Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 165476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 827(@200wpm)___ 662(@250wpm)___ 552(@300wpm)
Most times though, it was Cole who looked out for Ned. He was still finding his footing in the gang, and the support of one of its long-time members drew Ned in and secured his position. And when Cole had found out Ned had never shot anything but a shotgun, he took it upon himself to teach him to use a revolver.
Loading the Colt seemed easy enough, though since Cole suggested Ned could end up shooting himself in the leg if he didn’t leave one chamber empty, he tried to make it his habit. He didn’t yet carry a sidearm of his own and only used the gun for practice, but he liked his legs where they were nevertheless.
“If you stand so your body is at a right angle from your target, you’ll be harder to get,” Cole said and put his hand on Ned’s side, pulling him back so his body created the narrowest possible shape when facing his opponent—a line-up of bottles glinting in the sunlight against a background of trees that climbed uphill.
The breeze carried the scent of pines their way, but the aroma of Cole’s hair and fresh sweat was too distracting for Ned to register whether the wind might work to the advantage of his marksmanship or not. Cole’s body molded to his back as he pushed his arm under Ned’s, steadying it as well as a rock might have. His arms might not have been log-thick, but they were packed with lean muscle. Perhaps that was what made his friend such a good shot.
“A man’s not a small target, so you should get the bastard who’s shooting at you anyway, but try to focus. Hitting the head keeps you from wasting bullets,” Cole whispered into Ned’s ear.
Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at the closeness. “Next time you try to get into a girl’s bed, don’t bring her flowers. Just go straight to teaching her how to shoot.” It was a joke, but he couldn’t help wondering how a woman might have felt in his current position. She would have been smaller in Cole’s embrace, of course, yielding to the roguish charms while inhaling the clean scent of linen and ylang-ylang.
Cole was religious about his grooming habits and wouldn’t abandon them even when on the move. He changed his clothes more often than most and washed each morning and night—a routine Ned joined. Eager to keep up with his new friend, he wouldn’t let his stubble grow for more than three days. Cole was such an impressive fellow Ned didn’t want to look like a mountain man who hadn’t seen a razor since his last visit to civilization, even if he wasn’t out to woo anyone.
Cole let the silence hang between them for long enough that Ned’s heartbeat picked up, but he eventually grabbed Ned’s wrist from below and pulled. “Keep your arm steady. Easier to deal with the recoil, sweetheart,” he commented, resting his scratchy chin on Ned’s shoulder. “Am I doing it right?”
Ned grinned even though the trembling in his stomach intensified and his neck burned at the warmth of Cole’s breath. A woman would have forgotten the firearm was in her hands and shot herself in the foot by now, were Cole to speak to her like that. “You sure know your way with a gun,” Ned tweeted in a higher pitch, his hands trembling because he couldn’t suppress laughter.
“So I’m told,” Cole said, his voice dropping as his now-free hand slid to Ned’s hip, keeping it steady. “But I sometimes still don’t know if I’m aiming at the right target,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
Ned shook his head with a grin. It was time to get back to practice. “Well, I’ve got the wrong animal in my drawers, so you’re way off your mark.”
Cole hummed, sending warm air down the side of Ned’s neck, but pulled back before Ned could have embarrassed himself by shivering. “Always shoot when you’re breathing out,” he said in a louder voice.
And so Ned did. He focused on the bottles and aimed, imagining they were the three heads of the Hydra called the Gotham Boys.
Tom.
Zeb.
Scotch.
Tom had orchestrated the invasion on Ned’s family home, but they were all guilty of participation. They were all responsible for the death of his parents, the end of his innocence, and the splinter in his soul.
He broke two of the bottles, but while this was progress, all he could think about was that he hadn’t got all three of the bastards. And that would never be good enough.
Cole’s hand made a mad dash to his gun belt. Steel glinted at his hip, and within a second, the other three bottles exploded into shards. He knew a trick with his thumb to make it go so fast. It left the skin there rough to the touch, but Ned wanted to learn nevertheless.