Page 62 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

My eyes widen in surprise as I take in the space: it’s like a legit training facility, with booths for individual shooters, targets on pulleys, and a smooth floor.

Jax steps up to one of the booths, grinning. “Yeah, not exactly what you’d find in a regular garage, huh?” He positions himself like he’s done this a million times. “Alright, time to teach you how to protect yourself.”

I walk over to a booth next to his, the weight of the ammo in my hands feeling a lot more real now. The air smells like gunpowder, and the hum of the pulleys fills the space.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I say, trying to hide my nerves with a touch of sarcasm. “How hard can it be? Point, shoot, end someone’s life. Easy peasy.”

Jax turns to me with a wicked smile. “Don’t worry, baby. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be using that gun like it’s a part of you. You won’t even remember The Spat.”

I gasp in mock offense, clutching my chest. “How dare you speak of my Spat so soon after she sacrificed herself for me.” I look upward, pretending to address the heavens. “May you rest in peace, baby girl.”

Jax rolls his eyes but can’t help the grin that follows. “Let’s get going. I need to make sure you leave here ready to fight for your life.” He pats the space next to him, his eyes twinkling.

“Alright, first things first.” He picks up a sleek black handgun and holds it out for me. “This is your new best friend. Semi-automatic. If you’re going to be in this world, you need to know how to handle one.”

Jax takes his time explaining everything, showing me the parts of the gun, making sure I can point them out before moving on. He steps closer, guiding my hands through the motions of loading and unloading the gun, his attention unwavering.

I focus, trying to ignore how his gaze feels like it’s pressing against me. It’s hard not to notice how close we are, how much his warmth radiates into me.

Jax’s grin never fades as I nail the parts of the gun, one after the other. “You’re a quick study,” he says, clearly impressed.

I don’t let myself think about how good he looks when he handles the guns with such mastery.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, his deep voice vibrating the air around me.

Concentrate, Delaney. You’re learning how to be a killer. You’re definitely not hoping Jax will get you off using the barrel of one of his guns. Not at all.

Jax hands me a pair of safety goggles and earbuds. As I put them on, he steps behind me, his body close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. I try to concentrate, but his presence is hard to ignore. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the essence of gunpowder is intoxicating.

My pulse quickens when he leans in closer to adjust my stance; I swear I can feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck.

His hands move to mine, guiding my grip on the gun. I can feel his fingers press into mine, and my body reacts before my brain can process it. I shift slightly, but Jax’s hand follows, sliding slowly over my hip. His touch sends a jolt of heat straight through me, and my skin tingles as his hand drifts toward my inner thigh.

It’s okay. We’re totally focused… on something. I forgot what. Oh, the guns. Not Jax’s hand, which is very close to my vagina.

He leans in closer, brushing my ear with his mouth as he speaks in a low, husky voice. “Good. Just like that.”

Holy fucking shit.

“Feel the gun, Delaney. Let it become an extension of you.” His wandering hand squeezes my inner thigh, his nails gently raking my skin.

My breath catches, and I bite my lip to suppress a moan. “Jax… you’re being distracting,” I whisper, though I know I’m not really complaining. Judging by his grin, he knows it too.

“I know,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing down my side, my body still humming with heat. “Do you want to play a game?” he asks, placing a kiss behind my ear. His hand moves to rest on a small black box nearby.

Jax’s games typically result in me being unable to walk from the sheer number of orgasms he gives me. But the guns make me nervous, and not knowing what’s in the box is killing me. I know he won’t tell me unless I agree.

“You know,” I say, putting the gun down and turning to face him, “there’s a splatter horror movie where the killer says that. They’re in a creepy slaughter barn too.”

His eyes gleam with a dark shine, and he raises one eyebrow, silently waiting for my answer.

“Yes, I’ll play.”

He turns me back around, his massive frame pressed against mine as he opens the black box. A grin spreads across my face when I see what’s inside.

There’s a small pink butt plug and a matching toy curved like a hook. Next to them is a little remote control. “Well, pink is your favorite color.”

“If you’re in a gunfight for your life”—he moves my hair aside and kisses my neck—“you won’t be in a quiet, still shooting range.” His right hand slips into my pants, under my soaked panties. His middle finger moves in slow circles around my clit while he continues to kiss my neck. With his left hand, he grabs a gun, quickly flicks the safety off, aims, and fires three times.

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