Page 59 of Brew
I swallow hard. Not really, but I need to know how to protect myself and my daughter.
I shrug. “I think so.”
His brows furrow. “Why?”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Why not?”
I must be imagining that jaw ticking once more. Then he counters with, “I know about Steven. Cash called a meetin’.”
My mouth forms an ‘O’.
“I also don’t like hearin’ second-hand information when you could have just told me.”
Who does this guy think he is?
“I only just found out,” I say, which isn’t really a lie. “And I didn’t realize I have to run everything by you,Dylan.”
“That’s quite a mouth you have on you there, you think you can use some of that sass to hit a target?”
“I’m sure I can manage it.”
Seriously, I don’t know why I’m being such a demon to him. It could have something to do with the fact he thinks I should just run to him every time I have a problem. I’m not his ol’ lady. We groped each other one time, and now he thinks he has some rights to me?
As if reading my mind, he says, “What happened between us meant somethin’.”
I want to speak words, but no sound comes out. What do I say to a man who doesn’t usually talk, is gruff and broody, and doesn’t kiss a woman before he makes her scream his name? Maybe it is me that needs to get a grip.
“You said you were ready,” he goes on. “So, you wanna shoot some rounds? I’ll show you how.”
My eyes widen, and the side of his mouth turns up. “I’m sure you’re well versed in combat.”
“I was a Green Beret,” he says. “Some things never leave you.”
Of course, I know some of his past life from Amber, but not much. We all know Brew is a closed book. “What did you do exactly?”
He steps closer. “I maintained order.” Tipping my chin up, my heartbeat accelerates in my chest.
“What did you like the most about Special Ops?”
“There are no rules,” he says without hesitation.
I blink. But there are rules…
“There were a lot of bad people,Sparky. They did very bad things.”
He moves behind me. Then he pulls out his Glock, resting it in front of us. “First rule of safety: treat every gun as if it’s loaded.”
I face the targets as he leans toward my ear, his voice barely a whisper. “I take it yours is?”
“You guessed right. And you always make sure the muzzle is pointed in a safe direction. Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”
Every single muscle in my body aches. Every single word he speaks isn’t really talking to me, it’s talking to my body. A shudder runs through me.
“You’ll also need these.” He hands me a pair of protective eyewear. I pull them on, then he places earmuffs over my ears.
He cages me in, and I can feel his hardness digging into the small of my back.
Holy guacamole.
