Page 92 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

Spence’s broad back bounces with laughter as he turns back and faces me with the same smile he wore when talking to my mom. “Your voice cracked when you said tits. It literally cracked when you said the word.”

“Your voice would crack too if you knew this girl’s daddy. I can like tits, but I also like not having my neck broken, so I keep my thoughts to myself and don’t stare too long.”

“You think you’re a man, huh?” He takes a step forward. “You wanna be a tough shit coming to the shooting range?”

I square my shoulders and enlarge my chest. “I am a man. I’ve been the man of my house since the day I was born. I feel like my mom isn’t safe anymore.”

Finally, his eyes change. From joking to fury. “Why isn’t she safe? We have your placed wired up to your ears.”

“Zeke is getting angrier. He used to whine, then swear, then he started kicking doors. What would have happened if I wasn’t there the other week? What could have happened if he was demanding to see me, but I wasn’t there? He might have pushed her. He might have kicked her, since the door was already busted.”

He throws his hands up. “What do you want from me, kid? I can’t give you a gun. I can’t live on your couch and protect you in person. Well, I mean, I guess I can,” he ponders. “I’m for hire, but I don’t think you have the funds, and goodwill and rainbow farts don’t pay my bills. I wanna help you, but installing that Gladiator kinda already was the favor.”

“I don’t want you to give me a gun. But I’d like an hour of your time where you teach me how to use one.”

He laughs so loud, I jump. “You’re insane if you think I’m giving a toddler a gun!”

“I’m not a fuckin’ toddler!” I step forward. “I’m fourteen, and I know that seems young to all of you old people, but my mom was pregnant at fifteen. People in my family grow up fast because the world doesn’t wait for us to catch up. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’m not asking you togiveme a gun. I will not walk off your property with anything I didn’t come here with.”

“So what do you want?”

“I just wanna learn. Give me an hour of your time, a lane, a little coaching, and some bullets. I won’t point it at a single thing but the paper target you give me.”

He narrows his eyes. “Do you have a gun at home?”

“No. My mom doesn’t want a gun in the house, which is pretty logical, considering her kid is always being carted to the hospital for dumb shit.”

“Fair.”

I lift my shoulders, then let them drop with a tired grunt. “I have no way of getting my hands on one, so you don’t have to worry about what I have at home. I just want to learn.”

“Why learn if you don’t intend to use your skills?”

“Probably the same reason they ask us to find thexin a fuckin’ triangle! Useless information, but you just never know if it might one day become useful. I’m just asking for a little forward thinkin’. And…” I pause and let out a deep breath. “Well… I have a proposition for you.”

* * *

This dude is easilytwo feet taller than me, triple my width, and has hands bigger than my head. His biceps are almost thicker than my body, and his shoulders make it so I can barely fit in this small space beside him, but I make it work, because I have to take care of my mom, and I want to be able to do it without shooting my own face off.

I find myself standing in one of those lanes inside Spence’s bunker with too-big earmuffs making waves in my ears, and scratched safety glasses covering my eyes. Someone else is here too, seeing as every three seconds he shoots at the paper target and the loud boom makes me twitch.

Every time I twitch, Spence lifts a brow and makes a point of reminding me I’m a little wimp who can’t handle this shit. So I steel my spine, ignore the dude I can’t see and the precision shots he’s making in the center of his paper target, and with shaking hands, I accept the small gun.

“This is a Smith and Wesson MP Shield.” Spence’s eyes come down to mine. “It’s a gun I might recommend to a chick if she asked. Small hands and all that.” He smiles when I narrow my eyes. “It’s small, easily hidden in a purse, and has a long grip, which makes it just a little easier to get a solid firing grip. The slide is a little clunkier than other guns, but for a beginner, this one ain’t bad. It holds seven rounds in the clip, and one in the chamber.”

“Eight shots?”

“Right. If you don’t put them down with eight, you need to take your ass back to the range and get more practice hours in. Safety on the side. Finger off the trigger until you’re ready.” He takes the much larger gun from his thigh and points it along my lane. “Take it slow, breathe, concentrate.”

I jump when he lets off a shot that tears straight through the forehead of my paper man.

“Try to group your shots. Don’t rush anything. Even when I’m in the field, I don’t rush my shots.”

“Have you been in the field a lot?”

“Too much.” Another shot passes through the hole he already made and leaves me with my jaw hanging open. “I’ve had a lot of years practicing, and though my instincts are screaming at me to send your ass home – and my instincts are rarely wrong – I still feel the need to remind myself I was learning how to shoot when I was younger than you are now.”

“So, like a toddler?”

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