Asher gives me a strong squeeze. “I’ll always watch your six, kid. Especially when you choose to shack up with danger.”
“At least it’s a good kind of danger.”
“I’m starting to see that.” Asher steps back, and I notice a glimmer of moisture in his eyes. He quickly blinks it away; his face hardens. “Right. Tell Novikov I’m welcoming a rendezvous here. I’ll close down shop and cancel all appointments for the next few days so we aren’t disturbed. What time’s the big boss coming to town?”
“Late,” Dorian responds. “Eight or nine, maybe ten.”
Asher nods. “Fine.”
“I’ll be leaving to case Silving soon and get a headcount of how many men we’ll be up against,” Seamus informs.
“First, I want to see you shoot,” Asher says. “I’m not loaning out my guns to little boys who don’t know how to handle their weapons. Show me that you can.” He jerks his head at the vault walls. “Each of you pick three—handgun, AR, and semi. Sniper rifle, if you want. Let’s take ‘em up to the range, and you can show me your skills.”
Connor frowns at Asher. “Us three? You’re not going to make your daughter shoot, as well? I’d have assumed you’d prioritize ensuringsheknows how to handle her weapons.”
Hearing Connor refer to me as Asher’s daughter is a gut-punch, but it also feels fundamentally right. IamAsher’s daughter. Idohave a father, and he’s a good man despite a complex past.I’m not alone. I never have been, even when I felt like it.
Asher rumbles out a scornful laugh. “She can outshoot you three in her sleep.”
Connor raises his eyebrows doubtfully, flicking me a dubious glance up and down. “She’s alright, from the little I’ve seen.”
“Then you haven’t seen much. Sweetheart,” Asher says with a nod to me, “Why don’t you pick out some guns, as well.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. Iwantto show off to the legion and prove myself worthy. I also want to make Connor shit himself with surprise. I select a Glock, M16, and C15.
The shooting range upstairs is pretty typical. There are twelve aisles, each about 200 yards. The targets hang from adjustable automated pulley systems. Connor, Seamus, and Dorian all shoot first, showing off a pretty impressive skillset. Seamus is the best shooter out of them, but they’re allverygood. There are bullseye’s all around, though only Seamus manages to fire off all his rounds dead center.
Connor turns to me with a condescending smirk after emptying his AR cartridge. “Your turn, greenie.”
Time to show off what Asher taught me when I was a teenager. I’m a bit out of practice, but Asher was always a brilliant and extremely strict teacher. He’d have me take apart and rebuild weapons until I could do it in under a minute, and made me practice shooting until my hands blistered.
My selected guns all rest over a towel on a steel table. I pick up the Glock first, empty the chamber, unload the gun, and take it apart to examine it, just like Asher taught me. My movements are swift, precise, and careful as I put it back together and reload it.
When I look up, Connor’s squinting at me with confusion, Seamus is watching me with interest, and Dorian is smiling at me with obvious pride. I feel a warm glow bathe my chest.These legionaries aren’t going to know what hit them.
“Target distance?” Asher asks.
“You choose.” No matter how far it is, I know I’ll hit it exactly how I want. Asher taught me very well, and shooting a gun is like riding a bike—it’s hard to forget the basics. After a while, everything just becomes instinct.
Asher sets the target to 100 yards. Maybe he’s worried that I’ve gotten rusty, and I’m all too happy to show him that I haven’t. His lessons were my lifeline at a time. I remember the look of anguish he’d adopt every time I had to go home to Clyde—he looked like he was in genuine pain. I’d attributed that to his remaining love for my mother, but maybe he loved me, as well.
All the men part as I step up to the window facing the range. I train my eyes on the target.
“Just because you can disassemble and reassemble a gun doesn’t mean you can shoot,” Connor mutters. “It’s not—”
He cuts off as I start firing. The target is in the shape of a man, so I hit all the relevant points. From the fifteen bullets in themagazine, five go into his head, creating a burning hole in the center. Five more are shot at vital organs in his torso. The remaining five go into his crotch. Seamus winces.
When I’m done, I set the gun down and turn to Connor. “You were saying?”
His frown deepens. “The target was close.”
Without asking if I’m ready, Asher moves the target back to two hundred yards. I pick up the M16, check it for any faults, and get to work. The same result ensues; I hit every bullet in the designated bullseye.
The C15 is where I really shine—so much so that I decide to challenge myself by hitting the targets in neighboring lanes.
At the end of it, Connor’s staring at me with narrowed eyes and his arms crossed over his chest. Seamus looks at once repulsed and intrigued, as though he can’t look away even though he wants to. Dorian watches me with a subtle smirk on his lips, his hands folded into his pockets. Once I set down my weapon, he comes right over to me, wrapping his arms around me and planting a soft kiss on my lips. “You never told me you werethatgood,” he murmurs.
“You never asked,” I retort.
