Page 88 of Knot Their Soldier: Part One
Knox ordered him to train me how to shoot a gun, and before I could tell the Prime Alpha I already knew how to shoot, he disappeared into a small tent that has become a sort of fortress of solitude for him. A supply tent with a small desk scattered with documents.
Despite his deep scowl, Viper didn’t waste time. He grunted, slung a heavy bag over his shoulder, and jerked his chin at me to follow.
I scurry behind him like a little mouse, his long legs eating up the ground. I want to ask him to slow the hell down, but I won’t. If I complain, it means I’ll be admitting weakness, and I’m not willing to do that just yet. Besides, communication with me is at the bottom of Viper’s list of things he wants to do.
I can’t decipher what he wants to do with me.
Kiss me? Kill me? Mate me?
I can’t read the big guy and my nerves are fried from the tension.
I can’t forget how it felt when we touched in the hospital, and again on the forest floor. How can I? It’s burned in my memory like a brand. My whole life feels like it’s separated by pre-Viper and post-Viper. He crashed into my boring life and shook it like a snow globe in his meaty hands.
And then there’s the tender way he held me after the training session on day one. I don’t remember much after I passed out from exhaustion and drifted into O-space, but I know Viper cared for me.
As much as walking uphill is exhausting, walking downhill is yet another kind of fitness I don’t possess. The muscles in my butt are burning, begging for a break.
Finally, we reach the bottom of a ravine, a narrow rocky valley carved out of the mountain with steep walls of forest on either side.
I grunt in relief when Viper drops the bag on the ground next to a large boulder and crouches beside it.
I inhale deeply, sucking in a lungful of air before exhaling, slowing my thumping heart rate and satisfying the biting stitch in my side. He barely looks bothered by our hike and it irks me. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or impressed he moves his giant body so effortlessly.
Viper assembles an assault rifle and sets it on the large boulder on its side with a magazine of bullets propped next to it. He then trudges off towards the end of the ravine and places a cardboard target against the rock wall. Black rings are arranged in progressively smaller circles with a red dot in the center.
He pulls out a big marker pen and scrawls a fat black arrow pointing to the center of the target. He writes in block letters:Hit me.
I smile and chuckle softly.
He hides his personality from me, but I live for the moments he lets me see his dry sense of humor.
The lieutenant doesn’t make eye contact as he comes back, staring resolutely at his boots like they’ve offended him. I don’t think he’s going to say anything until he grunts, “Omega Sparks, come.”
I start at the sound of his voice. I forgot how deep it is, resonating from his huge barrel chest.
The towering trees stand witness to the tension hanging between us as I cautiously approach the gun laying on the boulder. I look between him and the rifle, unsure how he wants to do this training session.
I know how to handle a gun. I’ve been doing it since I found my father’s old rifle in our supply shed.
Being a bored twelve-year-old with a never-ending list of chores, it provided me with something to do that was solely mine.
Every day, after my chores, I’d hike to a remote part of our land. My family assumed the daily gunfire was our neighbors or one of my cousins, and I didn’t dissuade them.
I liked keeping a secret from everyone else. Something that was mine alone to learn and master.
At first, it was frustrating. I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to handle a gun, and looking back, it was definitely dangerous.
It became a bit of an obsession. I’d set my target up, and take my time to learning how to hit my target dead on, beating my own record time and time again. Once I made the shot perfectly, I’d move the target further away for a new challenge.
By the time I was discovered, I’d already reached the limits of what the old rifle could do.
When I arrived at The Omega Division, I was granted permission to use the shooting range after hours under the watchful eyes of a Beta escort. It kept me sane for the first few months before Dazz arrived to keep me company. I got to play with bigger, more powerful guns. I’d test out their range and finding new ways to challenge myself. The longer the shot I made, the more satisfaction it gave me.
I look down at the rifle. The gun is a standard issue military rifle, and I’ve shot them plenty of times before. Yet, this one is obviously someone’s personal weapon, customized to suit a larger body than mine with a distinctive hand-wrapped pistol grip behind the trigger.
Viper takes my hesitation as nerves, and his neutral expression softens. He holds his palm out to me and waits.
I place my hand in his without reservation. His hand is so big that it almost completely covers mine, making me feel even smaller than usual.
