Page 79 of Crybaby

She offers me a gun, and we get into position, standing in front of Blake. She looks at me, and I smile. “Want me to show you how it’s done?”

She nods.

Placing my gun into the small of my back, I stand behind Darcie and run my fingertips down her arms. Her skin breaks out into tiny goose bumps.

Positioning my hands over hers, I say, “Keep your fingers outside the trigger guard. You’re then going to use your other hand to steady the gun.”

I show her what I mean by aligning her hands how they should be.

“Make sure all fingers are clear of the hammer,” I continue, kissing the shell of her ear.

A gasp leaves her, but she stands her ground.

“Fix your gun on the target.” I raise her arm, aiming for the corroded Budweiser can left of Blake’s head. “Control your breathing.”

Her breathing is anything but as she shuffles backward, pressing her back into my front. This is getting her off.

“And then?” she coaxes, her voice wavering.

“And then, baby…pull the trigger.”

I bite over the side of her throat, feeling her lashing pulse under my tongue, which instantly gets me hard.

Darcie whimpers before a loud bang followed by her jarring backward into me fills the air.

“Holy shit!” she cries, as that shot was clearly accidental, but when the beer can backflips into the air before landing on the ground with a hollowed thud, it seems Darcie is a natural.

The commotion wakes Blake, who shakes his head in a daze. Darcie and I don’t give him time to recover as we get into position, aim, and shoot.

The shots echo into the night, filling the junkyard with an orchestra of sound. But the best sound of all is hearing Blake’s cries for help—the fucker is human, after all.

Darcie continues firing, and we both know she could hit Blake if she wanted, but she doesn’t. It takes all my willpower not to put a bullet in his leg.

And just like that, the firing stops. But Blake’s cries don’t.

Darcie rolls her eyes. “Fucking crybaby.”

She marches over to him while I dally behind.

“Why?” she asks, and no matter what revenge we seek, this question is at the core—why?

Blake shakes his head. He’s a fucking mess.

Darcie isn’t playing, however, and pistol-whips him in the temple. “I said why!”

When I hear a trickle of something hit the ground, I know he’s pissed himself.

“He…he told me to do it.”

And the night falls still.

“What did you say?”

By Darcie’s stunned reaction, this is something she never factored into the equation.

“He told me I had to do it otherwise he’d ruin me. I wouldn’t get the football scholarship if that shit got out,” Blake confesses, looking at me like I’m his savior. “She told me she was sixteen, man! I didn’t know she was underage.

“She said she wanted me too. But he knew…and he filmed it.”

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