Page 19 of Specter Bred

"I have some friendly advice, too. I didn't ask for your help because I don't need your help."

It slipped slightly.

"I built my entire career on my own hard work, not on the advice of men who think they're smarter, faster, and stronger than me."

Now he was frowning.

"And when I blow your score out of the fucking water, it won't be because you gave me advice on the wind."

I took a small step closer.

"It'll be because I'm better than you."

His jaw tightened instantly, his expression shifting from smug amusement to outright fury.

"Well, I guess they were right about you being a fucking bitc—"

"ARCHER!" Graves's voice boomed across the field through a megaphone, cutting Redwood off before he could finish.

Every head on the range turned.

"You're up next, Teacup. Fucking move it."

I shot Miles a brief smile and jogged toward the firing line before he could recover. My rifle was already waiting. I grabbed it and settled into position. A moment later, Graves moved behind me, so close I could feel his alpha heat radiating.

"Big words for a little alpha," he murmured low enough that only I could hear.

I settled the stock into my shoulder and fixed my eyes downrange.

"You better do what you said now. Otherwise Redwood's gonna think you're all talk and no follow-through."

A slow smile spread across my face. I looked over my shoulder and made eye contact with Major Graves.

"Don't worry, sir. He's not the only one who's about to realize he's underestimated me."

The silence behind me stretched for a beat. Then his whistle shrieked, and I let everything else fade into the background.

The recruits watched from behind the firing line, but none of them mattered anymore, not Redwood with his smug grin or Graves standing somewhere over my shoulder waiting to see if I'd back up my mouth. I slipped into the zone.

This was where I thrived. Not when people believed in me, or expected me to succeed. My zone was when they underestimated me, when they looked at me and saw a woman instead of an alpha.

The rifle rested naturally against my shoulder as my breathing slowed. And then my focus was on the first target.

The first three distances passed almost effortlessly. One hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred. Each shot landed exactly where I intended, steel ringing back at me again and again. Somewhere behind me, the conversation among the recruits had died away. The farther I progressed through the course, the quieter the spectators became.

By the time I reached one thousand yards, even with my heightened alpha vision, the target was little more than a dark shape in the distance. Gusts of wind had picked up enough to matter now, tugging at the flags scattered downrange. I studied them for a moment, made my adjustment, and squeezed the trigger.

The first shot landed.

The second landed.

The third drifted just left, kicking up sand beside the target.

A miss. But I didn't curse or tense and I certainly didn't rush the next shot. Because the miss told me everything I needed to know. I made the correction and sent the remaining rounds downrange. Both struck steel.

Nineteen out of twenty hits.

Now only one target remained.