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ONE
Lyam
Boom.
A thrill goes through me when I pull the trigger.Always.
If I believed in superpowers, I’d know what mine is: I hit with the first shot.
Fuck flying or seeing through walls. Give me a cold, hard weapon, ammunition, and a target.
Sometimes I feel like my body’s connected to my gun, as if it’s a part of my actual being. An extension of my person. When I feel the weight of a gun in my hand, my body and mind fuse. Laser-focused.
You don’t know how heavy a body is until you watch it collapse. You don’t know how red blood is until you see it spill. You don’t know the power you wield until you look into the eyes of another person whose life you’re about to end.
Boom.
There’s something almost divine about watching your bullet hit the target. There’s nothing methodical or rote about it. Pulling the trigger and hitting a target makes me feel godlike. I have the power, right in the palm of my hand, to end life.
I’ve got a variety of places I like to go for target practice but today, I wanted to shatter glass. So I came to one of my favorite spots in Paris: a private, remote field on the edge of the city my family’s bought for this purpose. When it’s cold or snowing, I practice inside, but this,thisis my favorite—a brick wall where I line up glass bottles. My friends who know my favorite hobby save empty bottles and give them to me by the bucket.
I love watching the glass explode. I love theboomof gunshots. The sharp crack of shattering glass, followed by a rainstorm of tiny, brilliant, sparkling shards.
I pull the trigger again and the cobalt blue bottle on the far right disintegrates.
“Jesus.”
My bodyguard, Philippe, shakes his head. “How far away is that target?”
I squint at it and shrug. “A hundred meters.”
“Mon Dieu.”
Some shooters routinely shoot fifty yards, but hunters and sharpshooters can easily hit targets at further distances, depending on the weapon. I like to practice long range. I don’t always have my target bound, on their knees in front of me, served up on a silver platter.
I aim for the next blue bottle and smile at the memory of Thayer handing me a case of empties after his honeymoon, when my phone rings.
God, I fucking hate technology. Obtrusive and obnoxious, a man can’t even take a piss in private without some kind of goddamn interference.
Speak of the devil. It’s Thayer.
“Yeah?”
“She’s ready for you.”
A different kind of thrill runs through me.
There was a time when I would have moved heaven and earth to be alone with Cosette, but she ruined that. What we had is gone, and in its place, I have another laser-focused target.
She’s earned the ultimate penalty for betraying my family: execution.
But Cosette is too beautiful for death. Her betrayal too deep to end things so quickly.
My brothers agreed to allow her to live, but she’ll suffer the consequences. Namely, she’ll answer to me.
My job is to keep her in my custody. Punish her for betraying my family.
I stand and slide my gun, the metal still hot to the touch, into a holster at my waist. I don't go anywhere without a weapon, which has made for some strategic planning.
