Page 82 of Ruined By Protection
I've been down here almost two hours, burning through ammo like it's popcorn. The targets at the end of the range are shredded, most showing tight groupings center mass. My hands work automatically, reloading, aiming, firing. It's muscle memory at this point.
What isn't muscle memory is dealing with the storm inside my head. Hazel.
I fire three rapid shots, all hitting the bullseye within an inch of each other.
This is where I come when I need to think. When I need to get my shit together. The concentration required to shoot well forces everything else out of my mind, at least temporarily. Each breath, each squeeze of the trigger, each recoil—it's all I focus on.
I rip off my ear protection and toss it on the counter.
"You planning to leave any targets for the rest of us?" Daniel's voice comes from behind me.
I don't turn around. "There's plenty."
"Not at the rate you're going." He steps up beside me, scanning the devastation downrange. "Something on your mind?"
"Nothing worth talking about."
Daniel nods, knowing better than to push.
I glance at him, taking in his solid frame. Six-four, all muscle, with that military buzz cut that never seems to grow out. His blue eyes don't miss a damn thing. The small scars on his knuckles tell stories he never shares. He's the kind of guy you want beside you when shit hits the fan—steady, methodical, loyal to a fault.
"Any word on Montgomery?" I ask, holstering my gun.
"Still at the hotel. Had breakfast sent up about an hour ago." Daniel leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Marco's got eyes on him."
I nod. "Good."
"You know, shooting the entire armory isn't going to solve whatever's eating at you."
"Says who?" I snap, then immediately regret it. "Sorry. Not your problem."
Daniel shrugs. "It is when you're distracted. Distracted gets people killed in our line of work."
He's right and we both know it. I run a hand through my hair.
"It's the Taylor woman, isn't it?" Daniel asks, his voice neutral.
"I need to talk to her."
"Lucrezia said to give her space."
I start packing up my gear. "I know what Lucrezia said."
"But you're going up there anyway." It's not a question.
"I'll give her space after I know what the hell is going on." I zip up my bag. "Five minutes, that's all I need."
Daniel sighs. "Your funeral. Just don't come crying to me when Lucrezia tears you a new one."
"Noted." I head toward the door. "Keep me posted on Montgomery."
"Always do."
I take the stairs two at a time, my mind racing.
The hallway to her room seems longer than usual. I pause outside her door, knuckles raised. Part of me knows I should respect her wishes, give her the space she needs. But the other part—the part that spent the night with her body wrapped around mine—needs answers.
I knock on Hazel's door, three sharp raps that echo down the hallway.
