Page 88 of Painless
“We like our rifles here.” Gunner leaned on a fence post, relaxed and in his element. “Handguns while riding, 9mm usually. Sometimes automatics. Me and a couple of the guys are into knife-throwing, too.”
“You put scopes on these bad boys?” Dyno broke off from his pack, meandering over to admire Gunner’s collection with a closer look.
“Nah,” my blonde demon answered with a smirk. “Me and Shadow especially don’t need ‘em. We train all the guys to shoot without scopes, because you’re more likely to use them as a handicap. Without em, you’ll learn to be more accurate using the eyes God gave you.”
Grudge followed Dyno to admire the guns and nerd out with Gunner, while T-Bone bumped into me with his elbow.
“Mind if I share your target, little lady?” He pulled a matte-black handgun from his holster and set it down next to mine, followed by a series of magazines of all different sizes.
“Suit yourself.” I felt Gunner’s eyes on me from several feet away. If T-Bone so much as looked at me wrong, I knew my man’s weapon would be drawn faster than any of us could blink.
And that wasifI wasn’t faster while right next to the big sergeant at arms.
“You can stop thinking about shooting me. I’m a fucking gentleman,” he chuckled, slapping his first magazine into his gun. “Besides,” he lifted his weapon, tattooed arms extended straight in front of him, “pretty as you are, you’re not my type.”
He fired off a series of rounds, each trigger squeeze relaxed and controlled. I saw his first bullet hit the golf-ball sized red center of my target, but none after that. The center hole just got bigger as each subsequent shot chipped away at the cardboard. I’d only ever seen Gunner shoot that accurately.
“Nice work,” I said, keeping my voice light. “And by not your type, you mean…?”
He popped the release on his mag, shooting me a playful grin. “I like dick almost as much as you do, Mrs. President.”
Heat flooded my face, having nothing to do with the desert sun. I had suspected that T-Bone swung that way. More out of a gut feeling than anything he actually did. Neither he, nor the other two Sons, looked at me the way men usually did. Even with the protection of my men around, it was a relief not to be the object of yet another heavy stare.
T-Bone looked down to load another mag, his playful expression falling, turning distant and somber.
“I loved my president, too,” he murmured, before raising his weapon and firing off another dozen rounds.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered when his gunfire ceased. “I can’t imagine going through what you did.”
“Y’all might go through it just the same if the Demons don’t get their asses in gear.” His mouth closed abruptly, lifting a quizzical eyebrow at me. “Sorry, I dunno how your club handles women knowing their business.”
“Reaper and the guys tell me everything.” I double-checked my own weapon and raised it to take aim. “I’m the medic. I clean them up after business is handled, so I kind of need to know everything.”
I squeezed my trigger to release my shots, going slower than T-Bone’s rapid fire and checking my aim in between each round.
“Looks like you’re becoming quite capable of handling business yourself,” he remarked. My grouping made a small pattern just above his bullseye on the target.
“That’s my girl!” Gunner hollered from further down the range. He and the two others took turns with long-distance targets and shotguns.
“I’m getting there,” I smirked at T-Bone.
Reaper was still passedout on the couch when I returned home, the empty whiskey bottle on its side on the floor next to him. Hades lifted his head from the dog bed, releasing a soft whine as I came over to stroke his head.
“No change, huh boy?” I whispered, allowing him to lick my hand.
Freyja immediately hopped up next to the dog, kneading a soft place on the bed with her paws, before snuggling up to his side.
“Aren’t you two the cozy couple?” I remarked as I made my way over to the facedown man stretched out on the couch.
“Sugar?” he groaned as I lifted his head, turning his cheek gently to lay on my lap. He rolled over to face upward with his eyes still closed, but hummed as my fingers dragged over his scalp.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“Mmph.” His brow pinched as he rubbed his forehead. “Seven out of ten. Been worse.”
“I’ll get you some Tylenol and water.”
“No, stay.” His arm went around my waist to hold me before I could stand up. “I love you, Mari.”
