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I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Just a little shaken up, I guess.”
Jagger nods, his eyes filled with understanding. “It’s okay to be scared,” he says.
I give him a small smile, grateful for his words. Despite my unease, I feel comforted in their presence.
We sit in silence for a few moments before Saint speaks.
“Jagger and I are going to the shooting range after the movie,” he says, gesturing towards the sixty-five-inch flat screen television mounted on the wall. “You’re welcome to join.”
“I don’t know how to shoot,” I say hesitantly.
Jagger chuckles. “We’ll teach you. It’s a good skill to have.”
Though I’ve always been wary of guns, the idea of chopping it up with a couple of bad-asses and learning more about Adrian Carter teases me. I’m on the edge of something new, something dangerous and thrilling, and I can’t bring myself to turn away. I want to know what Adrian sees in me, what he wants from me. I want to feel his body pressed against mine again, his breath hot on my skin, his hands exploring every inch of me, squeezing my breast, fingering my clit. My pussy throbs at just the thought of him and I feel myself get wet, wishing that he was here with me now.
“Hey, beautiful. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I say, my cheeks flushed. “You know what? The gun range thing, I’m in.”
“You sure?” Saint asks.
I shrug, giving him a small smile. “Yep. Let’s do it.”
***
WE’RE NOT AT THE RANGEa full thirty minutes before we hear the roar of a motorcycle in the distance. Despite the rumbling, Saint and Jagger hold their positions, aiming their firearms at their targets as I walk up, adjusting the earplugs and goggles.
“Alright, Cheyanne, take a firm grip on the gun,” Saint says, walking toward me and quickly placing a new clip in his pistol.
“This is called a Glock 19,” he says, holding it in the palm of his hand, showing me its dimensions. I watch him as he carefully wraps his hands around it and pulls back the hammer. He takes aim at my target and fires. Saint doesn’tsqueezethe trigger. He swings the barrel like a tennis racket, beginning with a series of fluid strokes. When he’s done, the smell of gunpowder surrounds us.
“Woah. You make it look easy,” I say.
“It’s all good once you get the hang of it. Remember to keep your stance steady and focus on the target.” He shifts to my left, allowing me to step forward.
I nod, consumed by his instructions. I hold my gun with determination, my hands guided by Saint’s expertise. My heart pounds in my chest as Saint’s hands touch mine, gently adjusting my grip. I steady myself. With his guidance, I raise my gun, aiming at the target downrange. My fingers hover over the trigger, my concentration unwavering.
“You’re ready, Popstar,” Jagger says reassuringly. “Take your shot.”
Right before I do, Adrian’s voice rings out, startling me.
“Squeeze the trigger gently and follow through with your aim,” he says.
I glance sideways at him as he stands on the sidelines, his arms crossed and lips pursed. His eyes are small slits of contained rage as he watches Saint and I interact.I exhale slowly, my finger applying gentle pressure on the trigger.
The shot rings out, and the bullet finds its mark with unexpected precision. “Yes, bitch,” I mutter. Relief washes over me as I lower my gun and Saint and Jagger applaud, the two men smiling proudly.
“She’s a natural,” Jagger says to Adrian as he walks over to meet me. I turn to him.
“Did you see that? I actually did it...”
Adrian’s expression softens into genuine admiration. He takes my hands, instructing me to get ready to take another shot. I find my footing holding my Glock at eye level. He leans down, his warm breath caressing my ear.
“Focus, Chy.”
“Got it,” I say.
When I’m ready, I remember the instruction Saint and Jagger gave minutes earlier. I pull the trigger and feel a jolt run through my body as the gun recoils. The click-clack of the metal is like a metronome, the deep bass reverberating in my chest like the roar of a lion. Each shot a crack of thunder. I hear the bullet hit the metal target; the impact reverberating into the air.
