Sergey unlocks the front door and lets me in while he flicks the lights on. The heavy fluorescent overhead lights turn on, running down the long line of them until the warehouse is lit up.
From what I can see, one part of the building is some kind of storage that seems harmless enough, but as he guides me further in, I see the various crates full of magazines and bullets, and hidden deeper inside the place is a section full of gun racks.
I lift a brow at him. “You brought me to your armory?”
Sergey hums with a shrug, opening another door for me and letting me go through first. “You needed something to do, and I figure this is a good way to release some of that frustration.”
While he isn’t wrong, I still resist the urge to roll my eyes.
At least, he doesn’t seem quite as glum as he had before. Truthfully, I shouldn’t care what his mood is or how he’s feeling, but in a way, this side of him is more familiar.
The next room is full of shooting lanes, where it smells vaguely like a garage mixed with gunpowder.
I take in the clean space while Sergey glides off to the side, grabbing a pistol from one of the racks before he pulls out a fresh magazine and slides it into place. Of course, he brings me the usual gear too, handing it over.
“Have you ever fired before?” He asks, watching as I pop on the earphones, keeping one side pushed back just enough to hear him.
I cock a brow at him. “Seriously?”
He grins, annoyingly. “I’m sure you’ve held a gun before, but have you fired one? Properly?”
Prepared to deadpan at him, surprised that it isn’t already obvious to him, I decide not to answer. Instead, I take a small step back, offering him the floor while he begins a crash course for me.
Needlessly, Sergey assumes position, walking me through how to stand, how to hold the weapon, and how to aim.
In all honesty, it’s actually kind of cute.
He does it earnestly, unaware that I’ve known the basics for years.
Fighting back my amusement, I play along, feigning an unsure grip when he hands the pistol to me. I ask the occasional dumb question, feeling as his pride and slight feelings of superiority take over.
Sergey seems satisfied with himself as he stands behind me, coming in close to correct my posture and adjust my stance. He’s enjoying this more than he should.
“Alright,” he murmurs right behind me, staying close without being stupidly so. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Taking a slow breath, I raise the gun and aim, recalling all the time I once spent in various ranges, both inside and out.
Then I fire.
The first shot hangs within the center ring. The second lands nearby, and so does the third.
The familiar crack of gunfire doesn’t make me jump or feel squeamish. Instead, it’s almost comforting in a way I’ve been ignoring for a long time. At least, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.
Sergey straightens behind me, and I can practically feel the realization setting in. “Hold on…”
I glance back at him again, giving him a pointed look. “What, you assumed I’ve never done this before?”
His eyes hold mine for a moment while they glimmer with amusement and surprise. Then he laughs. “Damn, you’ve been hustling me this whole time?”
“Maybe I have been. You just weren’t paying attention.”
“I guess I should’ve known better.”
Humored by his concession, I return to my position and fire two more shots without much effort, managing to land them exactly where I want them.
Something about the smell of gunpowder filling the space brings me back to a more carefree time, and despite myself, I feel more alive than I have in a while.
The thrill shivers down my spine, and something in me just wants it to continue.
