wrong.”

“Doomsday packs a lot of punch in a small package. She’s technically a little smaller than Bitchageddon, but she’s a new model. She’s a little long on the barrel but her range and accuracy can only be beat by an actual rifle. Instead of the standard hundred meters most firearms of this size and class max out at, you’ll be able to hit double that length as long as you know how to adjust. There’s even a pocket tripod so you can stabilize and prepare for long shots. In our tests, five hundred meters is the top end of the weapon’s lethal penetration range, but most struggle to aim beyond a hundred meters.”

I remembered that from my extensive training; the farther the distance, the harder it was to hit the target. “Define lethal penetration range for me, Lenard.”

“If you shoot for between the eyes, the bullet will exit through the back of the skull.”

Holy shit. “I’m not sure I’m good enough for that gun.”

“You will be by the time I’m done with you. Hugh will make sure you’re the only one who can make her sing, so don’t you worry about that. After lunch, you’ll take a nap, and tomorrow morning, you’ll get a proper introduction to them, even if I have to carry you to the range myself. I’ve already booked your hours and ordered your ammunition.”

Ren stepped into my apartment carrying take out bags, enough I decided he’d expected our company and had brought enough for them, too. “Has she put up a fight over the firearms yet?”

“I got yelled at over Pride, as she’s a stickler for the rules and doesn’t think she should have a fully automatic. She’s processing her ownership of Doomsday. Bitchageddon about broke her when she saw the glitter grip. I enjoyed it. She is not very happy, especially since we notified her she’d be taking a nap for the rest of the afternoon while we calibrate these to her.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that, Janette. I don’t want to be exsanguinated today.”

“That implies you’d like to be exsanguinated another day,” I replied.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’ve been informed I have to spot you, and I’ve heard rumors about spotting for you. You expect your spotter to be as good a shot as you are, and you’ll make me work half the time.”

“And?”

“You’re a bitch on the range.”

I scowled. “That’s not even fair. You’ve never seen me on the range.”

Ren pointed at Lenard. “I heard about it yesterday. With video evidence of your bitchiness when practicing. So, I stand by my commentary. Maybe tomorrow. As requested, I have acquired orange chicken for you, pineapple chicken for him. The rest of us will eat sane Chinese food.”

“Wuss,” I muttered, but I held out my hands for lunch. “Thank you for fetching lunch for me. This makes being knocked out in my own home a little less painful.”

“You could use the sleep,” he replied, giving me my container. “Enjoy.”

I’d enjoy nothing about the rest of my day, but I kept my opinion to myself. Complaining wouldn’t do any good.

It never did.

Sixteen

My magic wanted me to live.

I skirted the delicate line between being awake, enjoying a dream, and suffering through a nightmare. A tiny part of me recognized my state as somewhat conscious, which offered me the illusion I might be able to escape from the recollections of my past mixed with my sleep-befuddled brain doing its best to cope with the reality of my life.

The memory of right before the crash came back to me with crystal-clear clarity. I moved my foot from the gas to the brake, allowing the car to coast, the tires slipping before rolling on the asphalt. I observed the car behind me, aware the driver had lost control of his vehicle from the way he slid on the oil-slicked roads.

I slid, too, but it’d taken light, alternating taps of the brake and gas to restore what I’d lost.

I resumed coasting, satisfied the car would do what I needed when the moment came, and it would. It was a matter of seconds. I couldn’t swerve, not without killing me and my precious passenger. I couldn’t do anything other than position for the crash and hope for the best.

Damned weather, turning a scenic drive into a disaster.

It’d been a while since the last rainfall, and a lot of cars journeyed on the stretch of road between the cluster of nearby cities, turning the pavement into a unique peril. I’d spent years practicing how to keep control of a hydroplaning car, something I mimicked using special tarps and water, which did a damned good job of emulating the dangerous conditions I might encounter when the weather had a mind of its own and too many didn’t take proper care of their vehicles.