Page 47 of Shadowed Obsession

A breathy laugh escapes me, lacking humor. “Thanks, but I?—”

“Are you a new shooter?” he interrupts. “Sorry to cut you off again. My manners escape me when I’m passionate about something.”

I bet, you nasty mother?—

I shake my head to keep me from falling down that rabbit hole.

“If you plan to mansplain shooting, I’m not interested. Not a rookie, by the way. Just out of practice,” I tell him, trying not to roll my eyes.

He narrows his eyes as he works his jaw.

“You’re not hitting the target, because you’re shifting your weight to your heels. It’s your balance, the aim is fine. Try again, but stand a bit taller and widen your stance to shoulder width. Don’t be afraid of your weapon. You’re the one in control. You’re always in control,” he orders in a gruff tone, eyes now on my feet.

I’m not a fan of obeying, but something about his voice makes me want to. I rationalize that I’m here to practice, so I may as well take the advice. I follow his instructions, positioning my body as directed.

“Chest out. Good g—” he stops and coughs.

What was he about to say?

“Coño,” he says softly. “Bueno.Now, shift your weight forward. On your toes. You want to be able to move if need be while maintaining your balance and control. That recoil’ll fuck you up if you’re not careful. May I?” he asks, tilting his head toward the target.

I nod, giving him permission, and he approaches with caution, as he should. I am the one holding a gun right now. He settles behind me and palms my waist for a moment, and his touch singes me. As if he can feel it, too, he rips his hand away before I can react.

He has a surprisingly calm presence, despite how annoying he can actually be. When his touch graces me again to straighten my arms, I stay focused on my form and aim at the target.

“How’s that feeling?” he asks, his voice a near whisper.

When I don’t respond, he leans in closer and blows on my ear, sending heat to my core.

He’s diabolical.

“What cologne is that?” I blurt, ignoring his question.

For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore it, but he responds, “Dark Embrace by uh—I can’t think of his name, but he’s a liquor heir.”

“Like me?” I ask, cutting him off.

“Stay focused,” he urges in a firm voice, releasing me from his hold. He puts distance between us and expels a long breath behind me. “Go ahead. Take the shot.”

I remain on my toes and fire continuously, emptying the mag. Time slows as the bullets pierce the target, hitting the bullseye until it’s a gaping hole.

A relieved sigh escapes me as I switch the safety on and tuck the pistol in my side. When I turn behind me expecting him to be there, he’s nowhere to be found.

That motherfucker.

I tap the button to retrieve the poster, tossing it in the trash once I’m back in the locker room. With a huff, I snatch my things from my locker and dash out of the building.

Wearily, I peer around the parking lot, pressing the panic button on my key fob to draw attention to myself in case he’s waiting for me, but it seems like I’m alone.

I open my car door, peering into the backseat, and it’s empty, as is the passenger seat.

I slam the door shut and settle in, turning on the car before I whip out of the parking lot. That was him, without a doubt. A scar on his lip and that sexy fucking cologne. My hands grip the steering wheel roughly as I unpack this encounter.

That motherfucker knew exactly why I was there and offered tips on how to successfully shoot him.

At this point, I need to use my family’s resources to put some pieces together. I’ll just need to be vague.

“Call Angie,” I state, and the Bluetooth dials my cousin. Angelo Jr.—Regina’s older brother—is a consigliere, and if anyone is a vault in this family, it’s him.

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