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She was staring at him, and he couldn’t figure out the tension in her expression.
“What?” he said.
She shook her head quickly. “Nothing. So they keep coming after you?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged and started snapping bullets into an empty magazine. “It’s like they keep coming up with more creative ways to try to kick my ass. And if I fight them at school, it just gets me in trouble. Getting in trouble pisses off my dad. I mostly try to avoid them. Want an apple?”
“Sure.”
He snapped the last bullet, then slid the clip into a 9mm Beretta. He’d chosen this one because it was smaller and might not make her so uneasy.
Even so, she swallowed when the metal clicked.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said.
“No. It’s fine. It’s good.”
Hunter made sure the safety was on, then stood. He showed her all the parts to the gun, going over the safety features, glad for his father’s and uncle’s thorough instruction, because he could talk about this stuff in his sleep. He paid close attention when she started to take the gun from him, and it was a good thing, because she almost pointed it directly at him.
“Downrange only,” he said, holding her wrist. “Always pay attention where you’re pointing it.”
Her breath was shaking, just a tiny bit. “What are we shooting?”
“Just cardboard. The targets are backed with half-inch steel. The bullets won’t go through.”
“What if I miss?”
“Shooting this way, we’re almost a mile from the nearest house,” he said. “Besides, we’re only twenty feet from the target. You’ll hit it. Just hold on to the gun. There’s a kick to it.”
“I’m scared I’m going to shoot myself.”
“Come on. I mean, if anyone should be scared here, it’s me.”
She gave him a look, and he smiled. “Here. I’ll shoot first.” He took the pistol and aimed. “Put your hand on my wrist. You’ll feel it.”
As soon as her fingers closed around his wrist, Hunter almost couldn’t focus. He was acutely aware of her closeness, of the scent of mangoes and cut grass and summer corn. He took a deep breath. It didn’t help.
“What’s with the bracelets?” she said, her thumb brushing one of the strands of twine wrapped around his wrist. Her touch was making him crazy.
“Just rocks,” he said.
“Very New Age.”
“My mom’s into that stuff,” he said. It was a half-truth. His mother was into rocks and charms and talismans, but the difference between the crap she sold in town and the rocks on his wrist were that his rocks actually did help him focus power.
Really, it was a miracle he could even remember to keep it a secret.
Focus. “Ready?”
She nodded. He pulled the trigger.
The sound was near deafening. She flinched hard, but didn’t let go of his wrist. Her fingers were trembling against his skin.
“You all right?” he said. His ears felt thick. He probably should have thought to bring earmuffs.
“Yeah,” she said. Her breathing sounded too quick, but she glanced up at him. “I want to try.”
He showed her how to hold the weapon again, how to look down the sight to find the target. “Don’t do it halfway,” he said. “My dad always says commit to the target.”
