Page 114 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“Not bad,” Drake drawls.
I lift my pistol and fire three shots in rapid succession. The first hits somewhere near the target. The second lands wildly to the left. The third nicks the edge of the paper. I cast a guilty look in Drake’s direction.
“I think I’m better with a machine gun,” I say with a grimace.
Trilby closes her eyes, squeals through her teeth, andpulls the trigger. The bullet pings off the divider and somehow strikes the target two lanes over.
Drake blinks as if it’s only just occurred to him the immense challenge he’s agreed to take on. “You hit someone’s else’s paper,” he says in disbelief.
“Somewhere in the world, that’s a talent,” Tess says.
The metal door behind us creaks open and closed, but we’re all too absorbed in our training to notice.
Bambi, now visibly vibrating, lifts the pistol with shaking hands.
“I can do this,” she whispers, trying to channel something fierce. “I can?—”
The gun slips from her hand and clatters to the ground as she dives behind me for cover.
“It’s not going to bite you,” I laugh, helping her up.
Tess props one hand on her hip and twirls her gun around a finger before Drake clamps a hand over it.
“Pretend it’s that guy from school who stole your homework and got you accused of plagiarism,” she suggests.
Bambi’s lips curl.
“Or better yet,” Tess adds, in a scheming voice, “pretend it’s your new stepbrother. We all know how displeased you are aboutthatsituation.”
Bambi’s eyes darken, then she squares her shoulders and raises the gun with sudden clarity. Then she fires.
One bullet. Right in the heart.
We all freeze.
Even Drake stops chewing his gum. “Remind me not to join your family,” he mutters.
Tess folds her arms across her chest. “Wow, next time I need you to do something, I know exactly what to use as motivation.”
Bambi turns to face us, her cheeks flushed and hands trembling.
“I did it!”she squeals. “Did you see that? Imurderedthat cardboard Di Santo!”
“You did great!” Trilby is about to hug her—which I’m pretty sure isn’t advised when two novices are holding guns with the safety catches off—but Bambi’s shocked expression stops her.
We all turn to see what’s made her mood take a sudden nosedive.
All our smiles drop, because standing by the door, looking as nonchalant and—it has to be said—darkly handsome as ever, is Nicolò. Our stepbrother.
We all stare at him, open-mouthed and on tenterhooks. Bambi just used him for target practice and murdered him outright with one single bullet. Is he offended?
He takes in our guilty expressions, then a glimmer infuses his eyes.
“I’m glad I could be of service,” he drawls, then opens the door and leaves.
“Don’t tell me,” Drake says, drawing us all back to the reason why we’re here. “He’s the stepbrother?”
I glance at Bambi who has blushed bright red. I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “He’ll get over it.”
