Dario has led me to the first cubicle in the row. On a hook behind us, there are sets of headphones on hooks on the wall. He reaches for a couple, handing me one and keeping the other. Then he’s setting a pair of safety glasses on my face.
He extracts the weapon from his waistband, moves his hands over it briskly to the accompaniment of sharp clicks and grating sounds, then sets it down on the countertop. I stare at it as if I’ve never seen a gun before. Which isn’t far from the truth – certainly never this close. My world has been focused on healing, while Dario’s…has not.
“Your dad never taught you to handle a firearm?” he asks. As if it’s the type of thing every father teaches his daughter.
I scoff. “He wasn’t around much,” I say. His eyes flicker to mine briefly.
“And your mother?”
I feel my heart clench. “She… She died.” His eyes are gentle when they meet mine. “Cancer,” I add softly.
“I’m sorry,” his voice is equally soft. “When?”
“Few years back. I was at college.”
“That’s really tough.” It seems strange hearing him use that word. Everything about the man is hard and unyielding. The type of person who’d face loss and simply suck it up and move along. “It must have been hard on you and Sophia,” he adds.
I do a double-take. “How do you know I have a sister?” We’ve shared so little private information. I’m pretty certain I’ve never spoken of her to him.
His lips quirk up. “I do my homework. Need to know what I’m dealing with in my line of business,” he says without apology. “Tell me about her.”
“Sophia…Sophie,” I smile. “She’s a lot younger than I am. Just a kid, really.” I hear my voice soften as I think of her. “I try to stay in touch, but she’s got a lot on her plate. Exams…studies…she’s a straight-A student. Best in her class,” I say with pride.
“Law,” he says, obviously already knowing this much. “That’s an interesting career choice.”
To me, it’s hardly surprising, considering we’d both wished a dozen times that our father would either get his shit together or face the justice system. But I don’t say that.
“Yes. She’s got the whole world ahead of her. And she’s going to rock it.” I’m still smiling. He’s staring at me curiously.
“You’ve been putting her through college,” he says, almost under his breath. I stand taller, waving a hand dismissively.
“She deserves it.” I change the subject. “What about you? I’ve met your dad. But your mom? She didn’t come to Dani’s party and…” I trail off. His expression has grown cold, almost unpleasant. “I—” I start, but he’s turned away, a hand on my shoulder guiding me to face the lanes ahead of us. This conversation is over. It seems we both have our dark secrets to keep.
He glances at me. “Rules first,” he says brusquely. “Never aim your weapon at anyone. Unless you intend to shoot them.” I say nothing. I have no intention of shooting anyone. Ever. But he’s so damn serious that I’m not going to point this out. “Right now, this weapon’s unloaded, but always handle that fucker as if it’s cocked and locked.” I blink stupidly, and he goes on, “That means the gun is loaded, with a round in the chamber and the hammer cocked. It’s ready to fire. Do you get that?” I nod mutely. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.” I nod again. He reaches for the weapon and puts it in my hands. I want to shrink back, but I don’t. “This is the safety. The magazine slots in here, like so…” He holds my hands as he takes me through the motions. “You remove it like so.” He shows me again, repeating the move several times. And then several more. Normally, having him standing so close would have my breath hitching. And it is…but for a totally different reason now. It’s like holding a live snake. But if he notices my discomfort, he ignores it, making me repeat the moves again and again until he’s satisfied.
“Now for the fun part.” He grins at me, then tugs my headphones onto my head, dons his, and takes up a stance behind me. His body pressed close, his arms caging me. Then he’s guiding my hands up before us. “Two hands, baby…imagine you’re holding my cock,” he says glibly as he puts the gun in my hands. I stifle a giggle. “You don’t want to go limp-wristed on that thing, or it’s gonna jam up,” he adds. His fingers are moving smoothly over mine as he shows me how to grip the butt, one thumb over the other, then how to sight down the barrel. To touch the pad of my finger over the trigger. I can just make out his voice when he says against the covering over my ear, “Now…when you’re ready, breathe out, and squeeze…”
I grit my teeth, hold my breath, squeeze my eyes shut, and clamp down on the trigger. The recoil isn’t as powerful as I expected, but the shock of it has me backing up into his chest, and I give a small cry of alarm. I have no idea where the shot went, but the targets at the end of the range don’t look like I fired anywhere near them.
Dario is chuckling behind me. “It’s okay; beautiful, you’ll get the hang of it. But you have to remember to breathe, right?” I suck in air, realizing I’d been holding it in all along. “Again,” he says. I nod grimly, breathe out, shut my eyes and squeeze.
In spite of being determined not to, the shot has me stepping back again, but this time, I’m pretty sure I fired in the general direction of the targets.
“Again,” he says, reaching a hand beneath mine to steady my wrist and adjust my grip. He sets my head straight and tips my chin up. “This time, try to actually look at where you’re shooting.” He’s teasing me, but I ignore him. I squint down the barrel, grimace, and squeeze. I’m pretty sure I manage to skim one of the targets. It’s better than nothing, I guess.
“You’re doing good,” he says. I feel his lips graze the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, and it makes something swirl deep in my core. “Don’t fuck around with that one-eyed squinting shit, okay? Keep both your eyes open, breathe out easy…and imagine that slug going where you want it to go.”
“Okay,” I say under my breath. I stare down the lane at the dark shape ahead of us. Imagining the bastard who’d been behind us in that shoot-out that day, that man aiming at Dario’s back while he tried to save me and his son. Imagining blowing that bastard’s head off. I squeeze. The pistol recoils, but I’m used to it now. And this time, the shape at the end of the range moves. I feel Dario’s breath on my neck as he chuckles.
“Oh, baby….” His lips are on my neck again.
“Did I get it?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him. He flicks a switch nearby, and the shape ahead begins to glide toward us. My eyes widen as it gets close enough for me to see the hole in the center of the thing’s head.
“More than got it, beautiful,” he chuckles again as he tugs the headphones from me and nuzzles my ear. “You’re a fucking natural!”
I don’t bother pointing out that it took half a dozen rounds to get anywhere near the thing. I’ve actually worked up a sweat going through it all. My shirt is clinging to my shoulder blades.
“You keep that up, and we’ll make a shooter out of you,” he goes on. I’m flushed with pride at how thrilled he seems to be. Though I wish his own color was better. “You just have to remember to breathe smooth, keep your eye on the target, and always…alwaysshoot to kill. Got it?” I nod eagerly. I still don’t love the damn gun, but if it makes him this happy…
