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Hunter pulls Finn aside to whisper something that has his eyes lighting up like grenades on Christmas morning. Meanwhile, the shooting never restarts. Curious alphas lower their weapons to watch me, sniffing the air and trying to catch my scent.
It’s not my first time at the range. Firearms are need-to-know self-defense when the omega kidnapping statistics read like a who’s who. It was easy to hide my shot-out targets when the instructors were so busy flirting with the real omegas.
It won’t be as easy to play the same trick here.
“Make room,” Finn barks, and the nearest alpha scampers out of his lane.
I jump to hide between the lane dividers, letting out a breath when I’m finally out of sight. But Finn is already too close. He smells more gunpowder than oranges today, a heady masculine scent I shouldn’t crave.
“Missed you, Babydoll.”
Like he doesn’t know exactly where I live? “What am I being evaluated on?”
“Have you shot before?”
I give the same answer that I gave Hunter, who I can feel hovering at the edge of the room. “A few times.”
“Good.” Finn licks his lips, but the mischief quickly fades as he walks me through the handgun I’ll be firing. I’ve never shot such a high caliber before, but Finn explains it frontward and backward, checking to make sure I know what I’m doing before I’m even allowed to touch the thing.
It feels heavy in my hands. Not at all what I’m used to, which means maybe I don’t have to fake missing the target.
“Show me what you’re made of.” Finn’s breath feathers the hairs on my neck as he fits me with a pair of ear cups and drags a long, slender finger down the contour of my jaw.
A shiver rocks me. If he keeps that shit up, I definitely won’t have to fake missing.
I move away from him, squaring up to shoot and planning to let the gun’s kickback knock me on my ass.
Finn tsks. “Nice try, Babydoll.”
His heat closing the gap between us, he lowers himself, flattening his chest against my back. Slinking his arms around mine, Finn rests his chin on my shoulder as he guides my hands, sending my heart into fluttering meltdown.
“You look so fucking good holding my gun.”
There’s nowhere to hide when the big bad alpha holds me captive in his arms.
If he were anyone else, I’d freak, but that deep, sneaky part of me recognizes Finn.
He’s mine.
That batshit thought has me firing way wide of the man-shaped target I’m in no danger of hitting. The kickback rattles my teeth and knocks me deeper into Finn’s arms. His rock-solid stance holds me steady.
“Try again,” he mouths against my neck, stroking my hand with his thumb as he adjusts my aim.
I brace harder, then shoot. This time, the bullet hits the target’s forehead, the force of the gun reverberating through my arms until my fingers tremble.
Finn hums in appreciation, and my nervous system crackles. This is bad. I wriggle out of his grasp, careful to keep the gun pointed away. “I can do it myself.”
“I know.” He nips my shoulder.
My shoulder!
His teeth graze my sensitive skin. I let out a half-whimper, half-mewl, my face blazing red, belly clenching so hard I’m afraid I just creamed myself.
Laughing softly, Finn finally lets me go.
I’m breathing too fast for a girl standing still. I want to unload on the target—just shoot again and again and again until the paper’s shredded, because just like this stupid attraction, Finn’s interest has to die.
I adjust my stance so I don’t ass-plant and start firing.
