He places the gun down on the table in front of me. I immediately reach for it, and he grabs my hand. “I didn’t tell you to pick that up, Athena.” He snaps.
“Hey, you don’t have to be so rude,” I snap back.
“Well, maybe just focus and do as you’re told.”
I turn to glare at him, but he’s standing too close, and I end up glaring right at his chest.
Huffing, I turn back to look down the passage.
“This is called a range,” he carries on, gesturing down the passage. “That over there is your target.”
“Oh, come on, this is all basic stuff. I don’t need to know what this and that is called. I just want to learn how to shoot,” I grumble.
“Athena, I am not going to skip over the boring parts and have you not fully understand the rules of handling a weapon,” he growls at me. His voice is dark and menacing and edged with annoyance. For some reason, the deep growl of it sends a delightful shiver running down my back, and I let out a soft little gasp.
Thankfuckhe doesn’t seem to notice. And thank fuck I’m facing away from him because now my cheeks are glowing red.
He wraps his arm around my waist and sets his hand with fingers spread wide on my stomach. He tugs me closer against him, and I let out a rush of air in surprise.
“Stand strong,” he demands. “Both feet firm.”
I try to do as he says, but being this close is distracting.
“My feet are firm,” I snap, only because I’m agitated with myself, because now, I’m remembering what he looked like without the shirt on.
“Athena,” he growls my name as a warning.
I bite my lip.
He brushes his hand down my arm, lifting it in front of me. “You’ll keep this arm straight but not locked at the elbow. And this hand will rest under here, beneath the grip of the gun.”
“Won’t this be easier to show me if I’m holding the actual gun?” I ask.
“Dammit, Athena, will you just let me teach you?” he snaps.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to force myself to calm down and not snap back with some childish retort.
“Fine,” I say quietly.
He takes his time, and I start getting the feeling that he’s dragging it out now on purpose to annoy me even more.
Finally, after telling me the name of every single part of the damn gun, he picks it up and places it in my hand.
“Always point it forward. Don’t even point a gun at someone unless you have the full intention and will to shoot them,” he says.
“That doesn’t make sense. Just because I point the gun doesn’t mean I am going to definitely use it.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that you have to bewillingto use it. It’s not easy to shoot someone. It’s even harder to take a life.”
I want to ask him if he’s ever killed anyone, but I know the answer. And I don’t want to hear it out loud.
“What’s the first step?” he asks.
“Safety off.”
“Good girl,” he says, and another shiver of delight runs down my spine.
“Then?”
