Page 35 of Home to the Hollow

“Ugh!” I growl at her. “Go out there and check on them while I find a hair tie. I can’t do this with hair in my face.”

A mock salute is her answer, and I make a face at her back as she skips out the backdoor like a drunken fairy. If I didn’t love that girl like my sister, I’d wring her Irish neck. I walk over to my messenger bag, pulling out a scrunchie and my sunglasses. I won’t be able to wear them during the demo, but I’ll be able to scope out the landscape. That will help in the bright morning sunlight.

I walk outside, looking at the boys, cats, and my friend setting up the cans on the fence. It’s about a thousand feet from the porch and that’s not a hard ask at all. I could be a lot more impressive if Seer made me show off. Our three-month stay in Belfast was a whirlwind of jobs, but we shacked up with every eejit with a bad boy past—hence the training that would one day mean I’d ace parts of Quantico’s courses with my eyes closed. I may have grown up in the country, but there’s always been an odd lack of the ‘good old boy’ gun fueled orgy that the South has become in the Hollow.

The boys of Belfast made it their mission to teach me the trade. I was shitty for a long time. It took hours and hours of practice in various locations, conditions, and situations before I found my center. The first time I hit a target, I did a booty dance of joy and they laughed until they cried. Americans who don’t know a fucking thing about guns are a novelty, I guess.

Euryale swoops down, perching on the smoker. I tilt my head, looking at the bird. I don’t have a clue whether this will scare the shit out of it or not.

“Okay, my dude. I’m going to do this because Seer made a big deal and there’s gonna be a lot of loud noise and some muzzle flash. Don’t lose your shit on me, okay? I won’t aim at you. I promise.”

The giant bird lets out a screech that I take as an assent, and I pull a side table over from the patio set. I take less than a minute to unpack the bag Seer left for me, assembling the pieces without even thinking about it. The boys taught me that as well, stating I needed to learn the damned thing like I know putting on my shoes.

It could be the difference between living and dying. I asked what war they were drafting me into, and they shrugged. Two women traveling alone should be able to defend themselves, was the only answer I got.

As if Seer and I were going to need to use a goddamned Macmillan Tac 50-A1-R2 while gadding about Europe and Asia. I mean, customs alone would be a nightmare. I had to have this baby and the.50 BMG cartridges shipped home on a private plane by a friend with high security clearance.

I check the bipod for stability, ensuring that my roost will be sufficient. Loading the ammo, I frown at the ground. Too hard, and it will be distracting. I walk over to a chair and pull a cushion off, settling it in front of my makeshift stand. That should do it.

Once I’m settled, I position myself in front of the Schmidt and Bender scope, slowing my breathing as I study the cans. Seer ushered the guys and the cats away from my field of fire once they finished. She’s seen me do this a bazillion times, and she knows not to have collateral downrange. A shift in wind could cause a tragedy. The docs are peering at me from under their hands, looking confused. The scope is powerful enough that I can see the wrinkles of worry at the corners of Wolfie’s eyes.

With a final breath, I let go of everything around me, only seeing the rifle and my targets. Nothing around me registers as I slip into the singular focus of the task I’m about to complete. There are no mysteries, no companions, no asshat Edgar… only 24 cans and 24 bullets. I lick a finger and raise it, considering the light breeze for directionality. Recalculating in my mind for shear, I continue breathing, my heart rate slowing as I go into the trance that true long shots slip into when they’re in the zone.

When I’m ready, my finger squeezes the trigger without a thought, rapidly adjusting one after another until I’ve fired 24 times. I’m still for a moment after, my mind calm and focused. Then I hear a loud whooping down range, followed by two ‘mows’ and a holler that is likely Seer. I stand, clicking the safety on before I walk towards the sound.

I’m still zombified—it takes time to get out of that headspace and be a normal human again.

Walking up to the group, I see Presley kicking the cans on the ground, the rattle of shells clanking against aluminum. His head turns as I approach, and I can see he’s impressed. I didn’t miss a single can, and the holes are dead center. The time I spent obsessing over improving my skills is terrifying and I’ve been doing it for years.

“Sugarplum! Where in the name of Paula Deen did you learn to dothat?”

Saoirse clutches her guts as she laughs, waving her hand at me to tell the story. I sigh, giving McBaby Vet a small grin. “Seer and I spent three months on a project in Ireland for a client we can’t discuss. We stayed in Dublin and Belfast—they’re only two hours apart on the M1. Being the butterflies we were, we made… friends in Belfast. These friends decided I should learn how to defend myself sniper-style. I never got why, because starting with a handgun would have been aloteasier, but we didn’t argue. I’ve been sharpening my skills ever since.”

Presley arches a brow, looking as if he’s filing that information away for later. He doesn’t vocalize his thoughts, though. Instead, he winks. “Well, magpie, I suppose if you need to take a target from a distance, you’re covered, but what if it’s close combat?”

“Bloody hell, Peanut. Tell the boys you spent the last couple years training for the F.B.I. interview an’ be done with it! I’ve seen ye gut a back-alley pox when he tried actin’ the maggot. Ye can protect yer own arse.”

Both sets of eyes widen, and I frown.

Is this the secret that ruins my Dreamy Steamy melt?

“That puts my heart at ease, sugarplum. I worried that livin’ this far off the town was going to be dangerous for you. I’ve never heard of people sensing they’re being watched like you described—not here in the Hollow, at least.”

Dr. McNuggies nods his agreement, and I let out a long sigh of relief. I don’t understand why I was worried that two guys I met this week would abandon me over my badass side, but I can’t describe the weight their acceptance took off my shoulders. I try to pin down the source of that disquiet inside, but all I find is my psyche re-adjusting to post-shot brain functions.

“I’ll still set up a system. I’d like to catch the asshole in question snooping about and have a friendly conversation about why the hell he or she is trying to give me a coronary. Maybe I’ll let Euryale do the restraints. Looks like my eagle friend could hold on tight.”

“And break the bones, but who’s worried?” Presley winks, walking over to press a kiss to my temple.

I flush as Wolfie follows, tucking me against his side. “Sugarplum, I think we should leave this as a warning for the moment. We’ll go in and put your big ass gun in its place, and then Prez and I will go home to give you two time to catch up.”

Saoirse claps her hands with glee, but something in my chest aches a bit. Not wanting to sound like a clingy weirdo, I nod. “She can help me with the basement. It would be better if I can move the weapon storage to a more appropriate place. The living room isnotmy preferred location.”

“Right,” Presley says, taking my hand to tug us along. “We’ll come back after we do our stuff and the four of us can have dinner at Bottles ‘N Cans tonight.”

I frown, tilting my head. “Not to sound dumb, Dr. McSteamy, but Bottles ‘N Cans is a liquor store. Are we eating beer nuts as a meal?”

Wolfie grins, his sky-blue eyes dancing. “Oooh, Prez, she doesn’tknow. This is gonna begreat.”

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