Page 56 of Celestial Combat

No words.

Not even when the doors opened again, revealing his underground office.

Zane moved first, leading the way out of his office as we descended two flights of stairs into the lower level of Python’s underground. The fight club was empty – no roaring crowd, no bloodstained mats or flashing lights. Just dim overheads casting an eerie glow across the space, the adrenaline still lingering in the air like ghosts of past fights.

I didn’t have time to take it all in before Zane veered left, pushing open a steel door.

I stepped inside

The shooting range was nothing like the gym above.

Black walls, with sharp overhead lighting reflecting off metal surfaces. The sharp scent of gunpowder clung to the air, lingering like a warning.

Gun racks lined one side of the room, a long counter covered in ammo and equipment stretching along the other. The targets were set up at the far end – figures in the shape of men, their center mass and head zones marked in red.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as I took it in.

This was his world.

This was what Zane did when he wasn’t saving women in alleys.

And now, apparently, it was mine too.

Zane moved past me, grabbing a handgun off the counter and checking it over with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times.

“You know how to shoot?”

“I know enough.”

Zane made a low sound, like he wasn’t convinced. “We’ll see.”

He handed me the gun, watching as I checked the magazine, flicked the safety, and adjusted my grip. I could feel his eyes on me as I stepped into position, feet set firm, arms straight but not locked. The weight of the weapon was familiar.

I inhaled, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit center, the red-marked zone of the target punctured clean through.I mean, my family literally moved firearms.

I smirked, lowering the gun safely. “Satisfied?”

Zane stepped behind me.

Close.

Too close.

His chest barely brushed my back, his body heat sinking into my skin.

I locked my jaw, forcing myself to focus. But when he reached forward, fingers grazing over mine, adjusting the angle of my grip, my breath caught.

“You’re compensating too much,” he murmured, his voice low as he pushed down on my shoulders and waist to relax my muscles.

I swallowed, my pulse jumping.

The grip of the gun was steady in my hands, but suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about the rest of me.

Zane’s fingers lingered on my waist for half a second longer before he stepped back.

“Again.”

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