Page 54 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

“Where are we going?”

A small smile pulled on Yaro’s lips. “Since it’s the weekend and I finally have a moment off, I’m going to teach you how to shoot.”

“Shoot?” I echoed, surprised to hear it. Even if it made my stomach flip-flop at the idea, my interest was captured.

He nodded once. “Since the explosion at the club happened, I’ve been thinking you should at least be trained on how to defend yourself. I’m not exactly planning on arming you indefinitely, but you should know how to shoot if it ever comes down to it.”

“That sounds reasonable,” I said, going along with it. “I’ve never even held a gun before.”

“Exactly why I think this is a good step.”

While the idea of being responsible for a firearm made me nervous, I was prepared to do whatever it took to show Yaro I wasn’t a weak link. I may have been new to his world and how it all worked, but I was willing to try.

Despite not thinking so initially, I wanted to be of value to him and his cousins. The way they established themselves and worked so hard to protect what they cared about was inspiring. If I was going to live alongside Yaro and be taken care of, then it was the least I could do to become an asset in some shape or form.

Pulling up to one of the warehouses, Yaro killed the engine and popped the door open. I followed suit, trailing him inside wordlessly.

Upon walking into the building, it became incredibly apparent that the warehouse was a sort of training ground. One section was full of workout equipment and various training obstacles, while another section housed all the gear they needed.

“This is essentially our arsenal,” Yaro said, gesturing to the many lockers full of intense-looking weapons. “While we have firearms spread out around the city, this is the main hub. When the other locations need top-ups, they come from here. And to go along with it, this is our shooting range.”

Yaro pointed toward a heavy steel door that led to the indoor range. I could hear as others practiced inside.

I swallowed hard as my attention strayed on the seemingly endless supply of high-powered weapons. I had never seen so many guns before, and the thought of being surrounded by them made me squeamish.

At the same time, it was fascinating.

“What will I be practicing with?” I asked, growing more curious as I looked at the guns, especially the heavier-duty ones. The rifles that seemed like they would be heavy in my arms. I couldn’t imagine trying to shoot with one.

But, to my luck, Yaro reached for a small pistol from one of the storage lockers. He showed me that it was unloaded before clicking it back into place.

“You will be starting small. Here, hold it and get a feel for it,” Yaro said, handing the weapon to me.

I took it in my hands like it was still loaded, still exercising caution regardless of the fact. I moved the cool metal back and forth, registering its weight in my palm. It was a strangely surreal feeling, even if it was just a gun.

“Every weapon feels different, regardless of what kind it is. Understanding that weight distribution is important, especially if you ever need to use one outside of this place. When you get used to how it feels to hold and shoot it, you’ll gain more confidence with it,” he explained, watching as I handled the pistol.

Yaro grabbed another and ran through the parts of the gun, explaining everything I needed to know. He showed me how to aim, switch the safety on and off, and how to reload it. When he was done and felt like I was ready, he took me over to the firing lanes.

Equipped with my earmuffs and safety glasses, I was ready to get started.

While it still felt strange to hold, I reassured myself that I would grow accustomed to it eventually, as Yaro said.

Facing that paper target at the end of the lane, I drew in a deep breath, and Yaro stood at a safe distance.

“Now, do as I instructed before and give it a try.”

Taking in a deep breath, I loaded the pistol, then clicked the safety off and aimed. My stomach was in knots of anticipation then, but as I let go of that breath, I told myself it was just the first step.

It was my first time shooting a gun, and I was just practicing. I didn’t need to be perfect at it.

Pulling the trigger, the bullet fired down the lane and nicked the paper target. It wasn’t anything impressive, but at least I even hit it. That recoil felt foreign to me, but after blinking through my astonishment, the wave of invigoration hit me next.

“That was great for a first attempt,” Yaro shouted his encouragement. “Keep going until the clip is empty.”

Nodding, I returned my full attention to the target and took my time aiming. With each round I fired, it made me want to get better, and that confidence slowly set in at last.

Once the magazine was empty, Yaro clapped from behind me; then the target came zooming forward until it was within reach.

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