Sniper (Steel Demons MC, #8)

Katey

Y ou also have you.

Sniper couldn’t have known how much those four little words meant to me. Inside the operating room, or the chaos of the ER, I was always sure of myself and my skills, my ability to handle any situation. In the rest of my life? I felt uncertain, less than. To a man like Sniper, who was a real life superhero in human form, a man who protected people from the worst parts of life, for him to acknowledge that I could take care of myself meant the world to me.

The gun, a nine-millimeter with a deep blue gripped handle, was gorgeous. It was compact and lightweight, nestled inside a gorgeous wooden box with my initials engraved on a silver plaque affixed to the lid. “It’s… gorgeous.” I looked up at this man, so different from me in just about every way imaginable was the first person in a long time, possibly ever, who saw me. Who got me. “Thank you.”