Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Loaded guns are like that.”
Harley laughs instead of being offended.
I step away and adjust my own protective equipment.
Harley takes his position, and I see the moment he takes a deep breath and prepares himself to squeeze the trigger.
The gun goes off, Harley jolts, and his eyes widen. At least he remembers to put the gun down before turning to me.
“Whoa.” His stunned expression amuses me.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“It feels … weird. Powerful, but I’m not sure in a good way.”
“You get used to it.”
He stares out into the field. “I didn’t hit anything.”
No, he didn’t.
“Do it again.”
He picks up the gun again and takes the same stance.
“Drop your right shoulder just a bit, and make sure the dot lines up with where you want it to go.”
This time the bullet hits the metal circle, but the target doesn’t drop because it wasn’t hit square in the middle.
“Empty the rest of the magazine,” I say.
When he runs out of bullets, missing all the intended targets, he puts the gun down.
“Statistically, you should’ve hit something.”
A middle finger is pointed in my direction. “I’m starting to think it wouldn’t have mattered if the gun Gideon gave me was loaded or not. Had I shot at Iris, I would’ve missed.”
“Probably. But if you didn’t, you’d be in prison right now, so can you see why Gideon was smart to ‘forget’ the bullets?”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ll leave being a badass up to you, Rambo.”
“Here.” I step up to the gun to load another magazine and hand it back to him. “We’re gonna keep going until you get it.”
This time when he takes his stance, I step behind him and put my hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist.
Harley’s scent hits my nose—fresh with a hint of something manly. Woodsy or … fuck, I don’t know. It makes my mind fuzzy, whatever it is.
“Try again,” I say.
He does, with me right behind him, and the target falls. When he turns to look at me with a smile, my breath catches.
Being this close to him—no, to any man—has my body responding because it’s been so long, but I can’t go there with Harley.
Trav would fire my ass from this job so fast he’d probably have me shipped off to some shitty surveillance gig in Baghdad as punishment before I could even blink.
And speaking of Trav.
“You’re overcorrecting him now.”
I flinch at the deep voice and step away from my client. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. Here.” Trav approaches and pushes me out of the way. He takes my place behind Harley and does exactly the same thing I was doing to him.
“How is that any different?” I ask.
“His stance is more natural, and it doesn’t look as if he’s being forced into a position he’s not comfortable in.”
I have to wonder if he’s still talking about shooting.
Harley blushes as he stares up at my boss.
Not that I can blame him. Where I’m big and solid and have been told I look like I want to kill everything, Trav is even bigger but has softer features. He’s more approachable.
And that doesn’t make me jealous at all. Never has.
Until possibly right now.
“Umm, hi. I’m Harley.”
Trav smiles. “Trav. Brix’s boss.”
I want to tell him to get his charming mitts off my client.
“Try now,” Trav says and steps over to where I am.
This time when Harley shoots, the target falls. And then the next one. He misses the third, but by the time the ten shots are fired, he’s hit eight of ten.
Trav glows triumphantly.
“Sure, because all my coaching up until this point counts for nothing.”
Trav ignores me and focuses on Harley. “Let’s pack this away, and you can meet the others.”
Right. The others. One of the reasons I set up this trip in the first place.
I’m starting to regret my decision. Especially when we enter the house and the rest of the team all look like they want to devour Harley. Even Angel, who I thought was more of a lesbian than Ellen DeGeneres, and Domino, who is supposedly straight.
Maybe it’s the famous effect. Or maybe it’s because he’s Harley and he naturally draws people to him.
“Scout, Atlas, Domino, Angel, this is Harley Valentine,” Trav says.
Harley waves and puts on the smile I already know is part of his public persona. There’s a difference between this smile and his real one.
His real one crinkles the corners of his eyes. His public-ready face is always immaculate. Like, too perfect. It’s like he says—it’s manufactured.
He leans in closer to me. “Why do you all have weird names?”
I snicker. “You want their real names?”
“Is it one of those ‘we’ll tell you but then we’ll have to kill you’ things?”
“No. You already know my name is Nolan and Iris’s is Isaac.”
“Hmm, still better not. I’m going to struggle to remember the nicknames. But when do I get to blow shit up?”