Page 115 of Breaker

Dark eyes meet mine. “Shall we discuss how you’ve been fucking one?”

I grin. “One?”

The sound he makes reminds me of Reaper. Lethal.

“Delly too.” I smile, showing my teeth. “All four of them, if you’re interested in knowing.”

“I’m not,” he says, turning his back to me. “Come on. I need to shoot something.”

I follow behind him, my skin pricking with nerves, as lights pop on at the back of the room, lighting up the space. Stopping at the center of the room behind the long table, Clyde sets down the two guns and several clips. A control panel rests in the center of the table. Clyde presses a few buttons and lights pop on in rapid-fire succession along an empty corridor. At the end, a spotlight casts a bright blue-white glow onto two targets.

Removing my wristlet and setting it on the table, I say, “You have an entire shooting range in your house?”

Ignoring me, he hooks yellow earmuffs around his neck and picks up a weapon. “Do what I do,” he says, then hands me a rifle that looks too big for me to hold, much less fire. “It’s a semi-automatic, AR-15. Don’t point it at anything you don’t want to shoot.”

“Shouldn’t I start with something smaller?” I ask, eyeing it before taking it. It’s heavier than it looks, and my stomach jumps at the thought I’m holding a loaded weapon. “Like a Glock or something?”

“Glocks have a kick too and it would be uncomfortable for your little hands.” Clyde moves to my other side and demonstrates how to hold the rifle. “Keep it tucked tightly against your shoulder. Your body will absorb the recoil, so you need to maintain a firm grip.”

With my heart skipping, I mimic his stance and how he’s holding the weapon, careful to keep my finger off the trigger like him.

“Good,” Clyde says, slipping the earmuffs on. He waits for me to follow suit. “I’m going to fire so you can see how loud it is and how it kicks back.”

I bite my lip and wait.

The bullet explodes from the barrel and the target ripples. He shoots again and my heart hammers. I focus on how tightly he’s gripping the gun, and how much it kicks back against his thick shoulder, how his body absorbs the impact.

When he lowers the rifle, he looks at me.

“Can I marry you?” I ask, half-shouting. “That was sexy.”

“Don’t be crass, girl,” he says, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m too old.”

“So, you’d consider it?” I ask, “I’d much rather marry you than Zane.”

The way he rolls his eyes makes me laugh.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing to the shooting range. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

“Piss and vinegar, remember?” I raise the rifle and aim.

“Do you want a black eye?” He repositions the weapon in my hands, showing me how to look down the sight, then steps back only when he seems satisfied.

With a deep breath, I pull the trigger and feel the solid kick of the gun against my shoulder. It’s not as bad as I anticipated, but still more than I expected. My brows knit when I notice the target didn’t move.

“Try again,” Clyde shouts. “Hold on tight.”

I aim again and take several more shots. Then I keep shooting until the clip is empty and still the target doesn’t move. “I’m not hitting it,” I say, setting down the gun and removing the earmuffs. “Not even grazing it.”

“Girl,” Clyde says with a hearty belly laugh as he removes his earmuffs. “You have balls of steel.”

I gesture to the target. “Steel balls aren’t helping my aim.”

Clyde picks his rifle back up and screws a long black tube to the end, then another, longer one. He catches my eye and grins. He’s so in his element right now that I can’t help but match his smile.

“Is that a silencer?” I ask him, my eyes growing wide as he points and shoots, the noise nothing compared to before.

“Suppressor.” He lowers the rifle and hands it to me. “Here, try this one.”