Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Back in position.”
“But—”
“Back in position,” he snaps with more force. Terrified, but also a little excited, I obey. “Good. Now aim, just like you did earlier.”
His arms come around me again, and this time his grip around my hands is firmer.
“Brace like I showed you. Draw breath and center yourself. In a real situation, you’re not gonna get time for much of that, but that’s why we practice. The more you internalize it, the more natural each step becomes. You ready?”
No? “I think so.”
“I’ve gotcha.”
He breathes slowly, and I find myself falling in sync. Using his solid presence behind me for support, I gently squeeze the trigger. The gun goes off in a deafening explosion. I whimper, and if it wasn’t for Colt’s strong hands around mine and his immovable body behind me, the kick probably would’ve landed me on my ass. The sharp tang of gunpowder fills the air.
“Oh my God.”
“You did good. Everyone jumps their first time.” His praise fills me with warmth.
I didn’t exactly grow up with a lot of it, and I probably shouldn’t crave it as much as I do. Maybe it’s the gravel in his voice, or that this is so far outside my comfort zone, but it’s… nice, despite how scary this is.
“I didn’t even hit the target.”
“Doesn’t matter yet. Again.”
“Don’t let me go.”
“Not gonna. Not until you’re used to it.”
The comfort of Colt’s chest against my back and the warmth of his rough hands around mine keep me steady. Even after several shots and a reload, he stays a warm, steady presence behind me. I find myself leaning into him more than I need to, and every time I squeeze off a shot, he murmurs encouragement into my ear.
The first time I actually hit the target without him basically doing all the work, I let out a squeal of joy and put down the gun, turning to make a snarky comment about being naturally talented. Colt is right behind me. I knew it, but I didn’t think about how right behind me he was, and find myself practically nose to nose with him.
“Did you see?” I whisper.
16
Chapter 16 - Quinn
“Yeah, I saw, baby.” Colt reaches past me, boxing me in as he takes the clip out of the gun and puts it back down. “You don’t, by the way.”
“What?”
“Ask too many questions. Anyone who tells you that, benefits from your ignorance. You’re right, this place? The club? Us? The rules aren’t the same.” He leans back against the gun tray and hooks his thumbs in his pockets, watching me closely. “The stakes are higher for us. Every time we ride out the gate, we might not come back.”
“Why do it then? Is it for the danger? Do you like it?”
“Not like you probably mean it. I like that it’s real, that there’s no sugar coating what we do or who we are. But the ‘live fast, die young’ guys generally don’t make the cut. We’ve got some adrenaline junkies, but nobody wants a brother at their back who can’t keep their finger off the trigger and wants to go down in a blaze of glory. Being careful about who we let in helps raise the chances of coming home.”
I nod. “That makes sense, but what does it have to do with your little biker polycules?”
Colt lets out a surprised laugh. “Damn, sounds so fucking progressive when you say it like that. I think we just give less of a shit about what people on the outside think, as long as it works for us. The MC world’s still a boy’s club, but the younger guys like me are a fuckton more relaxed about that shit than the old guard.”
“Would you want that? To share your wife, or old lady, or whatever you want to call it?” It feels like a heavier question than it should be. I’ve known him for what? A week? Asking doesn’t mean I’m talking about me.
“I don’t know. I woulda said no a couple years ago, but I’ve seen it work, and even Hellfire’s admitted that it keeps the boys more focused because it’s easier to protect their families. If the right situation happened, sure.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “My turn to ask a question.”
“Sure.”
“How much of your own money does she let you keep?”
I don’t have to clarify who he means. “I… I get what I need.” Liar. Out of all the things he could ask me, that wasn’t what I expected. It was so sudden it felt like a slap in the face.
“But I bet you have to ask for it, don’t you? When you do, does she explain how expensive things are? Tell you it’s for your own good? Justify the things she picks by saying it’s an investment? It’s really for you?”