Page 28 of Vicious Temptation

The first target slides into place, and I glance over at Thiago in the stall beside mine.

“Last chance to protect that ego, Texas.”

He slips on his ear pro. “You’ve been talking a lot of shit for someone who hasn’t fired a single round yet.”

“I was giving your arm time to recover. I like a fair fight.”

“How generous of you.”

“I have my moments,” I say with a shrug.

Sliding on my own ear protection, I load the magazine, already looking forward to wiping that confidence off his face.

I don’t know what makes him so sure of himself, whether he’s actually a good marksman or just another man who sees a woman standing beside him and assumes he has the advantage. Either way, he’s about to learn.

I’ve been lining up shots since I was barely out of diapers, so unless this man has been hiding a very specific set of skills beneath all that muscle, he doesn’t stand a chance. After the last couple of hours in his company, I’m starting to hope he at least puts up a decent fight.

“Ready?” he calls out, leaning just far enough out of his stall to look at me.

I chamber a round and grin.

“X marks the spot.”

I fire first, and Thiago follows half a second later. Neither of us lets up until our slides lock back. I drop the empty magazine and reach for another, slamming it home. The next round chambers, and I’m firing again. Each shot punches through the bullseye, widening the same hole until there’s barely a center left to aim for.

But I keep going.

I can feel him watching me now, and even though this started as nothing more than a stupid competition, I refuse to give him anything less than perfect. Because perfect is what I expect from myself. It always has been.

There are too many things in my life I can’t control, but this isn’t one of them. I know exactly what my hands can do with a weapon in them. I know how to breathe, where to aim, and when to pull the trigger. And there’s comfort in that certainty.

I load another magazine and adjust my stance. My grip tightens as I draw in a slow breath and let it out. This time, I raise the gun with one hand. The recoil snaps through my wrist and up my forearm as I fire, sending round after round through what remains of the bullseye.

I don’t miss a single shot.

When the last round leaves the chamber, my mind takes me somewhere I don’t want to go. Boaz’s bloodied face flashes behind my eyes as I remember emptying my gun into him for what he did to Ryuji. Even as he lay dying, he kept laughing and taunting me.

“Goddamn.”

Thiago’s voice pulls me back. I blink and force the memory away, but whatever he sees on my face wipes the amusement from his.

He steps closer. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” My voice comes out softer than I intend, and he clearly doesn’t believe me. His hand rises slowly, giving me every opportunity to move before his thumb brushes my chin. Instead of pulling away, I lean into his touch before I realize I’m doing it.

“That was…” His eyes shift toward my target, where not a single errant hole breaks the pattern, before returning to me. “Wow. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

I laugh, and the heaviness of the memory loosens enough for him to join me. His thumb remains against my chin, and the laughter fades as I become aware of just how little space is left between us. When his eyes drop to my mouth, my pulse kicks harder.

“Tell me to leave.”

I know I should.

Dinner was already more than I planned on tonight, and coming back here extended a night that should have ended hours ago. Now I’m standing close enough to kiss him, and for once, the part of me that questions every decision isn’t the loudest voice in my head.

I don’t want him to leave.

Thiago waits, watching me as though he expects me to tell him otherwise. I say nothing, and his gaze drops to my mouth again.