Page 26 of Ghost
She shrugs, looking almost shy—which is a rare sight. “Yeah. Just never had anyone take the time to teach me.”
I grin. “Guess it’s your lucky day, then. Come on.”
She follows me toward the range, a small smile playing on her lips. The guys glance our way as we pass, a few of them offeringnods or grins, but they don’t comment. They’ve learned to keep their thoughts to themselves when it comes to Tizzy.
The gun range is tucked under the lanes of the bowling alley above, a long, narrow space lined with targets and stocked with every kind of firearm you could need. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of oil and metal.
I grab a pair of earmuffs and safety glasses from the shelf, handing a set to Tizzy. “Alright, first things first—safety. Always treat a gun like it’s loaded, even when it’s not. Never point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot. Got it?”
She nods, slipping the glasses over her eyes. “Got it.”
I select a Glock 19 from the rack, checking the chamber and magazine before handing it to her. “This is a good one to start with. Lightweight, reliable. Comfortable grip.”
She takes it carefully, her fingers wrapping around the grip. “Now what?”
I step behind her, placing my hands over hers to guide her. Her body stiffens for a moment, but then she relaxes, leaning into me slightly.
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” I say, nudging her foot with mine. “Arms straight but not locked. Keep a firm grip, but don’t choke it.”
She adjusts her stance, her movements careful and deliberate. I guide her hands, helping her aim at the target downrange. “Alright, take a deep breath. Exhale slowly, and squeeze the trigger gently. Don’t jerk it.”
She takes the shot, the sound loud even through the earmuffs. The bullet hits the edge of the target, far from the center, but she’s grinning, anyway.
“Not bad,” I say, stepping back to give her space. “Try again.”
She takes another shot, this one a little closer to the center. Then another. With each pull of the trigger, her confidence grows. She has a steady hand and sharp focus, and I can’t help but admire how she throws herself into learning something new.
After a few more rounds, she lowers the gun and turns to me, her face flushed with excitement. “How’d I do?”
I glance at the target, nodding in approval. “Pretty damn good for a beginner.”
She beams, and it’s a look that could knock the wind out of me if I wasn’t already so used to her taking me by surprise.
“Alright, let’s try something a little different,” I say, grabbing a 1911 from the rack. “This one’s got more kick, so be ready for it.”
She takes the gun, her expression serious as she adjusts her stance. I step back again, watching as she lines up her shot and squeezes the trigger. The recoil jerks her arms, but she recovers quickly, her jaw set in determination.
By the time she finishes the magazine, her shots are clustered closer to the center of the target. She turns to me, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Not bad, huh?”
“Not bad at all,” I agree, smirking. “You’re a natural.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the faint blush on her cheeks. I step closer, brushing a hand over her arm. “Seriously. You’re good at this.”
“Thanks,” she says softly, her eyes meeting mine. There’s a moment of quiet between us, the noise of the range fading into the background. It’s just her and me, and the weight of what we’re building together.
“Come on,” I say, breaking the moment before it gets too heavy. “Let’s reload and go again.”
We spend the next hour practicing, trading tips and teasing remarks. By the time we’re done, Tizzy’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, and I’m more convinced than ever that she belongs here—not just in the club, but with me.
As we pack up the gear, she leans against the counter, watching me with a sly smile. “So, what’s next? Knife throwing? Hand-to-hand combat?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Let’s stick to one thing at a time, darlin’. But if you’re interested, I’ve got plenty more to teach you.”
She smirks, crossing her arms. “I’ll hold you to that.”
As we leave the range and head back toward the common room, I glance at her, the warmth of her presence settling in my chest. Teaching her to shoot wasn’t just about the skills—it was about trust, about letting her deeper into my world. And if the look on her face is any indication, she’s all in.
Chapter Twenty-Two