Page 15 of The Fox

“Your turn, Amelia.”

She blinks quickly, almost as if she needs to clear the fog from her eyes. Pushing back against me, Amelia walks toward the table. I’d chosen three beginner firearms for her to choose from. There is a .22 revolver, a .9mm handgun, and then my personal Colt 1911 .45mm. The air in the booth is different now, a power settling as she picks up the Colt 1911 before heading to the window. She looks relaxed and I wasn’t expecting that. There isn’t a single anxious tell coming from her and her confidence is regal. It reminds me of the way I would slip into a different persona in the field.

I watch as she reaches the window and there is an exhale before Amelia speaks.

“Help me?” she asks, a timidness creeping into her voice that is in complete contrast to what I just witnessed.

I push myself off the table, walking toward her. She’s still facing the targets which gives me time to appreciate the curve of her ass, the way her thick thighs look in those leggings. She’s a full-on wet dream and I’m the lucky bastard with her tonight. I reach her, hands coming around to her arms, brushing them until my hands grip hers. “Here. Steady grip, loose shoulders.” I slightly push my body against hers, leaning forward and resting my chin on her shoulder. “Widen your stance, that’s it.” I feel her breathe in once, a deep breath, as her jaw sets. “Set your target, aim, fire” A shot rings out and her aim is true. She doesn’t move from my grasp. I turn my head into her, my nose now brushing against her cheek.

“Good girl.”

She shivers, eyes slightly widening at my words. Interesting. I think my girl has a praise kink.

“Can I try on my own?” she asks, determination setting into her frame. I step back, letting her have this moment. I watch as she clears the piece, checks it, and then finds her target. She doesn’t miss again.

And again.

Once more.

At no point does she waiver or falter, her shots are confident and land without fail.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” I question, trying to keep the shock out of my tone.

“My papa. He made sure I knew my way around a firearm just in case the day came I needed to fight back.”

I cock my head, curious about the woman in front of me. I never expected her to be able to shoot, let alone that well. It only adds to the puzzle that she is. I move toward her, her eyes searching for purchase. There is a piece of hair hanging in her face and I reach up to move it, taking in her reaction.

“What would you need to fight against? I murmur. “Surely you wouldn’t need to practice until you don’t miss.”

“There are monsters in the dark and I was his only daughter. Making sure I was a better shot than someone else was how he showed his love.” There is something that flickers in her gaze and as soon as I notice it, it's gone.

“It’s hot, honestly.” She chuckles, a shake of her head tells me she doesn’t believe me. “No, really it is. There is a confidence with you when you shoot, like nothing can touch you.”

“I’m better with knives.” She peers up through her lashes, biting her bottom lip. “You wouldn’t happen to have some of those, would you?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Amelia. I’ll remember that for next time.”

Her face lights up, and a full smile radiates across it.

“I’ll bring mine.”

CHAPTER 13

Amelia---Sanctuary

I watch the second hand on the giant wall clock gotick, tick, tickas I run my finger across my lips. They’re chapped and peeling from my constant picking the last two days. The motion is soothing to my frayed nerves—until it isn’t. I should change. I’m in an old pair of leggings and a soft grey shirt; neither do anything for my curves. If anything, they only highlight the way my body rolls into itself; the winding way my contours lay is a reminder that I am the complete opposite of what a Mafia princess—queen—should be. I have never been thin, model-esque, or anything that tradition places superficial value on. No, my body is strong but it is plus size.

??Yeah, I should change.

Tick.

??Maybe put on a better shirt, one that isn’t so drab.

Tick.

??Or better yet, maybe I’ll just slip on a dress because first impressions matter.

Tick.

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