Page 128 of Fractured Future
“Sure,” I state sarcastically. “Gael let me walk around with a loaded AK-47 for the hell of it. I just never thought to kill everyone and escape before.”
The look he shoots me is full of ire. “Be serious. I know you shot someone at that auction.”
“Yes,” I admit gruffly. “I told you what happened. But I stole that gun, and my aim was pretty shit.”
“It’s lucky you didn’t blow your arm off, firing a weapon without training.”
“I had to do something.”
Hyland gestures for me to join him on the mat. “After today, you’ll never be in that position again.”
Squatting down to join him, I study the array of weapons he has on display. “What are we learning?”
“I’m going to talk you through the basics on a standard issue, semi-automatic pistol. You need to take this seriously, Em. Respect the weapon. This is life and death right here.”
“Got it.”
He lifts the sleek, silver and black pistol. Hyland is thorough, explaining each component and pointing out the muzzle, barrel, trigger and grip.
He racks the slide to load the gun then talks me through reloading the magazine with more ammunition. To my surprise, he doesn’t grumpily bark at my questions but carefully explains each step until it’s clear.
“Sabre agents are authorised to use force when needed.” He checks the safety before placing the gun back into the foam. “That isn’t a license to run around doing whatever the fuck you want.”
“Noted. Don’t I get to hold it?”
“We’ll go to the shooting range downstairs for that.” He lifts a wickedly sharp switchblade with deep grooves in the grip. “How are you with knives?”
“Um… I’ve cut vegetables with them before?”
Hyland exhales dramatically. “Why did we waste two hours in here?”
“Hey, I told you I could fight with my fists. You’re the one who insisted on a demonstration.”
“Well, enough dicking around. You clearly can handle yourself in a physical altercation, but we’ve still got a lot of other ground to cover.”
Uncertainty makes me chew on my bottom lip. Glancing up at me, Hyland’s golden brows pull together in a concerned line.
“What is it?”
“How am I supposed to learn all of this in less than two weeks?”
“You don’t have to,” he replies easily. “Skip the raid. We’ll handle it.”
“No chance. I want to be there!”
He passes the blade between his hands. “I’m willing to give this a shot, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you walk into enemy fire unprepared.”
“Then help me get prepared,” I implore.
“We train new recruits for at least three months before assigning them to active duty. And even then, it’s nothing too risky or intense.”
Placing a hand on his vein-studded arm, I gain his attention. “I’m not the average new recruit. Teach me what I don’t already know. Help me be ready.”
His nostrils flare. “You’re asking for too much, red.”
“I’m asking for your help. Your guidance. I’m asking for your trust.”
Gazes locked, I can see his reluctance. It twists and tangles in the earthy threads that sculpt his irises. Hyland can’t decide where his priorities lie—protecting me or letting me retake my life.
