Page 31 of Scorpion

My head swims with all the things I could say: thanking him, rejecting his offer, insisting that he doesn’t need to waste time accompanying me. But anything I want to say is caught in my throat.

“I think I need glasses,” he mutters as he squints in the direction of the dummy.

I swallow and force myself to look away. I just know that my body is humming with the familiar thrill of… of working toward something.

I forgot what that feels like. Goals.

Shit. Ambition is such a mundane, everyday concept, but already it’s made me feel ten times lighter.

Bringing the scope to my eye, I take a deep breath and play around with the dials to work out the distance to the target. “We need to go closer. We’re about eighteen hundred meters.”

He curses under his breath. “Let’s hope you never find out what your observations do to me.”

“What?”

He smirks. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.”

I hit his arm as we rise to our feet.

“I cannot believe you just attacked your employer.” Mathijs mock-gasps.

“Sue me then,” I deadpan.

Chuckling, he grabs the bag, while I carry the blanket. “Many fathers teach their children essential survival skills. Like how to light a fire, check the car oil, and fish. Mine taught me to always have my lawyer on speed dial.”

“I look forward to hearing from them.” I roll my eyes and walk closer to the middle of the clearing. “Make sure you mention that I am interested in perfecting a fifteen-hundred-meter kill shot—and I already succeeded at thirteen. Live targets are always welcome.”

“You murderous little thing. I like it.”

I side-eye him, but the corners of my lips curl at the deranged compliment. Using the scope, I get us as close to the fifteen-hundred-meter point as I can and lay out the blanket.

Mathijs offers me the rifle, but I motion for him to get into position. “Let’s see how good your aim is.”

“No need.” He holds out the rifle again. “Just trust me when I say it’s phenomenal.”

I push the weapon back to his chest, preparing to say the magical words that could get this man to do anything. “I bet you can’t make the shot.”

His eyes harden, and he’s on the ground with the gun poised within the next breath. Simply put, his form is horrific. Not to mention he’s balancing the rifle on his shoulder when there’s already a stand attached to it for him to use.

“You already have support. Use what you have around you. There’s no point reinventing the wheel.” He readjusts, pulling his knee too high up to the side, jeopardizing the stability and straightness of his body. “No, you’re too angled. Square your shoulders. Don’t put your elbows there.”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re such an eloquent teacher?”

“You’re the one who taught me how to shoot,” I say, then grate out, “Form,” when he reverts back to the position I just got him out of.

“The teacher becomes the master. A classic.” He shakes his head, then readjusts his hands on the gun.

I glance at Mathijs as small smile curls across my lips. This is the happiest I’ve felt in years, and it’s all because of him. There’s no serious conversation about our pasts or how we see the future shaping. This is just Mathijs and Zalak, hanging around in the forest and playing with guns just like we did when we were teenagers. Right now, we’re two friends with nothing but this moment.

Part of me wants to lean over and throw my arm over his waist and snuggle into his side like we used to. But we can’t do any of that because everything has changed. He’s my boss now. Even if he weren’t, I have far too much baggage, it’d be cruel to force anyone to share the load with me.

Lowering myself onto my stomach beside him, I fix my attention on Mathijs, and say in an even tone, “Take a deep breath, then look down the gun.”

He does exactly as I say, body tense. Oh, such a rookie.

There’s a certain elegance that comes with using a sniper that can’t be replicated in any other form. The level of patience required to carry out an intel-gathering mission would have most people clawing their eyes out. But there’s peace in studying others. You start gathering details about your environment that you wouldn’t have seen before. Like the fallen bird’s nest a hundred meters south. Or the deer half a klick behind us, and the blue jay we passed on the short walk between our last sniper’s hide and here.

“Usually, your spotter will help you identify your target and the conditions that would impact the shot,” I explain as I bring the scope up to my eyes to focus on the dummy hidden among the trees. I commend whoever set up the target for not putting it in a wide-open space.

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