Page 72 of Forty

I drape my arm over Nevaeh’s shoulder. Fay-Lee sticks to her side after flipping some sweetbutts the bird. Yeah. I like her.

I leave Nevaeh with Fay-Lee at the bar while I grab a compact 9mm and eye and ear protection from the armory. Leaving her in the commons is intentional. It’ll only take a minute, and I want someone to approach her. I feel like laying down a lesson.

When I come back, though, all is copasetic. Crista’s working the bar. She’s come over to chat, and everyone else is steering clear.

Good. I’ll accept that for now.

“Ready, baby?”

Nevaeh kneels up on the bar stool to give Crista a hug—startling the hell out of her before she laughs and goes with it—and then my girl jumps down and leads the way out back.

“You coming, Fay-Lee?” she asks.

“Nope. I’m gonna hang with Crista here and get caught up.”

I follow, watching her ass twitch in her tie-dyed booty shorts. She’s wearing a matching cropped hoodie and white tennis shoes and ankle socks. Her hair’s a wild bramble, she’s tanned from hours lounging on the back patio, and toned from marathon sex, and from what she tells me, sessions in the home gym while I’m gone.

As soon as we shoot off a few rounds, I’m taking her upstairs, pulling those shorts to her knees, and eating her out ‘til she pulls my hair. She loves oral to a point, and then all she wants is cock. She’s not shy about letting me know what she needs, either.

I adjust myself in my jeans as I jog over to the recycling to grab a few bottles. There’s a clearing at the far side of the yard that leads to a gully overrun by a thicket. There’s no dirt bike trails or hunters back that way ‘cause the terrain is impassable until you hit the base of the foothills a few miles away. We use it as a range when we can’t get to the one in Shady Gap.

I set the bottles on the closer stumps. Nevaeh used to be a decent shot, but I don’t know if she’s kept up with it.

“When’s the last time you shot a gun?”

I put flat to flat and slide the magazine home. Then I rack a round into the chamber, take the magazine out and put another round in so she’s loaded plus one.

“When’s the last time you took me to the range?”

“You remember the rules?”

“Point the muzzle in a safe direction.”

“Yeah. And?”

“Don’t rely on the safety.”

“And?”

“Assume it’s loaded. Know what’s beyond your target.”

“You’re forgetting the important one.”

“Make sure the barrel’s clear?”

“Yes, but?”

“Oh. If I shoot, make it a kill shot. Don’t stop shooting.”

I sigh. She’s rusty. As soon as this shit with the Raiders is put to bed, we’re putting in some hours at the range.

“Put your muffs and glasses on.” She covers her ears and eyes while I line up a shot. Thirty yards. Once upon a time, I could make the shot lefthanded with one eye shut.

I use a two-handed grip and exhale as I squeeze the trigger. A bottle explodes. Lucky me, it was the one I was aiming at. These days, I need more than a few shots to warm up.

“Your turn.” I hand her the gun, and I take a step back, but I stay close and alert. Nevaeh needs to know how to protect herself, but she’s also still Nevaeh. A cute squirrel comes running past, all bets are off.

She’s different now in some ways. When we were kids, she was always on to the next thing. Nothing could hold her attention.

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