Page 59 of The Hitch
"Fuck yes! Did you see that?" I shriek as I yank off the earmuffs. Helena snags the gun from me and quickly engages the safety.
"You did so well! This is amazing improvement, Melody! Really—I'm so proud of you," Helena gushes and squeezes my shoulder.
The grizzled man on the lane next to us huffs out a breath and grumbles something, most likely misogynistic. Yes, we absolutely could have practiced in the basement, but I'mfree!With Dante's blessing this morning, I begged Helena to take us to a shooting range. She quickly obliged, and I'm damn near giddy. So Mister Second Amendment over there can just fucking cope.
"Should I go again? I think I should go again!" I squeal and shuffle on my feet.
"Yes, absolutely. Remember. Square up, steady grip, feet apart, hold tight. Don't let the recoil spook you." She hands me back the gun, and I nod, following her instructions. She groans and pops the earmuffs back on my head, and the other shooters on the range muffle out of focus.
I focus on the target at the end of the lane, envisioning the bullet before it leaves the barrel. My shoulders try to tense, but I force them back down. I take in another breath and pull the trigger with my exhale. The recoil doesn't shock me as much, not anymore. I've done it again—another bullseye, not even an inch from the first one.
Feeling lucky, I fire again. And again. And again. I fire until the magazine is empty, and the trigger clicks uselessly. Even though the gun is empty, I flick on the safety—Helena trained me well—and gently lay the weapon on the wooden ledge of my lane.
"Helena, will you bring the target up?" I ask, still focused on the tattered piece of paper. She clicks a button, and it whizzes forward. My heart leaps with joy—I've fucking done it. The grouping is immaculate. The only stray is in the second ring of the circle.
I'm a deadly weapon, and I know how to use one.
"Oh my God, Melody! I'm so proud! You're incredible!" Helena laughs and pulls me in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her and feel a brief pang of jealousy at her muscle tone.
"Thank you! Thank you so much for teaching me—you're amazing, this is amazing, ah!" I shriek back, and we aredefinitelyirritating the shit out of the guy in the next lane over.
"Hey. Girly. You wanna learn to shoot for real? Come by my place; I'll show you arealgun." The guy leans over and looks us up and down with a sleazy grin. Ugh, gross. I miss when he just mumbled sexist shit under his breath.
"Disgusting. Helena, pedicures?" I turn back to my friend without another glance at the leering man.
"Sounds lovely, Mel."
We pack up and leave the shooting range, arm in arm. I'm just absolutely bursting with joy—for my aim, my stance, and my friend. This is the best day of my life.
Helena and I burst into the house, still giggling with childlike glee at our girls' day out, when I see Dante sitting quietly on the sofa. Roman stands at the window, hands behind his back in the stoic repose I've come to learn so well.
"Helena," Roman grunts.
"Hello, sir. Mr. Lyons." Helena nods to both men.
"There's been an unfortunate incident." Dante stands and faces us. My heart drops. He looks so… broken. I drop my bag to the floor and rush over to him, pulling him in close. He melts into my embrace but stiffens before standing back up straight. "I'm sorry, love. I need to tell you. Valencia, my office manager, mybusinessmanager… is dead."
"No," Helena gasps and the blood drains from her face.
"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry—was she sick? Was there an accident?" I run my fingers through his hair and cup his cheek.
A single tear wells up and trails down his face, dripping from his angular jawbone. "No. It wasn't an accident. Someone wanted to send a message. Well, message received."
I furrow my brow, momentarily confused, before I understand his words. His office manager was murdered? An office manager? "Who the fuck would do something like that?"
"That, Mrs. Lyons, is exactly what we're trying to find out," Roman speaks up and turns from the window. "This was personal, though."
"Don't mince words, Roman. She was strung up from the ceiling fan in our break room, Melody." Dante's ashen face looks so haunted, so hollow.
"Jesus Christ," Helena whispers. "Poor Valencia."
"Is that… is that why you had to go in early today?" I ask. Dante and Roman exchange glances.
"In a way, yes. But I was under the impression that Valencia called Roman in a tizzy." Dante leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
"She did. Or I thought she did." Roman sniffs. "I'd like to think she was alive this morning, but we reviewed the security footage. There is no evidence of her leaving the office last night. At approximately six in the evening, the elevator doors open, and the cameras cut out. All of them."
"What about on other floors? The lobby?" I ask with furrowed brow.
