Page 82 of Stolen Rival
We practice for a good twenty minutes until sweat trickles down my forehead and my calves burn from holding them in a weird position. Who knew punching people could hurt this much?
Every time I try to punch him, he patiently corrects my form. Over, and over, he explains the foundational instructions for how to throw a technically accurate punch, and despite the fact he listed them off in rapid fire at first, he’s happy to repeat them every single time.
“Good. That’s it. Again.”
I preen at his praise. My arms may be heavy, my legs tired, and my hair getting frizzy from the sweat on my hairline, but being told my punches are getting better may be worth it. He seems pleased, and for some reason, that pleases me.
Ugh. Pathetic.
“Okay. That’s enough for today. We’ll move on to your next lesson tomorrow.”
I shake out my arms and legs. “Next lesson?”
“Ever shot a gun before?”
My mouth dries up so I can only shake my head in response.
“You’re about to learn.”
Chapter 40
PATRICK
Sorcha’s hand trembles,her fingers flexing around the gun hanging by her side. I grip her elbow and impel her to move forward. If there was anything to dig her heels into, it’s likely she would. I understand her reticence. If you’ve never fired a gun, it can be scary. I hope she never has to use it, but we live in a dangerous world, made more so by my business interests. Shit happens.
It isn’t happening to my wife. Not on my watch, especially after we’ve taken a huge leap forward in our relationship.
If something happened to her… I’d burn the fucking world down, with the perpetrators first on my list. I’d make it painful. I’d make it last. I’d make it fuckingagonizing.
“I-I’m not sure about this,” she says, as I usher her into the indoor shooting range set up in the basement of the house. It’s a good place to start, better than where I did, which was out in the open aiming at empty cans of pop.
“It’ll be fine. First timers often talk about a huge adrenaline rush.”
Her expression cries “what a load of crap,” but she followsme into a lane. Gripping her shoulders, I move her in front of me. My dick brushes against her arse and immediately decides there are much better things to shoot than bullets. Unfortunately, it will have to sit this one out.
I nestle close to her, lining my arms along hers, placing my hands over the top of her much smaller ones, and show her how to aim. I let her pull the trigger a few times while the pistol is empty so she can get a feel for it. I’m enjoying this close encounter. The way her breath hitches every time the trigger clicks, the habit she has of sticking out her bum as she takes aim. The scent of her, not a trace of perfume, wafts up my nostrils as she flicks her hair out of the way.
She’s put a spell on me, and I am not looking for a cure.
“Ready for bullets?”
She glances back at me, eyes wide. “Real ones?”
“Yes, real ones. So be careful where you’re aiming. No shooting my dick off.”
Her gaze drops and she licks her lips. “I would never.”
My lips twitch. “Even unintentionally. You’re new at this. Just keep the gun facing away from me and toward the target.”
Peeling the gun from her fingers, I show her how to load it and how to change the magazine when it’s empty. I place ear defenders around her neck and do the same with my own.
“Remember,” I say as I get into position behind her again, our bodies so close, nothing could come between us. “There will be a slight kick when you fire, although less with a .380 than you’d get with a 9mm. We’ll progress to that firearm when you’re more proficient. Now, keep your arms locked and your hands steady.”
“Are you going to stand this close the whole time?”
“Yes, until you feel more confident on your own. Why?”
“No reason.”
