Page 28 of Gotta Jones For Ya
“Aye, it’s set up already in Bay 3,” the man said. “Your shit’s on the table.”
Knuck nodded back and said, “Good looks, bro”. Then, he guided me by the small of my back through the hallway.
“Wait. Why didn’t you have to show ID?” I whispered. “There’s rules to this shit, Keon.”
“My man’s owns this range,” he replied casually.
I blinked. “You… you know someone who owns a gun range.”
“Amongst other shit.”
My stomach flipped a little at that last part.
Bay 3 was pristine, well-lit, soundproof, and cold. A matte black table had two handguns laid out, a few boxes of ammo, ear protection, and two clear glasses of water, like we were on a damn date or something.
“You ever held one before?” he asked, stepping behind me.
“No.”
“Good. You ain’t ‘posed to be holdin’ no burner unless you ready to use it. But you with’ me now, so you gon’ know how to protect yourself.”
My pulse jumped. “I thought you were the protection.”
“I am,” he said in my ear, heat dancing along my neck. “But I ain’t always gon’ be right next to you. Gotta know you can hold your own. And if you keep lookin’ like this every time we outside, I damn sure need you to know how to up somethin’. Quick.”
I swallowed and then nodded. Knuck handed me the smaller gun first, showing me how to load it, then unload it. I fumbled the first time. My nails got in the way. But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He stepped behind me, both hands gripping mine, warm and rough as hell, guiding me through it.
“Like that,” he muttered. “Yeah… now rack that bitch.” I did. A soft clack filled the air. He adjusted my arms from behind, his body flush against mine now. “Spread your feet. Shoulder width. Relax your neck.”
“I am relaxed,” I muttered, trying not to focus on how thick he felt behind me or the scent of his cologne lingering heavily in the air.
“You not. You stiff as fuck,” he said, voice low and smug. “But it’s cool. I’ll loosen you up later.”
“Shut up.”
“You like when I talk nasty.”
I bit back a smile. “You really are full of yourself.”
“Go ‘head. Aim. Shoot. Just squeeze, don’t snatch it.”
I did. The first shot startled me so bad I damn near screamed, but I didn’t miss the paper silhouette. I hit somewhere near the shoulder.
“There she go,” he praised. “Bust that shit again.”
I hit the chest this time. And I couldn’t lie, I felt powerful as hell.
Knuck kissed the side of my jaw without warning, whispering, “So fuckin’ sexy.”
“Me holding a gun is sexy to you?”
“Nah. Me teachin’ you how to move in this world without fear? You holdin’ a burner while wearin’ my chain? That shit turns me all the way on.”
My knees damn near buckled.
We stayed in there for another thirty minutes. I emptied a full clip, missed some, and hit most. Then he took his turn with the bigger piece and made me stand behind him. Watching his arms flex. I watched how calm he was. Precise.
Something about the way he stood there, that big-ass gun in his hand like it was an extension of him, made my stomach do something wicked. He looked like a goddamn weapon himself. Tatted up, fingers wrapped around cold steel, jaw tight, neck flexed, that energy low but so loud. And when he turned back to me after hitting a dead-center shot, I swear my pussy jumped.
