For a second, she just stares. Then, the laugh bursts out of her—sharp, surprised, perfect. “You’re taking me to go legally destroy shit?”
“Exactly.”
She shakes her head, still laughing as she unbuckles. “You’re insane.”
“Perfectly unhinged,” I say in agreement.
“Yeah, perfect might be the right word,” she says as she climbs out.
Hell yes.
Inside, the smell of cedar, beer, and disinfectant hits. Music pounds from speakers, the kind of aggressive rock that begs you to break things.
The kid at the counter gives us the rules. Don’t throw if someone’s in the lane. No trick shots without supervision. Safety glasses and jumpsuits on in the smash room. Willow nods along politely, but I see it in her eyes: she just might ignore half of it.
We start with daggers. She grips hers like she was born for it. Arm back, snap forward—thunk.Dead center on the target.
“Holy shit,” the attendant barks from behind us. “You been here before?”
Willow smirks. “Nope,” she answers. “Your turn, pretty boy.”
Damn. No pressure. I step up, grab hold of the dagger, adjust my grip, throw, and watch it land… six inches off-center.
“Aw, nice try. Need me to give you tips?”
I scowl. “Beginner’s luck.”
She hits the bullseye again. And again. She’s grinning, loose, lit up in a way I haven’t seen before. Like this is exactly what her body was craving—something violent, something freed.
“Okay, we all know daggers are your specialty,” I say after she’s schooled me. “But what about axes?”
The attendant brings over a set of throwing axes, eying Willow like she’s dangerous and tempting in the same breath. Because she absolutely fucking is.
“Let’s find out,” she says as she takes hold of the first one. I try to not take note how her hand looks, fitted around the length of the handle. Her hands are small, but strong. She has a confidence in them— Fuck.Get your mind out of the gutter, you horny prick.
Willow cranes it back, both hands gripping, and flings it forward. It flips, end over end. And buries itself in the wooden target at the very bottom, barely hanging on.
“Okay, maybe we can even the playing field,” I say as I step up and grab the first axe. I just pray I don’t embarrass myself. I step up to the line, eyeing the target. I coil back. And throw.
It buries itself just to the left of the bullseye.
Willow slow claps. Fucking claps.
“Well done,” she teases. “So, the magician has a few other talents hidden up his sleeve.”
My head rips to the side, checking that no one is within earshot. For a second, my adrenaline spikes.
“Relax, Saint Shade,” Willow says as she steps forward. She trails her fingers along my arm, her eyes dark and heavy. And oh shit, I am in so much trouble. “No one is going to overhear us. Your secret is safe with me.”
This woman is going to be my ruin. And I just keep walking straight into it.
She steps up to the line, positions, and flings away. The axe lands three inches from center. “Do I scare you?” she asks as she looks back at me over her shoulder.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. A laugh bubbles up, because I’m not even embarrassed to admit it. “You fucking terrify me, Willow. Don’t stop.”
Her laugh cracks through me, wild and bright. “I kind of hate that you’re better at these weapons than I am.”
I grin, pleased as a cat. “You just need more murderous intent.”
