“He’s a good guard dog.”
It makes me smile. “He is.”
“Are you ready to use a gun?”
My hands fidget in front of me. I know I promised, but I’m still dreading it.
“Axle taught me,” Elena says. “Trust me, you will be fine.”
Conan and I follow Reaper through the house. I can feel the others staring as we walk through, and when I glance up, Vera and Grace are watching me through narrowed eyes. As we pass the kitchen, I bend and grab the bag of dog food and continue until we’re outside.
“Wait a moment,” I call out to Reaper as I walk over to Conan’s bowl and fill it.
Reaper’s patiently waiting as I hurry back to him. He’s wearing black jeans that cover his tree-trunk legs and a fitted black shirt that stretches over his chest, with his cut over the top. His height, solid build, and deep voice epitomize a masculine man.
When I reach him, we walk along a gravel road. I have to rush to catch up to his long strides.
“Thanks for letting me have the dog here.”
“Viper said you went straight up to the dog. What made you think it wouldn’t bite you?”
I think back. “His tail was wagging, and he had a doggy smile.”
Reaper shakes his head. “You trust too easily with appearances. Not everyone wants to be your friend.”
I frown. “I’m not naive.”
He releases a throaty chuckle. “I never said you were, but you shouldn’t have put yourself in a dangerous situation like that.”
He’s probably right, but in that circumstance, I made the right choice.
We walk for ten minutes until three thick wooden planks with white-and-red bull’s-eyes on them are ahead of us. He pulls a small gun from his holster. “The gun is not loaded, but safety is paramount.” He holds the gun and points his index finger along it. “You don’t point the gun at anyone unless you plan to shoot it. Otherwise, keep it aimed at the ground. Your finger should be straight against the frame of the gun.”
I swallow thickly, as if trying to swallow my nerves, but it doesn’t work.
“When you grip the gun, your hand needs to be high and your grip needs to be firm.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Today we’ll focus on grip and stance, and when you’re comfortable, you can practice firing the gun at the target.”
“Okay,” I say through a long exhale. “I can do that.”
He hands me the gun and puts his hand over mine. His touch sends a subtle shiver up my spine. “You need to grip the gun tighter.” I do, and he bends and taps my thigh. “Spread your legs shoulder-width apart and bend your knees slightly.” Embarrassment andsomething elseI haven’t felt in a long time flood me, making my skin heat, but I try my best to ignore it and follow his instructions. His eyes scan my stance, then he stands next to me. “Now, face your target and lean forward, with arms straight out.”
When my arms come out, I feel his criticizing eyes on me.
“Perfect.”
His praise hits me in the chest, but I bite back a grin.
“Now, put your finger on the trigger and remember the gun isn’t loaded.”
I release a shaky breath and move my index finger to the trigger.
“Pull back slowly. Do you feel that wall?”
“Yes.”
