Page 46 of Shadowed Obsession

I’m not fucking stupid.

Whether it’s him or not, I’m here to shoot. I enter the locker room and quickly put my personal items inside.

On the way back out, I glance at the mirror, taking a moment to adjust my earplugs and the protective goggles I brought withme. Content with my safety equipment, I make sure my gun is secured in the holster on my hip and exit with my ammo and poster tucked under my arm.

The furthest stall calls for me, and I set down my things. It’s not my first time at a gun range, but it has been a while. Regina’s father, Angelo Biavati, is an arms dealer with shooting ranges back home. It’s where Dad taught us how to shoot.

Long before I became so against the ways of the family business, I used to love shooting with him. The pause before each shot felt like the world was standing still. But things are different now.

The weighted pistol rests in my hand as I load the magazine, cock it, make sure the safety is still switched on, and set it back into my holster. The target stares back, waiting to be used, as I will the thoughts in my head to cease.

My chest rises and falls as I part my feet, take my stance, and retrieve my gun.

I stretch my arms out in front of me, focus my aim, and pull the trigger, only to miss the bullseye. By a lot. For some reason, my shots are veering left, nearly missing the poster entirety. I release a breath, roll my shoulders back, and try again. Another miss. I double tap this time, and my grouping is a fucking disaster. I’m all over the poster, at this point. Everywherebutthe center.

Fuck.

Frustration boils in my gut at my rustiness. Clearly I wouldn’t stand a chance against an attacker at this moment. And my couch can vouch for that.

Darius’s voice repeats in my head, “It’s not like you’re willing to catch a body. You’re not a killer, Dee.”

I don’t want to be a killer, but I don’t like being seen as weak either.

I blink away the tears threatening to fall, securing the weapon as I try to clear my head.

My thoughts are halted when a finger taps my shoulder and startles me. The cologne I’ve become far too familiar with fills the space, causing me to look back and glance over at the source with annoyance.

It’s an aggressive scent, but oddly comforting, reminding me of thoughtful gestures and a smart ass mouth. My brow lifts as I turn to assess him from head to toe.

He’s a tall man, wearing a dad cap and sunglasses. With a smile, he motions to his earplugs like he’s taking them out. His facial expression seems foreign, as if he’s as out of practice smiling as I am when it comes to shooting.

I study what’s visible of his face; deep-brown skin, a full, neatly trimmed beard, and a deep scar through his upper lip.

Scar.

I take in his broad shoulders, big chest and arms. He could be ex-military, a retired football player, or an undercover Fed.

Except my family wouldneverhire a fucking Fed.

Good job, Dad, I think to myself.

Whether he’s been hired to spy or protect me, at least he’s sexy.

Fuck me.

His brow arches over his sunglasses, and he smirks down at me.

Shit.Did I say that out loud or does he have a wire recording my thoughts?

Is that even possible?

I rush to apologize, but we speak over each other. The deep timber of his voice sends a chill over me, bringing me back to the other night when it was in my ear.

“Sorry to bother you, Miss. I didn’t think you heard me.” He pauses to lick him lips. “I couldn’t help but notice your form and wanted to offer some tips, if you’re interested.”

Miss?So he’s going to act like we don’t know each other.

Cute. I’ll bite.

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