“Because anonymity is power. People fear what they don’t understand, so they either fight it or run from it, but it was never going to last forever,” he added almost as an afterthought.
He must have shifted the gun into his left hand because a moment later, he was wrapping his right around mine and lifting it up, bringing the gun around and placing it in my hand, encircling me, his breath tickling my skin, my heart skipping as his scent surrounded me. Fuck, sometimes I forgot how tall he was. How big.
I mean, I knew he was big. Muscular, at least six inches taller than me, if not more, but it seemed like so much more like this. It felt like I could disappear into him. Like the world wouldn’t be able to see me standing here. Like I was suddenly invincible because he was standing right behind me, watching.
I swallowed, my mind spinning as he carefully wrapped my hand around the grip. “I assume you know the basics,” he began, that low rumble of his unforgiving voice seeping into my skin.
My cheeks warmed, and it was an effort not to shift. In fact, I was having a hard time breathing at this point. “Yes,” I said, my voice a bare whisper. Fuck. Get ahold of yourself.
When he was sure the gun was firmly in my grip, he released it and reached for my other hand. “This is how you hold a gun properly,” he explained, lifting my other hand and sliding it under the bottom of the gun. He shifted my hands over until I was holding the gun in direct line with my heart. “It helps with the kickback, and it helps with aim if you need to shoot more than once.”
I was only half listening because I already knew this stuff. I knew how to hold a gun, I knew where the safety was, where the release to the mag was, how many bullets were in the gun, and how the kickback of certain guns made it harder to aim at a smaller spot unless you werereallygood.
This particular semi-auto had a decent kickback. For a newbie like me, it didn’t matter how prepared I thought I was, I would still have to recenter myself after the first shot.
“How do you hold it?” I asked, turning my head an inch towards his, just enough to see the corner of his eyes.
He looked down, watching me, his pupils wide. “You won’t be able to handle that.”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “How do you hold it?” I asked, enunciating each word. We were too close. It wouldn’t have been hard to close the distance.
His eyes flicked down, his lips parting for half a second before his mouth snapped shut. A muscle in his jaw feathered and he gestured for me to turn back to the target, so I did, albeit a little more light-headed than before. He took my left hand off, pushing it to my side and guided my right until the gun wasdirectly in front of my shoulder.
The weight of the gun weighed on me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I could do it just like he could.
At least, I would give it my best shot.
“Your aim is going to be worse this way,” he told me, something in his voice shifting.
I adjusted my footing this time, more determined than ever to prove him wrong. “This is how I want to learn or are you going to order me to shoot differently?”
He straightened, his body less than an inch from mine as his hand wrapped around my hand, mirroring mine. “I’ll just have to be your crutch until you learn how to handle it by yourself,” he stated chillingly.
I swallowed. “Fine by me.” It wasn’t fine by me, but now I was on a path, and I couldn’t jump off. I made my choice, now I had to stick with it.
He wrapped his left hand around my left wrist. “Keep this here. The last thing you need in a gun fight is a limb you can’t control.” His right index finger, still resting over mine, flexed. “Use this to aim. It won’t be perfect for some time, but you’ll get used to the point of reference after some practice. Wherever you’re pointing this finger, that’s where the bullet will go. As for the kickback? It’s going to be hell on your shoulder. Prepare yourself.”
I adjusted myself again, my ass brushing against his hips before my entire body tensed.
“No,” he told me, releasing my left hand and finding my shoulder. “Do not tense.”
I shivered as his hand encompassed my shoulder, sliding down a little, my sweater falling off, the air drifting over the now exposed skin, causing a shiver to fall through me. “Preparing for a kickback means forcing your body to take it,” he explained softly. “Tensing your muscles in preparation for the shot.
“If you’re rigid, your motions won’t be fluid. Stay fluid,” he instructed, turning his head towards me. He smoothed my shoulder down, sliding his hand back, slowly down my back, spreading his fingers across my ribs as he found my side.
Down, down, down, until his hand wrapped around my hip, squeezing gently. “Fluid,” he instructed, the breath of his words caressing my skin as my muscles relaxed under his touch.
Shit, I couldn’t breathe. I blinked, trying to clear my thoughts.
“This arm,” he went on, squeezing his hand around my right one as his left remained on my hip, “needs to be ready. Your shoulder is going to take the blow of it, so your stance needs to be perfect in order to compensate.”
He gently moved my hips, kicking at my left foot, guiding it to where it needed to be before doing the same with my right. Every one of his motions gentle, easing, like a real mentor.
A moment later I was pressed fully against him, my heart racing against my ribs. I was starting to forget why we were actually here.
He adjusted my right arm, lifting the gun again until it was level with my shoulder. He cocked the hammer back and put his hand right over mine. “Now, put your finger on the trigger,” he told me.
I ran my tongue over my lips and did as he said, his own finger following mine. I couldn’t help the way my eyes fell shut, the way my body clocked his heartbeat, the way I wanted to fall into him. It felt good.
