Page 133 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“Would you like a go?”

I twisted around, surprised to see a strange man standing behind me. His approach had been silent. My gaze went back to Matt and Nathan, they were busy competing with each other.

“Um,” I hesitated. Matt had been serious when ordering me to stand right here. Did I need a license or something? A couple of the guests who had passed by me were talking about their shotgun certificates. I didn’t need one of those, did I? This was private property.

The tuxedo clad man gestured to a free spot along the edges of thelawn. “Everyone’s taking a turn at it, you shouldn’t miss out. I’m Greg, by the way.”

“Hi, Greg,” I held a hand up which he shook firmly. “Madison DuMont-Bradley.”

“Ah, you’re Matthew’s wife.” He nodded slowly. “I attended Cambridge with him and Nathan.”

I smiled politely.

“So,” Greg drawled. “Are you up for it?”

I glanced at Matt, he was chortling away; making snarky comments at Nathan in an attempt to throw him off his game. Nathan kept hitting each target. Damn. If Matt lost the Bugatti before I had a chance to take it out for a sneaky spin I would be pissed.

“Uh, I guess,” Boredom had pushed me to say it, plus I still had the Rambo version of myself on the mind.

Greg went to get a shotgun and some ammunition. Wow. I was going to do this. Again I looked over in Matt’s direction. He was completely focused. I was sure I’d be back before he noticed I was gone. And Ihadbeen paying attention. It sucked watching everyone else having fun blasting away while I stood here like a Billy no mates. Why hadn’t Matt shown me how to shoot? If I was supposed to fit in he should be showing me these things. Selfish man.

“Over and Under.” I gestured to the shotgun. I only knew what it was because Matt had told me, but I didn’t want to risk looking completely ignorant. “Nice choice.”

Greg murmured his agreement as we headed over to where a staff member stood next to one of the normal devices.

“Here you go,” He held out two ear plugs as I shrugged off Matt’s dinner jacket and put my clutch down.

Once our ear plugs were in, Greg offered me the gun, giving me the first go. Oo rah! I was going to shoot something. I had been watching everyone else and I awkwardly tried to mimic the way they held the shotgun. It was huge, heavy and cumbersome against my right shoulder.

“Ah,” Greg suddenly looked uncomfortable. He was regarding me closely, apprehension quickly seeping into his features. “You have done this before, right?”

“Ready?” the member of staff asked.

“I think so, yes, I’m ready.” I said. It looked so easy. I had the gun pointing up towards the night sky, ready to shoot up some clay.

“You have done this before?” Greg looked alarmed when I slipped my finger on the trigger and bit my lower lip in concentration. This was how Matt had done it. What had the others been shouting out? Oh, yes.

In a loud voice I yelled, “Pull.”

The clay pigeon ejected like the missile it was and I narrowed my eyes while pressing down on the trigger.

“Jesus Christ.” someone exclaimed from above.

Above, because I was on my ass, dazed and feeling intense pain. Oh my fuck. The member of staff suddenly appeared next to me, carefully taking the shotgun from where it lay haphazardly across my lap. Greg was bending down, and I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I dared not turn my head to the right. Besides the fact my right cheek hurt like a son of a bitch, I was dead certain there had been a back-fire and I had shot my right arm off from the shoulder. The thought of seeing my mangled arm lying a few feet away made me sick to the stomach. It hurt. It fucking hurt. Why the hell had I done this?

I needed to risk a glance. Best to face it. Of course, I would scream hysterically, probably pass out immediately after. My career, ruined. My life, unquestionably changed. This was why guns were dangerous. Stupid me pretending to belong. What the hell did I know about clay shooting?

“Madison?”

I heard Matt’s terrified shout as I looked at my shoulder. It was still there, perfectly attached, not a drop of blood. But God! The pain. I blinked, staring at my shoulder and arm. Maybe I was imagining it whole. Honestly, this much pain must mean a serious injury. My brain must still be unable to accept the loss of limb, it must be a figment of my traumatized mind. There was a flurry of movement and seconds later Matt was at my side, brushing the hair off my face.

“What happened?” Nathan yelled.

“Is it gone?” I asked. My voice sounded faint.

“I assumed she knew how to shoot.” Greg said. He was the devil. Seducing me into a dangerous situation.

“Is it gone?” I asked again.

---