Page 97 of Oathbreaker

He shrugs and rolls his eyes.

Grabbing my hand, he leads me through another set of doors, and then we’re in the indoor range. He keeps the lights low, turning on one switch so the spotlights above each shooter bay are on.

On the opposite side of the bays is a wall of safes, all fitted with biometric scanners. Hunter walks up to one of them and opens it.

“Come here, Winter,” he says. He taps a few keys and then places my hand on the scanner. “If you ever need weapons, you’re in the system to unlock any weapons cabinet. That goes for in here and the ones we have in the main house.”

“We have guns in the main house?” I ask. I’m overwhelmed.

“Yes, of course,” he says. “There’s a safe in our bedroom, my office, the kitchen, and the sitting room. There’s also a weapons closet in the safe room. I should have shown you that.” His hand on my chin causes me to snap my mouth closed.

He turns around and grabs three guns. Then he walks over to lay them on the small counter at the bay farthest from the door.

“Know what these are?” he asks.

“Those would be guns, right?” I say, sarcasm lacing the statement.

His face is unamused, so I shake my head no.

Nodding, he removes what I know to be the magazine from each firearm. Pulling on the top of one, he says, “This is called the slide. You pull it back to chamber the round or to make sure the gun is empty.”

He clears each gun to ensure they’re unloaded. I suppress a yelp when bullets pop out as he disarms them.

“This one is a Glock 19. It’s lightweight. It holds fifteen rounds and one in the chamber. Feel it.” He hands me the gun, holding it out in his palm with the handle facing me and the barrel pointing toward the paper target.

I take it, careful to keep the gun angled away from us. I arrange my arm into an awkward position.

“It’s not going to shoot you, baby. The gun’s completely empty.”

“Nope-a-lope, I’ve seen that PSA commercial,” I say.

He takes the gun from me.

“This is a Smith & Wesson Shield. It holds twenty rounds. This one is light too, but won’t kick as much. Hold it.”

I pick it up, feeling slightly more confident when I palm it like Hunter does. After a moment, I push it back toward him.

“This one is a Beretta M9. The military uses these. We keep these armed with armor-piercing bullets, and they hold fifteen rounds, plus one in the chamber. It will kick, but if someone is trying to fuck with you and they’re wearing some type of bulletproof vest, it will drop them.”

I pick it up off the table without him having to tell me.

Everything feels surreal.

“What’s the most important thing I’ve told you about all three of these guns?”

“Um,” I say dumbly. I’m overwhelmed with everything he’s told me.

“How many rounds they’ll hold,” he says. “If you’re in here and you have two dozen people coming at you, I want you to know how many bullets you have in your gun before it’s spent.”

I nod, shaken at the thought of a small army of people trying to kill me.

Hunter picks up the empty magazine next to the Glock and starts loading it with rounds. “Watch me do this, then you do it.” The bullets click as he refills the cartridge holder.

“Your turn, Sunbeam.” He hands me a disassembled, unloaded gun. The ammo slides into the mag with ease. When I’m done, he shoves the clip into the bottom of the gun.

“Here’s how you know it’s loaded,” he says, pointing to a tiny dot on the side of the firearm.

“Who would be able to see that?” I yell with dismay.

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