I called this place first thing Monday morning. I was clearly wrong when I thought one of Evan’s friends could provide me with the excitement I’ve been craving recently.
One friend in particular.
Fucking Hawk. Asshole can’t just get over himself. Deal with the fact that I got one up on him and move on.
So, if they aren’t going to help me out, I’m going to help myself. This summer is all about doing the shit I’ve always wanted to do, and this morning is stop one.
Roland leads me down a hall, past a room lined with lockers and safes, to a heavy metal door with a narrow rectangular window. He pushes it open and holds it while I pass him into the divided room.
It’s empty. And silent.
To be fair it’s a Saturday morning so I shouldn’t be surprised it’s not busy. Most people are probably still in bed at eight am, sleeping off their Friday night fun or recovering from the workweek. I was just sort of hoping to have witnesses to my first foray into the part of me I’ve always been ashamed existed.
“I have us all set up on lane three.” He points toward a bay about a third of the way down the row.
I walk straight to the waist-high shelf and take in the items lined across it. Roland sides up to me, standing close enough I can smell his cologne. It’s not a bad smell. It actually smells really familiar. A little more floral than I like, but it has a clean sort of edge to it so that’s nice.
But it’s not at all what I would expect a man who looks like him to wear.
At least it’s not Old Spice, which is probably what most guys named Roland wear. Along with suspenders and orthopedic shoes.
He picks up one of the two sets of safety glasses lined on the shelf and holds them out to me. “These on first.”
I push them on my face while he does the same. Roland spends the next thirty minutes going over the rules of the range and the parts of the handgun we will be using for my first shooting lesson.
Eventually.
I was expecting this to be significantly more interesting than it’s ending up being. Especially when I walked in and first saw this guy.
But Roland is not living up to his appearance. The man is turning out to be just as boring as all the rest I’ve come across lately.
With the exception of the ones who won’t freaking say a word to me.
“Ready to get started?” The question snags my wandering attention.
“Yes I am.” My heart kicks up with excitement.
It’s still another ten minutes before I’m lined up and aiming for the target that seems forever away.
“Take your time.” Roland’s words are harder to hear with the range-required earmuffs on.
Thank God.
“Squeeze, don’t pull.”
He’s standing right behind me, watching my every move and it’s a little annoying.
Maybe I should have signed up for a group class instead of this one on one shit.
I take a slow, easy breath. I can do this.
I am a badass. I drugged a biker.
And threw a bottle of beer right at him in front of all his friends.
Fuck Hawk. Fuck all of them.
I squeeze the trigger, keeping my eyes open and locked on the man-shaped target. It’s small compared to the man I’m imagining, but it doesn’t matter.
“Holy shit.”
I barely hear Roland through my muffs. I narrow my eyes at the pretend prick at the end of my lane and fire again, aiming a little lower than I did last time.
Then I do it some more.
I squeeze the trigger until nothing happens. “What in the hell?” I point the gun to the ground like Roland said I had to. “Why’s it not firing?”
He pulls off his ear protection, eyes glued to the paper at the end of the range. “Cause you emptied the clip.” He takes the gun from me and pushes a button, reeling the target toward us.
He grabs the bottom and holds it steady. “You hit it every time.”
I slide my muffs down, letting them hang on my neck. “Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?”
His eyes move from the paper to me and then back again. “You sure you’ve never shot a gun before?”
I straighten a little bit. “Never.” I poke my finger in one of the cluster of holes around where the pretend man’s heart would be. “Did I do well?”
His brows lift and I notice they are a little too perfect. Perfectly manscaped. “You did great.” He smiles. “Really great actually.”
Well that makes me less upset about having to listen to him go on and on for almost forty five out of the sixty minutes I’m paying him for. “Can I go again?”
He grins and I can’t help but feel a little bad about the whole old man thing. “Sure.”
Roland helps me through the steps of reloading the gun and I’m just getting ready to have at the target when the door to the range opens and a few men come in.
Men I know.
I stare at the threesome, glaring at the biggest one before turning to the target and lining up.
Son of a bitch.
I start firing, this time going faster, taking out my anger on the poor pretend man at the other end of the wire hanging over my head.
And I murder the hell out of him.
I switch on the safety and carefully lay the weapon on the shelf while Roland reels in the target I just made my bitch. I can feel eyes burning into my skin, but I refuse to look at him again. Instead I ease a little closer to Roland as he looks at my second target with just as much appreciation as he did the first.
I was all business on that one. Every bullet was meant to be a kill shot. All heart and head.
And one penis. Just so everyone here knows what I’m capable of.
“You have spectacular aim, Shelly.” Roland’s eyes land on mine, lingering. “Do you wear contacts?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Perfect vision.”
Why did that feel like I was bragging? Like being able to see twenty feet was some sort of fucking super power?
And yet Roland seems impressed by my superior visual genetics. “Perfect eyes in general.” He steps a little closer, his gaze still fixed on mine, the scent I couldn’t quite place a few minutes ago fogging the air around me.
But I can place it now.
It’s the cologne the dean at the college wears. The old dean, who tells dad jokes and reminds me of my uncle.
I blow out a sigh. For as promising as he looks, poor Roland really has been a disappointment. Another sheep in wolf’s clothing that makes it confusing as hell to find the sort of man I’m looking for.
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly lift, their follicles tightening almost painfully.
Roland’s eyes finally leave mine to lock onto something just over my shoulder. I know what he’s looking at.
The killer of fun who seems to want to piss all over my parade this summer.
“Uh.” Roland shifts on his feet, obviously intimidated.
Great. He’s a pussy too.
I barely manage to resist rolling my eyes at him before spinning to glare at the man taking up way to much space behind me. “What?”
Hawk stands close enough he blocks out my view of the other two men I know are there. He barely gives me a glance before turning his hard eyes back to poor Roland who is focused completely on packing up everything from the shelf where I just almost managed to have a little fun.
Only a little though, thanks to the wimp behind me and the ass in front of me.
Hawk drags his ashy gaze back to my face. “What are you doing here?”
I snatch the paper man Roland left on the shelf. Probably for me to take home as a souvenir. I shove it in Hawk’s face. “Pretending this was you.”
One brow lifts.
Roland slowly creeps my way. “Ms. Curtis, I’m going to have to pack up your muffs and glasses.”
I yank them off and shove them toward him.
His eyes bounce from Hawk to the space behind him where I’m sure Gypsy an
d Evan are standing, looking way more intimidating than I know they really are. “Unfortunately you can’t be in the range without them so you’ll have to step out.”
“Oh for the love of-” I grab my purse and the other paper from the shelf and stomp after Roland.
But I only make it two heavy steps before a hand clamps around my arm, stopping me in my tracks. Hawk nods to Gypsy. “Get her what she needs.” He pulls me back toward him.
To his credit Roland stops walking. He’s clearly not sure what to do. Leave like he wants to, abandoning me with three men who obviously look scary enough to make him want to run, or stay and risk what he probably imagines will be certain bodily harm.
He toes the line like the pretend tough guy he is, opening the door but pausing. “Are you ready to leave, Ms. Curtis?”
I wonder what he would do if I said I was ready to leave? Probably shit himself. Sorta makes me want to say it just to see.
But that would be mean. And I’m not mean.
Really I’m not.
“She’s staying.” Hawk answers for me.
I yank my arm free of his grip. It’s easier to do than I expect and I end up elbowing myself in the side, which only pisses me off more. I step around him to where Evan stands. “You got any cool guns I can shoot?”
Evan grins. “You gonna pretend to kill Hawk some more?”
I look over my shoulder at the giant man who is an equally giant pain in my ass and give him a smirk. “Hell yeah I am.”
He shoves a set of muffs and glasses my way. “Then we definitely have guns you can shoot.”
I pull on my ear and eye protection and turn back to Roland. “I’m staying.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s gone, the heavy door closing with a thud behind him.
Maybe I’ll get to have a little fun today after all. I step closer to Evan. “What are you going to teach me to shoot?”
“He’s not teaching you shit.” Hawk’s voice is low behind me, or maybe I just can’t hear him that well through the muffs.
But there’s no mistaking the threat in his tone. Like he’s upset Evan’s being nice to me. Well he’s going to have to fucking get over it. I’m tired of his bullshit.
I move a little closer to Evan who doesn’t look the least bit upset by Hawk’s attitude. In fact he looks amused as hell over it.
Which is weird since it puts him in an odd position, stuck in the middle of a battle between his friend and his girlfriend’s friend.
Too bad I don’t care. He’s a big boy and can handle himself.
Even Gypsy seems to have warmed to me a little more. He stands beside me and pulls out a much bigger gun than the one I was just shooting with Roland. It’s not surprising that these guys would be packing way better toys than Roland the pretend bad boy did.
These guys are genuinely bad.
No. That’s not right. I love Evan. He’s good to my friend and I’ve never seen him be mean to anyone.
I’ve never actually seen any of them be mean to anyone. Including me, and I’m pretty sure none of them like me.
So I guess their bad boys who might be decent men.
I know they are capable of doing terrible things if they have to, but not one of them would have left me alone in this room with a group of strange men. I would put my life on it.
I scoot closer to Gypsy so I can get a better look at the gun he’s holding. “What’s that one called?”
An arm shoots between us and grabs the barrel out of Gypsy’s hand, yanking it away as another arm wraps around my middle in a quick but gentle move. “It’s a rifle.” Hawk turns his glare on a grinning Gypsy before easing me toward the lanes. He lays the gun across the shelf and barks some sort of order at Evan and Gypsy.
But I don’t hear what he says.
Because all I can focus on is the solid wall of his body pressed against the back of mine.
The man is like a furnace, cranking out enough heat to make me start to sweat. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I want to touch them, make sure they aren’t actually burning, but I can’t move.
Don’t want to.
Except maybe to lean back a little.
So that’s what I do. I let myself push against Hawk a little tighter, closing my eyes as I enjoy the hard press of more man than I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.
The sudden grip of his hand on my hip jolts me from the beginnings of a fantasy I’ve replayed more times than I can count. One of my muffs slides off my ear, the soft press of the buffer replaced by lips so close they brush over my skin. “None of that here, Kitten.” His hand presses me back into the spot where my body once again barely brushes his.
But not before I notice something unexpected. Almost as unexpected as the words Hawk just huskily whispered in my ear.
I have to force myself not to turn around. I’d love to see his dick straining against the fly of his jeans instead of just feeling it.
But that would steal the upper hand I just gained.
And I’m not giving that shit away.
Hawk might hate me but he sure as shit thinks I’m hot.
And why wouldn’t he? I’ve got a nice ass and a decent set of tits.
Way more interesting than my perfect vision.
I shift my stance, letting the cheeks of my ass brush over his dick.
His grip on my hip tightens, holding me clear of his body. “I said none of that.” His tone is sharper this time and damned if it doesn’t send the most delicious shiver down my spine.
I peek at him under my lashes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He growls.
Literally growls at me.
And the things I would do to get him to growl at me again would make most women blush.
“Like hell you don’t.” He shifts back to load the gun then comes in close again, leaning into my ear as his hand grips the muff he moved. “I think Kitten isn’t the right name for you.” He slides the muff back over my ear and holds the long gun out for me. “You know how to shoot it?”
I take it, shaking my head at him. The son of a bitch is heavy. Hawk helps me lift it, pressing the butt tight against my shoulder.
He slides the safety off. “That’ll leave a hell of a bruise if you let it loose so hold on.”
I look down the lane, doing my best to ignore Hawk for the second time today. For some reason I want to do well. Show him I can do shit like this.
That he’s not the only badass in this lane.
I take a slow breath and once again focus on the man at the end of the wire. This time I’m not as mad at him.
But I can’t let Hawk know that.
So I lower my aim and squeeze, my heart picking up with each flex of my finger.
Hold it tight.
Keep your eyes open.
Don’t let it drop.
The gun fires and he wasn’t lying. The thing has a wicked kick.
But I handled it, and I’m pretty sure my shoulder escaped with minimal damage.
The muff slides off my ear again.
“You trying to tell me something, Hellcat?”
I stare down the lane at the form with a bigger-than-I-expected hole in his pretend groin and smile.
I slide the safety into place and set the heavy gun down then slip off my glasses and muffs, setting them on the shelf beside the gun. I give him a shrug.
Then I walk out, leaving Hawk staring after me.
4
“HOW YOU DOING?” Tracker slides in next to me at the counter of Kerri’s mom’s house. He’s grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat.
I ignore him and keep at the task Jill assigned me to.
“She shot that target right in the dick not two seconds after you rubbed yours all over her.”
I shoot him a glare trying to shut him down. I didn’t fucking rub my dick all over her.
Jill moves in beside us and rests one hand on my bicep, her soft eyes falling on the stack of tomatoes she set me to slicing for
the pile of burgers we’ll be grilling in a few minutes for the Saturday night dinner. “Oh that looks nice, Shaun.” She pats me. “You’re such a good boy.”
I smile at her. She’s one of the first people I smiled at. Because she deserved it. When King went away our lives weren’t the only ones that changed. Jill’s whole world shifted.
It’s been one of the best parts as far as I’m concerned. Getting to watch a beaten down woman find her worth again.
She leans around to eye Tracker’s empty hands. “Evan, why don’t you get the lettuce from the refrigerator and pull off some leaves.”
For a woman who spent the majority of her life taking orders from a man, Jill sure settled into her role as queen bee and took to ordering us around like she was used to running the show. “Niko, can you pull out all the condiments from the fridge in the garage and bring them in here?” She gives the younger man a sweet smile when he immediately jumps at her request. “He’s such a sweet boy.”
Her hand lands on Tracker’s shoulder. “You all are.”
That’s one thing very few people have ever called me.
Sweet.
Only one, in fact. Just Jill.
She makes her way back to the double ovens we added when she decided to host a weekly dinner for all her boys and pulls out a large tray of macaroni and cheese and another of baked beans, setting them on trivets lined down the large island where Tracker and I work.
Crow comes back with an armload of jars and bottles and starts lining them up as the back door slides open. It’s almost time for Gypsy to get started grilling so I grab the tray of formed burgers and slide it down the island to make it easier for him to grab.
“I didn’t peg you as a man who knew his way around a kitchen, Shaun.”
The knife slides dangerously close to my finger at the smooth sound of the voice beside me. It comes a second before the gentle brush of a softness that can only be one thing passes across my arm.
Shelly stands so close the fullness of her tit presses into me. My dick is hard before she takes her next breath and the sexy sound of her exhale only adds fuel to the fire.
I can imagine her making that sound when I touch her.
That sound and a lot more, not so quiet ones.
“Shaun is almost as good of a cook as Levi.” Jill beams at me. “He makes the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”
Hawk Wild (Lost Boys MC Book 2) Page 3