Page 78 of Missile Strike

He ran toward it.

She’d thought that made him reckless.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

He glanced up and caught her staring. A slow grin spread across his face, the crinkling of his eyes just visible behind the lenses.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Damn him. He was hot—and he knew it.

They passed through double doors into a room of gray concrete and acoustic panels. Individual stalls lined a long, narrow lane that reminded Isabella of a bowling alley—except instead of pins, overhead tracks carried paper targets. The rhythmic crack of multiple weapons firing tightened every muscle in her body.

Danny stopped at a middle lane and clipped a target in place, then pressed a button. The target fluttered as it glided halfway downrange until she could barely make out the scoring rings on the paper.

He unzipped his backpack again, pulling out a hard plastic case. Inside was a black handgun and two magazines. A box of ammunition followed.

“First thing.” He set the gun on the platform that separated the stall from the firing alley. “Always point the barrel of the gun downrange. Away from you and anyone around you. Even if it’s unloaded.”

He picked up a bullet and showed her how to insert it into the magazine, then handed the magazine to her. “Your turn.”

Once she’d finished loading the other nine bullets, he inserted the magazine into the gun and drew back the slide. “That chambers a round. Stand behind me and watch what I do.”

Isabella stepped back, angling herself to see.

Danny squared up to the lane—feet shoulder-width apart, right foot slightly back, arms extended. His hands wrapped around the grip.

He fired.

Five shots—one after the other with no hesitation. Each crack made her flinch despite the ear protection.

A sharp, metallic tang filled her nose.

This wasn’t a game.

The weapon in Danny’s hands—the one he was teaching her to use—could kill.

A wave of lightheadedness threatened. She breathed in deep and let the air escape in measured exhales until the dizziness passed.

More shots until the gun clicked.

Danny set it down and reeled in the paper target.

Isabella stepped closer, eyes widening. A ragged hole the size of a quarter tore through the center, carved out by multiple shots. Two more decorated the silhouette’s head.

“Dang.” She shot him a sideways grin. “You’d think you were a professional or something.”

His brows waggled, barely visible beneath his cap. “Your turn.”

He replaced the paper target with the fresh one, setting it much closer than his had been.

She reloaded the weapon under his guidance, then chambered a round.

“Never point a gun at anyone unless you intend to shoot.” His voice turned serious. “And, if you do, shoot to kill.”

The weight of the gun settled into her palms. Black and menacing. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can if your life depends on it, Bella. You have to.”

He stepped in behind her. “Face the target. Feet shoulder-width apart. Relax your hips. I’m going to show you how to hold the gun.” Arms came around her, caging her in as his hands guided hers into position.