Read Online Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club): Vegas Titans Series by Celia Loren - Free Book Online
Authors: Celia Loren
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the gun I saw in the drawer?" I
narrow my eyes at him. "Is this, like, a girl gun?"
He laughs. "No, this is not a 'girl' gun. The one in my
drawer is a semi-automatic. This," he holds out the one in his hands,
"is a .22. What I learned on. I think you should start out with this and
then later you can move on to a semi."
I nod. A semi-automatic. That's what the gunman in the store
used. The shape was the same as the one in Holt's drawer, but Holt's had silver
on the barrel and the gunman's was all black.
"This here is the safety," he says, pointing at a
small switch above the trigger. "It's on. You never take the safety off
until you're ready to shoot. Always treat a gun like it's loaded. Never raise
the gun until you're ready to shoot. And never put your finger on the trigger
until you're ready to shoot." He demonstrates, pointing the gun down and
away from us.
"Got it," I say, nodding. He eyes me for a moment,
then puts the gun on the wooden shelf in front of us that's attached to the
dividers separating the shooting stations.
"Stance. Put your right leg slightly in front of your
left. Wider." He taps the inside of my left foot with his boot.
"Good. Now arms up." He steps behind me, hunkering down and wrapping
his body around me, his arms pressing mine in. "Relax your elbows a bit.
You don't want them locked. Other people will tell you differently, but I think
this is the best stance. It'll help you absorb the recoil better. Stop
squirming."
"You're distracting me." It's true. I can feel
every muscle of his tensing against me, and suddenly I wish we were back at his
house.
I feel his breath at my ear as he whispers:
"Focus," and pulls away. I shiver, but do as he says, holding my
hands up the way I imagine the gun will feel in them.
He steps back and looks me over. "OK, pick up the gun.
Remember what I told you, where to point it."
I nod and reach for the pistol, carefully keeping my finger
off the trigger and the gun pointed away from us, down range. It's heavy, but
not as heavy as the one in the drawer.
"Now switch the safety off."
I turn the gun to the side and pull it back, suddenly
feeling nervous. But I know I still want to do this. I hadn't been planning to
ask Holt to teach me to shoot, but when I held his semi in my hands I knew that
I wanted to know how to use one. Just in case.
"Make sure you don't move your thumb up like
that," Holt says, stepping behind me again. He adjusts my thumb down so
that it lies flat on my fingers. "It's OK on this gun, but, look at this
semi." He pulls the one I saw in the drawer out of his bag. "Safety's
on. See this part here?" He runs his hands across the top. "That's
the slide. On a semi, when you pull the trigger, it slides back and will take
your thumb clean off if it's up there. So don't get in the habit."
The hair on the back of my neck tingles as I watch him hold
the gun. My vision blurs slightly for a second, and I try to blink away the
image that forms behind my eyes. A man's hand, covered to the wrist in black
fabric, maybe a sweatshirt, and his fingers curled around the base of a gun.
"You alright?" Holt says, putting the semi down on
the shelf.
"Yeah, I just…I need to…" I shake my head, trying
the get the image out of my head. Sometimes the images from that night…they just
pop into my mind, triggered by something around me. Holt reaches down and takes
the gun from my hands, switching the safety back on. "Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize…but it seems like
something's wrong."
"I…I saw something last week that scared me," I
murmur. I have to tell someone. I have to. I know I just met him, but I
can't carry it by myself. I just won't tell him any details. Besides, Holt
doesn't seem like the kind of guy to see things in black and white. "A
shooting. Someone got shot." Maybe if I fudge the details, say only one
person was shot, then he won't connect it to the Gas Station Murders.
"Oh my god…" he whispers, though he doesn't seem
completely
narrow my eyes at him. "Is this, like, a girl gun?"
He laughs. "No, this is not a 'girl' gun. The one in my
drawer is a semi-automatic. This," he holds out the one in his hands,
"is a .22. What I learned on. I think you should start out with this and
then later you can move on to a semi."
I nod. A semi-automatic. That's what the gunman in the store
used. The shape was the same as the one in Holt's drawer, but Holt's had silver
on the barrel and the gunman's was all black.
"This here is the safety," he says, pointing at a
small switch above the trigger. "It's on. You never take the safety off
until you're ready to shoot. Always treat a gun like it's loaded. Never raise
the gun until you're ready to shoot. And never put your finger on the trigger
until you're ready to shoot." He demonstrates, pointing the gun down and
away from us.
"Got it," I say, nodding. He eyes me for a moment,
then puts the gun on the wooden shelf in front of us that's attached to the
dividers separating the shooting stations.
"Stance. Put your right leg slightly in front of your
left. Wider." He taps the inside of my left foot with his boot.
"Good. Now arms up." He steps behind me, hunkering down and wrapping
his body around me, his arms pressing mine in. "Relax your elbows a bit.
You don't want them locked. Other people will tell you differently, but I think
this is the best stance. It'll help you absorb the recoil better. Stop
squirming."
"You're distracting me." It's true. I can feel
every muscle of his tensing against me, and suddenly I wish we were back at his
house.
I feel his breath at my ear as he whispers:
"Focus," and pulls away. I shiver, but do as he says, holding my
hands up the way I imagine the gun will feel in them.
He steps back and looks me over. "OK, pick up the gun.
Remember what I told you, where to point it."
I nod and reach for the pistol, carefully keeping my finger
off the trigger and the gun pointed away from us, down range. It's heavy, but
not as heavy as the one in the drawer.
"Now switch the safety off."
I turn the gun to the side and pull it back, suddenly
feeling nervous. But I know I still want to do this. I hadn't been planning to
ask Holt to teach me to shoot, but when I held his semi in my hands I knew that
I wanted to know how to use one. Just in case.
"Make sure you don't move your thumb up like
that," Holt says, stepping behind me again. He adjusts my thumb down so
that it lies flat on my fingers. "It's OK on this gun, but, look at this
semi." He pulls the one I saw in the drawer out of his bag. "Safety's
on. See this part here?" He runs his hands across the top. "That's
the slide. On a semi, when you pull the trigger, it slides back and will take
your thumb clean off if it's up there. So don't get in the habit."
The hair on the back of my neck tingles as I watch him hold
the gun. My vision blurs slightly for a second, and I try to blink away the
image that forms behind my eyes. A man's hand, covered to the wrist in black
fabric, maybe a sweatshirt, and his fingers curled around the base of a gun.
"You alright?" Holt says, putting the semi down on
the shelf.
"Yeah, I just…I need to…" I shake my head, trying
the get the image out of my head. Sometimes the images from that night…they just
pop into my mind, triggered by something around me. Holt reaches down and takes
the gun from my hands, switching the safety back on. "Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize…but it seems like
something's wrong."
"I…I saw something last week that scared me," I
murmur. I have to tell someone. I have to. I know I just met him, but I
can't carry it by myself. I just won't tell him any details. Besides, Holt
doesn't seem like the kind of guy to see things in black and white. "A
shooting. Someone got shot." Maybe if I fudge the details, say only one
person was shot, then he won't connect it to the Gas Station Murders.
"Oh my god…" he whispers, though he doesn't seem
completely
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