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“I don’t.” I grab his wrist and yank him closer. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, and self-aware enough to know wanting this man is wrong… but wrong feels good enough to hold on to for a little while yet. “Safety off, cock it,” I murmur, focusing, because I have a real-life gun with a real-life magazine inside it. And now the safety is disengaged. “Trigger pull in one smooth motion,” I repeat his instructions and slowly, grudgingly start drawing the trigger closer. It’s looser than I expected. Easier than I would have thought. Then I guess I reach the right spot, because I have to squeeze a little harder, and the gun explodes.
The only reason it doesn’t hit the floor is because Drake reaches out with lightning-fast hands and wraps them around mine.
“It’s hard to explain the recoil with words,” he murmurs by my ear. “I can’t describe it properly. So you needed to feel it.”
My throat is dry.
My tongue.
My lips.
But not my panties.
“Now you’re on that second shot, Little Bird. It’s gonna be much easier to shoot, because you know what to expect, but the kick will be the same. If you’re not paying attention, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“I got it.” I blow out a bated breath and squeeze the trigger. But this time, I firm my arms and allow the vibration to roll down through my body and into my shoes. The power behind this gun surprises me. The violence rocks my soul. But the thrill it gives is something else entirely.
“Empty all fifteen if you want.” Now hedefinitelyburies his nose in my hair, and lowering his hands to my belly, he inhales. “You got this. It’s all yours, okay? Be strong. Be ready. You have thirteen more.”
Fuckkkkkkk yes.
Adrenaline surges in my veins and leaves me a panting mess on the inside. But we’re in a shooting range with other professionals who aren’t here for shenanigans, so I bite down on the blush filling my cheeks and focus instead on the paper target twenty-feet away—that is yet to be pierced.
The tips of my fingers tingle, and the blood pulsing through my veins strengthens my stance. Like the added flow helps heal my leg and bring new stability, where my crutches were serving such purpose any other time. Or maybe it’s Drake today. Holding me up. Supporting my weight.
I squeeze the trigger and catch the weight of the weapon when it tries to flip back at me, and then I squeeze a second time, grinning when the bullet tags the bottom corner of my paper target.
Metal shells ping out of the gun with every shot I take and hit the wall before rolling to the floor.
“I hit it.” My entire body quivers with pleasure. Excitement. Though I can’t be sure if it’s because I hit the thing I was aiming for—sort of—or because the tip of Drake’s nose touches the shell of my ear. “Eleven more.”
“Use ‘em all.” He draws patterns on my stomach with the tips of his fingers. “We have all day, a bad mood to work through, and as many rounds as your heart desires.”
“I’m not in a bad mood.” But I scowl and shoot again anyway.Because maybe I am. “I was merely perturbed at your apparent penchant for hypocrisy.”
“Big words. Big mood.” He groans when I shoot again. Call me crazy, but I feel him against my back. Ifeelhim. Against my back. “Let me know when you’ve worked through your temper. Then we can go back to being friendly.”
“Friendly?” I shoot another round. “Like your penis touching my back right now?”
His hips jut backwards, though his chest and hands remain exactly where they were. “Don’t say penis. It’s not appropriate.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Another round. “I’m sorry if talking about your penis,”bang, “makes you uncomfortable. It’s just that,”bang, “as a medical school student, I’ve become used to referring to such body parts by their proper, anatomical names.”Bang. “So unless you prefer schlong, Johnson, or Richard,”bang, “I take offense to your attempt to censor my language.”Bang.Bang.I glance over my shoulder and find his face mere inches from mine. “Penis.”
Instead of the gun going back to its normal position, the top thingy doesn’t slide back on the frame thingy, which prompts me to check the magazine thingy. “I think we’re out.”
“Yeah.” Gruffly, he snatches his gun back and releases the magazine. “All done. And you’ve put me in a bad mood.”
“Well shucks.” I sidle back and grin when I find him full and wanting, and completely and utterly defenseless. “Welcome to my world, Detective. It sucks wanting something and not being able to have it.”
Drake
MINKA MAYET, AND DIRTY M.E’S.
Under the cover of darkness and in an unmarked vehicle, I bring our car into the underground parking lot situated below a building known as the George Stanley. It’s the morgue. But calling it a fancy name, named after some dead dude I don’t know, sounds fancier than ‘Frozen Bodies R Us’.
“No one besides us, Malone, Fletcher, and Doctor Mayet knows we’re here,” I murmur. “There’s no reason for anyone to suspect we’re here. So this is as safe as we can be outside of the house.”
“What do you know about Doctor Mayet?” Rory is often too brave for her own good. Too curious. Too smart. But she looks at me now with all the trust in the world for a man she didn’t even know all that long ago. “Will she tell anyone we’re here?”
