Page 67 of A Taste Of Darkness

He shook his head, but something told me that he was lying. Whether it was the hint of a smirk or the way his eyes betrayed him, I wasn’t sure. Maybe a combination of them both.

“Are you sure? It’d be so hot if you could.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and even though I was sure he knew I was playing with him, he still reached for the gun. “What do I get if I hit?”

I shrugged. “What do you want?”

He was looking at me, body turned sideways. His right arm was stretched out, gun loaded, and aimed toward the target. Milo wasn’t wearing safety goggles or earmuffs, which concerned me a little, but I knew he was used to the sounds and shooting.

As much as I tried not to think about how he learned how to shoot or why he had to learn it, it was still burned into my memory. My heart felt heavy for him.

I couldn’t imagine how awful his life must’ve been before he ran away, and I bet it still wasn’t the greatest despite having everything. Was he constantly afraid of getting found and dragged back to his family?

“If I make the shot, promise you’ll actually try to hit the target next time,” he said.

My mouth opened for a moment, ready to defend myself, but I realized he was right. I did close my eyes purposefully, which resulted in me not hitting the target. Though, I was sure I still wouldn’t have hit it with a single bullet even if I had my eyes open.

“I promise.” He wasn’t going to make the shot anyway, not if he continued to look at me.

Yes, he was supposed to shoot blindly, but he had to at least check once to make sure he aimed the gun at the target and not elsewhere, right?

Wrong.

Milo shot a total of five times.

Four out of five bullets went through the target’s forehead leaving what looked like millimeters of space between each hole. The fifth bullet shot through the middle of the human-silhouette’s chest.

It all happened so fast, I barely realized he’d shot before he already laid the gun back down and turned his entire body toward me.

34

NEW SKILLS

Sterlie Adams

After we’d been at the shooting range for the past five hours, I was finally able to use a gun without either flinching, looking away, and most importantly, not not hitting the target.

Of the last ten shots I fired, ten of them hit the target. Perhaps not at the human-like silhouette’s most vital “organs,” but I hit the freaking paper so that was a win for me.

I must’ve smelled like gun smoke, and I was already worrying about never getting that smell off me ever again, but Milo assured me if I took a long shower, it would come off. I loved long showers anyway, so that, too, was a win in my book.

The last thing Milo wanted to teach me was how to use a revolver properly because I might not always have access to a more modern gun. We set other kinds of weapons aside for the day, he promised to teach me how to use them when I was more comfortable using smaller guns.

The revolver felt different in my hand, and shooting was also not as smooth as the modernized gun, but it wasn’t exactly more difficult.

I stood in the same position Milo first told me to stand in, then aimed at the target—with the last bullet in the cylinder—and shot. Eyes open. No flinch. I didn’t even hesitate to press the trigger this time.

An excited scream drew out of me when I saw that I hit the silhouette, then another one when I realized that the bullet had gone through the head.

Without thinking, I dropped the revolver on the counter and turned around, jumping right into Milo’s arms, legs wrapping around his body. He caught me and held me up with one arm while he used the other to remove my safety goggles and earmuffs.

“I did it!” It might’ve not been the first time I hit the target, but it was the first time I aimed for the head, and I hit it.

Eventually, Milo wrapped his other arm around my body and held me in a tight embrace—his face buried in the crook of my neck. “I’m so proud of you, Sterlie.”

If someone told me five years ago that I’d be learning how to properly use a gun at the age of twenty-three, I would’ve laughed right into their face. Once more if they mentioned who would be the one to teach me.

Violence wasn’t my thing. Neither were ex-mafia guys.

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