“It’s my first time in a long time,” I said, ejecting the magazine. “My ex-husband took me to the range years ago. He was preparing for some Hotep race war.” I rolled my eyes.
I thought about how good it felt to hold a gun. The last time I’d touched a gun, I’d put bullets in both of Ahmad’s knees,both his hands, and his pathetic little dick. Left him alive but destroyed, the way he’d tried to destroy me.
And I’d liked it. More than I wanted to admit.
“Well, the muscle memory’s still there.” Denise handed me a fresh target. “You want to try from twenty-five yards this time? See if you can maintain that grouping from further back?”
“Let’s do it.”
Serenity took the lane next to me while Denise set up my new target. I watched my best friend load her weapon which was a 9mm she’d bought after she started messing with Mega. Said she needed protection in her line of work. I didn’t ask what that meant. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
But at least she was sober today. Her eyes were clear, her hands were steady, and she wasn’t sniffling every five minutes like she usually did. I didn’t know if this was real progress or just a good day, but I’d take it.
The new target clicked into place at twenty-five yards. Further than I’d ever shot before. I raised the Glock, found my stance, and let my mind go quiet.
This was the part I loved. The stillness before the shot. The way everything else disappeared—the noise of the range, the smell of gunpowder, the weight of my past. In this moment, there was only me and the target. Only the choice to pull the trigger or not.
Control. That’s what this was. Pure, undiluted control.
I thought about Ahmad’s face. Superimposed it over the paper silhouette like I always did. Remembered the way he used to look at me, like I was property, like I was nothing, like I existed only to serve his needs.
I fired.
Head shot.
I thought about the attack outside the bakery. The man who’d grabbed me, thrown me against the wall, made me feelsmall and helpless all over again. If Thad hadn’t shown up when he did…
I fired again.
Another head shot.
I thought about my father and his mental, verbal and physical abuse. He laid the foundation for me accepting men treating me any kind of way.
I thought about every man who’d ever made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I was weak. Like I was something to be used and discarded.
I emptied the magazine.
When the smoke cleared, Denise let out a low whistle. “Girl. You just put eight rounds in a six-inch grouping from twenty-five yards.” She looked at me with something like respect. “You ever think about competing? You’ve got a gift.”
“Maybe someday.” I set the gun down and pulled off my ear protection. “Right now I’m just focused on making sure nobody ever makes me feel helpless again.”
Denise nodded like she understood exactly what I meant. “I hear that. You keep practicing like this, ain’t nobody gonna be able to touch you.”
That was the plan. I was taking up combat training as well as personal training so that I could get really fit. If a man ever laid his hands on me with the intent to harm, I was going to make him regret ever being born.
We grabbed smoothies after the range, which was Serenity’s idea; said she was trying to be healthier. I didn’t point out that “healthy” and “cocaine habit” didn’t exactly go together. Baby steps.
“So how’s your man?” Serenity asked, stirring her mango concoction. “Are you and my cousin still going strong?”
“Thad’s good.” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “He’s been busy with the club and the casino stuff, buthe always makes time for me. I’m actually going to see him after this.”
“Look at you, all glowy and shit.” Serenity grinned. “I told you he was one of the good ones.”
“You did.” I reached across the table and squeezed her hand but then I stopped.
There was a bruise around Serenity’s wrist. Dark purple, almost black in some spots, shaped like fingers. Like someone had grabbed her and squeezed hard enough to leave marks.
“What happened to your wrist?”
