Page 6 of Disciplined: His Forbidden Crush

Jake was already pressing on. “I’ve been practicing for years. I can hit a target from a hundred yards away, easy.”

“With a handgun?” Summer asked, extremely skeptical.

“No, no,” Jake laughed. “Rifle.”

Oh. That made more sense. And was a lot less impressive. “Right.”

Jake cocked his head. “How about you?”

Summer ran a finger around the rim of his Mai Tai, thinking of how to deflect this. His father hadn’t been satisfied until Summer could regularly make 300 yards with a rifle. But he couldn’t say that to this guy. “You know, I don’t remember.”

“Okay, well, what’s the last gun you fired?”

Summer closed his eyes, remembering how it had felt to lie on the roof of his father’s house in the hot sun, looking down the scope at the target in the clearing far down the road. His brother’s hand had rested solidly between his shoulder blades, reminding him to control his breathing.

Focus. Relax. Exhale.

He opened his eyes, seeing Jake’s expectant look. He couldn’t say, “Oh, this was a Sako TRG 42 my father was testing out.” He’d sound insane, or worse.

“Just an old bolt-action rifle we kept for coyote,” he said weakly, lifting his glass to hide behind. “Nothing special.”

Jake started to tell him about a hunting trip he’d been on once and the deer he’d bagged. Summer found himself growing more and more disinterested. This guy might think he was some hotshot with a gun, but Summer knew better. He had seen real marksmen in action, men who could take out a human target without breaking a sweat. Jake’s bragging felt hollow in comparison.

Not that I’m impressed by killers, he told himself. That life was behind him now.

His feet itching, Summer decided this wasn’t going anywhere. He finished his Mai Tai and set down the glass on the bar. “Thanks for the drink, Jake, but I think I’m going to head back to my friends now.”

Jake’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered. “No worries, man. But hey, let me give you my number. If you ever want to hang out, maybe go to the shooting range together, just hit me up. I can show you a good time.”

Summer forced a smile, taking out his phone and quickly typing in the number. He had no intention of ever calling Jake, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Sure, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Coco raised an eyebrow as Summer approached, a knowing look on her face. “So, how’d it go with hot stuff over there?”

Summer shrugged, dropping into a chair beside her. “Not great. He’s not really my type. Too interested in guns.” Plus, he thought, I’ve known enough actually dangerous men in my life to know when someone’s just playing tough.

Lila made a face. “Oh, boo. Are guns a trigger for you?”

Coco laughed. “Nice one!” Lila looked confused. “Trigger? Did you not do that on purpose?”

“No,” Lila protested. “Wait, was that a pun? Ugh, gross.”

Summer listened to them and smiled, leaning his cheek in his palm. This was what he wanted right now, no need for anything more. Sure, he’d like a man in his life, but honestly, so long as he had his friends and his liberty, nothing else mattered.

I’m finally free, he thought. He knew it wasn’t going to last. His father would send someone after him eventually. But until then, he intended to live life to the fullest.

Chapter Three

On a busy afternoon in July, Rafael pulled his shitty Ford Escort into a narrow, Los Angeles alleyway. The sun was high and hot, casting deep shadows that concealed him well. The alley was cramped, cluttered with dumpsters, but it provided the perfect hiding spot. The car itself was an old, rusted sedan, its paint chipping away to reveal the iron bones beneath. It fit the surroundings, just another piece of urban decay.

As he sat there, Rafael contemplated his plan. Garcia had given him an address for Verano in an apartment building nearby. He intended to scope out the place, assess how difficult it would be to break in without being detected. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as he thought about the risk he was taking.

He’d only just gotten out of a U.S. prison, and the last thing he wanted was to end up back inside. But this was important. Not only had Garcia trusted him with something so sensitive, Rafael had always liked Verano.

“Mierda,” he muttered under his breath, getting out of the car.

He hoped that his history with Verano would make things easier, but there was no telling how much the kid had changed since they’d last seen each other.

Rafael leaned against the sun-warmed brick wall of the alley, remembering. Verano, back then a lanky teenager with wide, curious eyes, had clung to him like a shadow.

---