Page 35 of Vipers & Roses

“From who?” he asks quickly.

“You have a suspicious mind, probably because you undertake lawlessness and think everyone thinks like you,” I say with conviction as I stand at the mark and startle when the man on the other side of the barrier fires several more rounds. I notice he hits his target every time.

“Hold the Glock in both hands,” Blake instructs, as his hands secure the Glock in my hold. He warmly caresses my skin as he guides my hands up to point at the target, then runs his palms up my forearms to correct my angle. Those earnest brown eyes full of life connect with my curious stare, and my skin prickles from his body heat with him standing so close to me.

I should be afraid of this thief, but I’m not. I should be cautious of his intentions, but his charisma is calming and reassuring, which I find odd and confusing. Perhaps he’s skillful at pulling the wool over people’s eyes, and that’s what he’s doing to me now, but I wish I could see a red flag with him like I usually do with other men.

“Squeeze the trigger when you’re ready.” He stands behind me, making sure my feet are flat on the ground and in direct line with the target, and then he secures the earmuffs over my ears again, and I sense him standing back. There’s a natural hesitation before I squeeze the trigger, and a bullet flies out of the gun, and I lose track of where it went.

The blast was quieter than expected, and the velocity was powerful even though the feedback wasn’t strong. This makes shooting far too easy, which is good, but I must get my aim right. I glance back at Blake, who smiles and nods toward the target, signaling me to shoot again. Holding my arms out in front of me, pointing the gun towards the target again, I squeeze the trigger again and then for a third time.

“Did I hit the target?” I ask Blake, who shakes his head amusedly and signals me to try again.

I squeeze the trigger twice and am about to squeeze the third when Blake taps me on the shoulder to stop, lifts the left earmuff, and breathes into my ear, “That’s good, but you’ve got to get used to it.”

He’s so close to me that I must suppress an urge to grab his tanned forearm and hold it as a comfort. I wonder what he’d do if I seized his hand and held it close. “Okay,” I answer.

He wavers for a few seconds, still holding my earmuffs away from my ear, and I turn to look at him square on to see what his hold-up is. Those eyes run over my lips and eyes, the lips and eyes he says he’s not attracted to before he says directly, looking at me in the eyes, “Now imagine that target has the face of someone you hate on it.”

I drop my eyes as four faces come into my mind. When I glance up again, the intelligence behind his eyes scrutinizes my face. I nod, “Okay.”

“Got someone in mind?” he asks, cocking his raven eyebrows.

“I do,” I tell him.

“Good,” he says, fixing the earmuff back over my ear.

This time, when I raise my arms to point the gun at the target, Gavin the Pig’s face is there first, probably because it was only two days ago when I saw him. Imagining that smug, vile man in a cop’s uniform, I pull the trigger and hit the target, but several inches away from the bullseyes.

A cloud of rage comes over me as The Lion’s face appears, and I squeeze the trigger again, hypnotized and in a zone of destruction and satisfaction. Four shots. Four bullets. Four men.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

And they all fall down.

Blake lays his hand on my shoulder to pause my shooting fury. I lower my weapon, and he removes my earmuffs again. “Brilliant,” he champions me, sounding impressed. “You hit the target. I hate to be the guy you were pretending to shoot because you just planted several holes in his head.”

“Good,” I sigh, and Blake’s eyebrows cock mischievously.

“Maybe you’re in the wrong career. What are you studying at college?” he asks, taking the Glock from my hand.

“I don’t remember telling you I’m going to college, Blake?” I snap, trying to catch him out.

“Zara told me,” he quickly states.

“Oh? Have you two had a conversation about me?”

He grunts, smiling with those eyes twinkling, “Don’t flatter yourself, Corolla.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Tall, blond, full lips and cute nose is not your thing,” I hit back hotly.

“No, I said I like your nose,” he chuckles. “Green eyes are not my thing.” He holds up the handgun. “Another round?”

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