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“So how about it? You up for a little competition?” he asks. “See who’s the better aim now?”
Stefan snorts as if there’s not even a question, and my jaw flexes involuntarily. They’re both nauseatingly competitive at everything they do, and if I don’t give in, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m fucked up from Adam’s tackle this morning, and my back’s hurting like a motherfucker already. But I agree on principle, mostly because I can’t stand that smug expression on Stefan’s face.
“Why not,” I mutter.
Stefan glances up at me in challenge. “I’ll join you.”
“Oh, that would be nice,” Mom says, still delusional enough to believe there’s a chance of bonding.
“Let me put Ranger in the cottage,” I tell them. “I’ll grab my gear.”
“We’ll get set up.” Adam nods.
I take Ranger to my old room and lay out his bed and a bowl of water. “Here you go, buddy. I’ll be back in a bit.”
He blinks up at me through sleepy eyes, and I scratch his ears before slipping out the door.
Stefan’s always had a few targets set up on the back side of the property. When I was ten, he brought me out here with the sole intention of humiliating me by giving me a shotgun and telling me to shoot without any instruction. The recoil nearly broke my shoulder, and I’ll never forget the way he laughed at me. But I’m not a fucking kid anymore, and I’m done letting him win just because he expects me to.
I meet them out back at the table and remove my pistol while Adam pulls out a couple of long-range rifles and some ammo. Stefan’s already set up, taking aim at a target downrange, firing off a quick succession of shots before I can even put earplugs in. The sound triggers that same drip feed of adrenaline I’ve been trying to avoid, and my breathing accelerates slightly before I get control of it.
“So what are your plans now that you’ve quit the Army?” Stefan asks as he holsters his pistol.
I seat the magazine into my Staccato and rack the slide, taking aim at the center target. “I was never in the Army, Stefan,” I clip out. “I was a Marine, and I didn’t quit. I was medically discharged, and I still have benefits. So you don’t have to worry about me hanging around.”
I fire off all my rounds so I don’t have to listen to his bullshit response. He knows exactly what happened, and he’s just being his usual piece-of-shit self. But I can’t say it doesn’t please me to see the smile wiped clean from his face when he realizes I’m the better shot.
“Not bad.” Adam whistles. “You trying to show us up?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I answer dryly.
He gestures for my weapon. “Let me have a go with it.”
I hand him the pistol, and he reloads the magazine. We fall into a natural rhythm, taking turns with the Staccato before Stefan switches over to his forty-five. After twenty minutes, Adam sets his rifle up on the table.
“You have to try this bad boy,” he says. “Grandpa gave it to me.”
“Okay.” I reach down and snag a bottle of water from my bag, drinking all of it in a few gulps.
“I’ll go grab us a few more bottles,” Adam volunteers.
“Thanks.”
He heads back to the house, and I reach for the rifle, only to have Stefan move into position first.
“You can’t handle something this big.” He snickers.
I hold my tongue, stepping back to watch the motherfucking expert in all his glory. He makes a big show of it like he’s been to sniper school, sighting in the target for the next two minutes as he kneels in the grass.
“You ready to see how it’s done?” he gloats.
“You’re the professional.” I stare at the back of his head.
“Don’t ever forget it.”
His finger eases back on the trigger, and I expect a sure and steady shot. Instead, there’s a flash of light and a loud blast as Stefan’s head whips back, and the rifle flies out of his hands, landing in a smoking heap on the grass.
For a second, I’m sure I’m hallucinating. I’m having another flashback, or a waking nightmare, or anything else as I try to make it make sense.
“What the fuck happened?” Adam shouts from behind me.
I can’t seem to move as he drops to his knees and rolls Stefan onto his back. There’s blood all over his face and a large gash in his neck, but I’m still not convinced it’s real.
“MJ,” Adam yells at me. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know,” I yell back. “He took his shot, and it exploded—”
“He shot the rifle?” Adam questions.
“Fuck.” I dig into my pocket in search of my phone, only to remember I smashed it last night. “We need to call an ambulance.”
