Nic pressed the goggle arms towards each other, so they gripped behind my ears better. I stared at his chest, his alpine scent covering me as he fixed them. ‘It’s because your nose is so small.’ He tapped my nose with his finger. ‘It’s cute,’ he murmured, looking at me beneath those thick lashes of his.
It was hard, in moments like this, not to remember the first time we ever spoke, how he looked at me like I was the only person in the world. How he kissed me like it was the first and last kiss he’d ever have. The Nic I thought I knew – the one I thought I needed. There were shades of that desire inside me still, but I had buried them for a reason. I had to remember why.
Nic was distractingly close to me now and my head was exploding with shouts of Don’t you dare touch him! Step away from the enigmatic assassin right now!
I stepped backwards. ‘Nic,’ I said, chastising.
He held a hand up in surrender, the corner of his mouth flicking upwards in a lazy half-smile. ‘I was just saying.’
‘We’re here to work, remember?’ I slipped the earplugs inside my ears.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ His smile grew. ‘Are you ready?’ I could only half hear him. I nodded. ‘OK. Watch.’
He took two steps forward, planting his feet. Raising his arm, he aimed the gun at the other end of the room and fired off six shots in quick succession.
Even with the earplugs, the noise was relentless.
A bullet hole appeared in each of the first six target heads – right in the middle. He pulled a magazine from his pocket and reloaded so fast I barely caught the movement. The next six holes appeared in the left side of the chest of each of the remaining dummies. The whole thing took less than ten seconds.
Twelve targets in ten seconds. And he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He was relaxed, his expression placid, his breathing slow and natural.
When he was done, he lowered the gun, reloaded it and swivelled to face me.
I gaped at him. If I didn’t think too much about the end goal of his shooting, and only focused on the skill, I couldn’t help but feel awed. It was all so quick and effortless. ‘Your aim is …’
‘Unparalleled,’ he finished, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his features. ‘I told you. Your turn.’
I looked at the targets again. They seemed so impossibly far away now; I could barely see the holes he’d made. ‘Can I move closer?’ I asked. ‘Like way, way, way closer.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t chicken out before you’ve started. I’ll bet you’ll be good at it.’
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘No, you don’t.’
He laughed again. It was loud and carefree and giddy this time. The feel of the gun – of shooting – did something to his whole demeanour. It made him happy. Really, truly happy. Beneath all the anger and fear and determination, there was a pinch of something else taking hold of me. It was jarring, that a boy so young could be so maniacally entertained by all of this. Still, this was the boy who was going to help me get what I needed – revenge – and in the moment, that was what mattered to me most.
‘OK,’ he conceded, ‘I don’t think you’ll be an expert on your first try. But I do think you’re very teachable.’
The gun was hot in my hands. I embraced the heat and let the warmth filter up my arm.
‘Don’t fear it,’ Nic said. ‘This gun is your ally. It works for you.’
‘What if I shoot myself?’
‘Have some confidence, Sophie. You’re taking back your power. Stand up straighter.’ He laid his hands on my shoulders and I leant back into them, raising my chin. ‘Good,’ he breathed, his voice against my ear. ‘You’re ready for this.’
He lingered a couple of seconds more than necessary.
‘OK.’ I squared my jaw and locked eyes with the targets. ‘Teach me.’
Nic dropped his hands and came to my side, his attention trained on my stance. ‘Plant your feet.’ The amusement had drained from his voice. This was the Nic I needed. This was the Nic who was going to teach me what I wanted to know. ‘Bend your knees just a little. Good. Now square your shoulders towards the target. Fully extend your strong arm. Now pull the slide back with your other hand.’ It clicked into place. There was a sickening thrill in the sound.
‘Bring your left arm around and cup the other side of the gun. No – not so loose.’ He moved around me, his arms coming over my shoulders against my own, his chin resting against my hair as his hands covered mine. ‘Like this,’ he said, shifting my left hand so my fingers cupped the gun. His breath was hot on my neck. I tried to ignore it. He moved his right hand over mine, shifting it higher. ‘Just one finger on the trigger,’ he said, his finger pressing mine into place. ‘Three fingers on the grip.’ He squeezed the rest of his hand over mine, dwarfing it. ‘Keep your feet planted. You need to be able to absorb the recoil.’
I tried to focus. I was not supposed to be feeling this urge to make out with him. He was still morally corrupt – still dangerous, still bad for me. He was still that same boy that had pointed a gun at my head inside the diner. He was still the brother of the guy who was kind and good and smart … My brain knew that. Even my heart did. But right now, in these close quarters, my body didn’t.
‘I’ve got it,’ I said, shuffling out of his grip. ‘I can do it.’
He stepped away from me, leaving my back cold and tingly. ‘OK,’ he said, pointing towards the targets at the other end of the barn. ‘Now bring the gun up to eye level, keep your arms straight out in front of you and aim.’