"Gun?" I sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk on crack, but guns scared me. And besides, there was no way on this earth I would ever have the lady balls to shoot anyone. Not even if they came at me with an ax. Hell, I couldn’t even kill spiders, for fuck's sake, even though they terrified me.
"Yes, gun. Meet me in the kitchen at 10 AM." After that terse instruction, he grabbed his towel and stalked out of the gym, leaving me a sweaty mess on the mat.
At 9:55 AM the following morning, I girded my loins and headed downstairs, ready for a fun time on the gun range. Hell, I hadn't even known therewasa gun range.
When I stepped into the kitchen, hoping to grab a coffee, Declan stood chatting to Mrs. O'Mara. He looked up and scanned me from head to foot, briefly lingering on my boobs.
A familiar blush colored my cheeks. Choosing a tight workout tee for a shooting lesson was clearly a bad idea. Did he think I looked slutty? Was he aware I'd fucked his younger brother?
Conal knew, obviously, but I wasn't sure if he'd told Declan. I prayed not. That would be too embarrassing for words.
"How are you, Verity?" Declan dismissed Mrs. O'Mara and turned to face me.
"Um, good?" My body still ached, but mostly because of the gym session yesterday.
"You don't sound sure about that," Declan remarked dryly. "Do I need to call Doctor Brewster back for a follow-up appointment?"
"No, I'm fine!" I smiled brightly, trying my best not to stare at his broad shoulders in what looked like an Armani suit. Damn, the man was sex on a stick, and unavailable, I reminded myself.
Conal appeared wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Gray sweatpants. Fuck my life. Now I didn't know where to look. Dark and dangerous mafia man in a suit, or hot and sexy mafia man in gray sweatpants. Either way, I was damned.
He briefly glanced in my direction, showing zero emotion. "Ready?"
I nodded before following Conal outside, Declan's silent gaze tracking me every step of the way as we left the kitchen.
Conal stood behind me as I handled the gun he'd given me with great trepidation. The thought of killing anyone made me feel ill. Although I’d become largely de-sensitized to violence, I didn't have a violent bone in my body.
Unlike my murderous sister.
"Squeeze the trigger gently," Conal instructed. "Focus on the target and shoot."
I screamed as the gun discharged, throwing me back against his chest. Even with ear protectors, the noise deafened me. It was a miracle I hadn’t suffered hearing loss after he killed the man who rammed our car.
Maybe shock had dulled my senses then. It was the only explanation.
"Let's try again." Conal sighed as he examined the paper target. No holes whatsoever.
I dutifully did as I was told, missing the target each time. When he sighed again, I burst into angry, frustrated tears.
"I'm not Thea!" Even to my own ears, I sounded like a spoiled, petulant princess, but I was sick of people expecting me to be like my sister: fearless and capable. Even if our father hadn't subjected her to all kinds of sick shit, she'd still be the same person, just without as much blood on her hands.
Conal's expression softened. He took the gun from me, checked to make sure the safety was on, and placed it on the bench. Then he cupped his hands around my face and stared down at me with intensity in his gray eyes.
Gray like the stormy sea. Gray like my world.
"Sweetheart, nobody expects you to be like your sister." Tears leaked down my cheeks, adding to my sense of shame. Thea didn't cry over stupid shit. She was a badass woman with five sexy husbands, two adorable kids, a successful business, and an amazing life.
Meanwhile, I had no fucking idea what I was doing with my life, no boyfriend, no home, and I couldn't even hit a stupid paper target.
Conal wiped away my tears with his thumbs while I sniffed. Was his ex-girlfriend a pretty crier? I wasn't. When I cried, I ended up covered in snot. Not attractiveat all.
"Being able to hit a target takes time and a lot of practice. We'll practice every day until you're more comfortable handling a weapon, OK?"
"Not sure you'll have time to fit that in as well as teach me self-defense and do your job." If he wanted to drop the gym sessions, I was down with that.
"You're not quitting the gym," he warned, reading my mind. "Ronan is back tonight, so he can help you with that." From the way his lip curled, he suspected his twin might have other ideas about what to 'help' me with.
"I'm rubbish at that, too."
