Page 70 of Graves

“I just want to be…in control. Free. Strong,” I say more to myself than anything as I stare at the wall behind Zayden.

Slowly, my eyes come back to his when he doesn’t respond, those blue eyes flaring to life before he nods his head once.

“Grab a jacket.”

He heads for the door, and I don’t hesitate. I’m in no position to be turning down a chance to get out of this apartment.

When we get downstairs and onto Zayden’s bike, a thought occurs to me. The last time I ended up on an excursion on the back of his bike, I ended up getting fucked on top of his parent’s grave. Maybe this was a very stupid idea. Clearly, I can’t betrusted around him, or more accurately, he can’t be trusted with me.

As soon as we hit that open road, though, with the wind whipping through my hair, all of my headache-inducing thoughts and worries fade, and I just…live. Zayden bobs and weaves through traffic so easily, it’s as if he’s more agile on a bike than his own two feet. He moves with each curve and bend of the road, and it feels closer to magic than just driving down the freeway.

It doesn’t take long before we’re exiting, and another mile or so down the road we’re pulling off into the gravel parking lot of a building with the name Buckey’s Shooting Range.

Zayden swings his leg off the bike, helping me with the helmet he slipped on me when we left before setting it on his handlebar. He offers me a hand, and I look at it hesitantly before I take it. His fingers intertwine with my own, and even when I’m off the bike, he refuses to let go, tightening his hold on me instead.

I shoot him an irritated look, but he just winks at me as he leads us toward the front door.

Within ten minutes, we are set up at a shooting lane on the very end with two guns and a box full of bullets. Zayden picked a human-silhouetted target to shoot at, and he loads one of the guns before gesturing for me to come to him.

“You ever shot a gun before?” he says, though I can barely hear him through the earmuffs they make us wear.

I shake my head and scoff. “When would I ever have shot a gun?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he pulls me to stand in front of him. Setting the gun in my hand, he straightens out my arms and has me hold it, pointing toward the target as he speaks.

“This is your safety, this is your clip, your rear and front sights,” he says, pointing to various parts of the gun. “You want to line up your target in between your rear and front sight. It’s okay to close one eye to practice, but I want you shooting with both eyes open.”

“Why are we doing this?” I ask.

“Because someone hurt you badly and you weren’t able to defend yourself.”

My stomach drops to the floor as a rush of goosebumps cover my skin. I wonder if I look as pale as I suddenly feel, but I don’t get a chance to speak before he continues.

“They took something from you, and you never got it back. This is how you get it back, one shot at a time.”

I don’t say anything as I look into his eyes. He waits for me to deny it or something, and maybe I should, but a smarter piece of me knows that would be futile. He’s not guessing, he’s not running with a hunch. It’s obvious what happened to me, it’s just that no one wants to form the ugly words into a single sentence.

Swallowing roughly, I nod, turning to face the target as I hold my arms out. Zayden’s hands run over my form, making small adjustments to my hold and stance before he nods, resting his hands on my hips.

“Close your eyes for me, angel. Picture him. Picture the man who hurt you, who stole your voice, who stole everything.I want you to picture him as vividly as you can.”

My stomach revolts at the request, the very idea of reimagining his face voluntarily too repugnant. For some reason, though, I do as he says. I see everything, from his dirty blonde hair and scraggly beard to his beady green eyes and his overhanging beer belly. I can practically smell him, taste him. I’m ready to fucking lose it when Zayden speaks again.

“Open your eyes and shoot the son of a bitch.”

My eyes fly open, and my finger on the trigger doesn’t hesitate. I fire the gun as many times as it lets me until the clip is out of bullets. When it’s done, my hands are shaking as I set the gun down onto the counter, blowing out a measured breath as Zayden hits the button that brings the target closer to us.

He pulls it down from the cable, grinning like a madman as he shows me. Four out of the six shots landed on the silhouetted body. Two to the head, one to the chest, and one to the stomach.

“Now that’s one dead piece of shit,” he cackles in a way that should sound completely unhinged but hits my ears, sounding of pure delight and pride.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

I nod. “Can we do that again?”

Zayden grins at me, nodding before hooking up a new target and sending it back down the lane.

“But first, I’m gonna show you how to take the gun out of someone’s hands.”

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