Page 49 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Summer 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

People often described me as different, and I can’t say that I would argue with them. I didn’t march to the beat of a different drummer, I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Everything I did, I did for a reason; and if I was doing it, I was exceptional at it. I didn’t attempt things I wasn’t able to succeed at, and although I would consider myself to be an open-minded man, I wasn’t open to new things without a reasonable amount of consideration in advance.

My madness had meaning.

Always.

“This is the coolest date ever,” she said as she shouldered the water-powered rifle.

“You should just give up,” I said with a laugh. “That stuffed cat is ugly anyway.”

“That stuffed cat’s name is Winky. Pardon my French, but that son-of-a-bitch is mine,” she growled as she nodded her head toward the man in charge of the game.

In my travels on my motorcycle a few days prior, I had found a carnival a few miles south of the city, and decided it would be the first event of the night for our date. Once we were in the gate, our first stop wasn’t a ride, but a carnival game; and we had been there for almost an hour. The BB gun she was shooting was powered by water, and to win the prize she had to shoot the red star out of the center of a sheet of paper.

This was her sixth attempt.

As she nodded her head the man flipped the switch on the timed water pump. As close as I was able to tell, the time allotted was 30 seconds.

The BB’s spit from the barrel of the rifle toward the target like rounds from the USMC Squad Automatic Weapon. With great form, one hell of a cute pair of jeans, and a never-say-die attitude, she sprayed the target until the buzzer went off.

The man retrieved the target and handed it to her without looking as if he already knew she hadn’t won the prize.

“Sorry,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Looks like this isn’t your ball of wax.”

She glanced at the target. A small corner of the red star remained on the paper, one shot away from being eliminated. She shook her head and tossed the target beside the others.

“According to who?” She snapped back. “The sights on this piece of shit are off. I’ve about got it figured out, let’s go again.”

“You want a different rifle?” he asked, waving toward the five other unoccupied stalls.

“No,” she said sarcastically. “I already said I have this one figured out.”

“Again,” she said as she nodded her head toward the gallery.

He placed another target on the chain, secured it in place, and widened his eyes comically. “Ready?”

She nodded her head. “Yep.”

He flipped the switch.

Again, she sprayed the target with B.B.s as fast as she was able. I stood and admired her choice of jeans, turquoise sneakers, and well-fitted top she wore, but above all, I admired her devotion. As the buzzer sounded, she slammed the rifle down on the edge of the counter and pointed at the target.

“Let’s see that one,” she said, wagging her finger toward the target as she spoke.

He reeled the target to the end of the chain and pulled it from the metal clip.

“Sorry,” he said as he handed her the target.

She studied the target at length. “Sorry what? Sorry you’ve got to give me the cat?”

She handed him the target. “Have another look, Buddy.”

I raised my hand to my mouth and tried to cover the grin on my face. It was apparent, even from where I was standing, that she had won the prize. As she stood on her tip-toes and eyed the prize, she glanced over her left shoulder and grinned a prideful grin.

In return, I lowered my hand and revealed my smile.