Page 110 of Faith and Fury

“Thirty minutes,” the alpha grumbles at last.

“You’re a saint,” Maverick returns. He looks at me. “You ready to go in?”

Go in? Aren’t we already … in?

Sensing my reservation, Maverick returns to me. He starts to put his hand on my arm, then hesitates, thinking better of it.

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess I didn’t think this would …” he looks around, then sighs. “Well, I didn’t think. Let’s leave it at that.” His gaze deepens. “We can go if you want."

Even now, almost a month out of the ring, and it’s still a novelty to be given that option. What I want.

Slowly, I shake my head.

He smiles. “That’s my girl.”

He leads me through an adjoining door, the hefty metal groaning against its own weight. We emerge into a dark changing room, complete with eye goggles and bulletproof vests. Not far away, I can hear the muffled gunshots.

I blink, pulling out Maverick’s phone. SHOOTING RANGE??

“Bingo.”

No wonder the guy at reception was so pissed off. Omegas aren’t allowed to carry firearms—let alone fire them.

“Let’s get you suited up,” Maverick says, picking out a vest. He finds the smallest one there and drapes it over my shoulders.

“You’re such a badass at hand-to-hand,” he explains, passing me a pair of earmuffs, “which got me thinking. Ever held a gun before?”

NEVER, I type.

He grins. “Let’s change that.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Faith

We get set up in a tinted-glass booth. I can still hear the other shooter, probably several booths across, but I can barely see anything outside of our own confined space.

Maverick puts a gun in my hands. His hands find my waist, angling me towards the target about fifteen feet down—a genderless silhouette with various bullseyes painted on.

Gently, he pulls my earmuffs back, murmuring down my temple, “You’re gonna want to spread your legs a little. Toes … parallel. Yeah, like that.” I feel his smile. “Now, bend slightly forward at the hips.” I bend, feeling him behind me, and he sucks in a breath. “Yup. Trick is not to lock up.”

It’s just like fighting. If you reach out too far—arms, legs, back—you’ll snap in two.

“You got it,” Maverick says. “Now all that’s left is to take a breath … and fire.”

He returns my earmuffs, but doesn’t back away. One hand cinching my waist, the other lifting my wrists, he holds me steady.

I aim directly for the silhouette’s chest.

And I pull the trigger.

The shock reverberates through me, blasting me into Maverick’s chest.

I feel his breathy laughter down my neck as he pulls my earmuffs down. “'Atta girl! Look at that … shot …” he trails off, noting where the bullet found its mark. Not in the chest, like I was aiming, but further down.

Right in the crotch.

“Damn.” He lets go of my waist. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

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