25. Willa / Greer
CHAPTER 25
WILLA / GREER
I ’m actually running by the time I enter the shooting range for class. How in the world did I walk so far earlier today without even realizing it? I know I was lost in an emotional storm, but that had to at least be a mile. Entering the area, I see a long tan wooden structure portioned into sections at one end of a dirt field. Huffing and puffing, I join the group standing in another bare bones wooden stand, barely arriving a second before Jax blows the air horn he’s holding in his hand. What is it with the horns? I’m tempted to plug my ears, but the sound cuts off.
Dressed in the same scruffy attire that seems to be his signature look, he ambles over to a nearby table and sets the horn down on it, then turns back to us. With one hand, he shoves the thick swath of white-blond hair on top of his head back. With his features and attire, he sort of reminds me of a surfer, but his attitude is intense and a little unnerving.
Like Quaid, Jax walks the line, but his entire focus is on our hands. Mine are resting beside my thighs. My neighbor on the right is restlessly tapping hers. I look at the person on my left and find large hands in a half curl.
Jax stops at the woman on my right. “It’s okay to be nervous. Guns are dangerous.” He keeps walking until he gets to the man on my left. “Or excited.” He moves back in front of me. “Have you ever shot a gun?”
One corner of my mouth lifts in a wry smile. “Tried, but it didn’t fire.” Several people laugh, but I’m not joking. Although I’m incredibly grateful I didn’t shoot River at the gas station, I’d like to learn why.
Jax sweeps a cold look at the people who are laughing. “Laughing at another student in my class for any reason will not be tolerated. I don’t care what experience you think you have. Here, everyone is a plebe until I say you’re not. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I murmur along with several others, fighting a smile at his defense.
Jax freezes, then shouts. “I didn’t hear you. Do you understand?!”
“Yes!” we answer in unison this time.
“Good,” he replies with a sneer. “Next time, tack on a sir to that answer. I’m a fucking Sergeant in the United States Army and the best damn sniper you’ll ever meet.” The man next to me flashes a wide grin, and Jax comes up to him. “Don’t get excited. I’m not going to teach you how to be a sniper. I doubt you have the capacity to learn all the shit I know.”
His grin disappears. “What are you going to teach us?”
Jax narrows his eyes at him. “First, I’m going to teach you manners.” Locking eyes on the guy, he waits until he turns his head to continue. “Then, I’m going to teach you how to pick up any weapon in reach and confidently…” he pauses for a second, “use it to defend yourself.”
He waves a hand to the cover behind us. “Today, you will learn to shoot a handgun. Why? Because they’re the most common weapon you’ll come across.” Walking over to one of the sectioned-off areas, he jerks a thumb behind him. “At every gun range, this is called the firing line. When I tell you to line up at the firing line, you will pick one of these booths and line up.”
We tense in anticipation, but he shakes his head. “Stand down. Today, I’ll teach you the basics: how to load the gun, grip the gun, position yourself into the proper shooting stance, how to distribute your weight, flip off the safety, sight your target, breathe properly, pull the trigger, and safely set the gun down when you’re finished. Take this seriously. If anyone fucks around or doesn’t listen, you’ll be dropped from my class. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!” we state firmly.
He gives us a pleased nod. “Good to know you’re capable of learning. Now, I’m going to demonstrate each of the basics, then I’ll call you up one at a time and have you walk through each step. You will shoot one time. That’s it.”
For the next twenty minutes, we watch Jax demonstrate each of the basics. Using exaggerated movements, he shows the position we should take for each step several times. There’s much more to shooting than I ever thought, and I doubt I’ll remember it all. Biting my lip, I try to concentrate on memorizing the first couple of stances.
The guy next to me snorts, but thankfully, Jax doesn’t hear it. “Overkill.”
“I know you won’t remember half the shit I just told you, but try your best,” Jax says, finishing his demonstration. “First up, Overkill.”
My lips twitch when I look to my right. Guess he heard him. Note to self—Sergeant Jax has Whisper 2000.
The guy stiffens but walks over to the booth. Jax motions for him to begin, and he immediately grips the gun and raises it to fire. He shoots, and the second his arm comes down, Jax pushes him off balance, grabs the gun from his hand, and mock shoots him.
“Bang. You’re dead.”
“I already know how to shoot!” the guy shouts from the ground. “I shouldn’t have to follow all the steps.”
Jax flashes a dark grin. “In my class, you’ll do what I tell you, when I tell you, got it?”
The guy flashes him a sulky look. “That’s not fair. Is there an advanced class I can take?”
“Do you think Raven will be ‘fair’? What about a scared civilian who thinks you’re a threat to his town? Think they will be fair?” He looks at the target and scoffs. “You didn’t even hit your target, and you think you’re ready for an advanced class. Get back in line.”
“I’m an excellent shot,” the guy insists, getting to his feet. He stomps over to the booth and holds down the button on the wall. The target flies toward him and stops. Grabbing it, he pulls it closer, then curses.
Jax claps him on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to give you extra lessons. Get back in line.”
The guy ambles back to his place beside me, muttering the entire way.
“You,” Jax says, pointing directly to me. “Booth.”
I walk up to the booth and stare at the gun in front of me instead of him. He’ll only make me nervous, and I’ll forget the positions. When I hear “Begin!” I pick up the gun and almost drop it. I didn’t expect it to be so heavy. It looked like a toy in Jax’s hand, but the weight tells me it’s very real. I make the “v” he suggested for the grip with four fingers on one side of the gun and my thumb on the other and place my other hand under for support. Squaring my shoulders and torso toward the target, I get my feet into the staggered position he suggested and stop. I can’t remember what to do next.
He leans in close, and the smell of sunshine and a slightly acrid, smoky scent, which I’m guessing is from shooting earlier, wraps around me. “Put your finger here.” He places my finger on the trigger in the correct position.
I frown and turn my head to look at him. Piercing ocean-blue eyes, only inches away, meet mine, and for a second, I get lost in their clear depths.
Inhaling sharply, I spit my question out. “Shouldn’t I wait until I’m ready to fire to put my finger on the trigger?”
“Mm, rain on a summer day,” he murmurs, then steps away to ask the crowd. “Good question. She asked whether she should wait to put her finger on the trigger. Anyone have the answer?”
Blushing at both his words and getting called out in front of everyone, I wait for someone to answer. A young female voice pipes up. “Only pick up the gun if you’re prepared to shoot. With your finger on the trigger, you eliminate the time between prep and shot.”
“Very good!” he exclaims. “You’ve earned a reward point and jumped to the top of the class.” Turning back to me, he sees my finger still on the trigger. “What’s next?”
I release the safety, then lean slightly forward and align my sights. Stopping, I wait for him to put the ear protection over my ears. Since this is our first time, he didn’t want us to put them on until we were actually ready to shoot.
He picks up the headphones, smooths my hair, places them on my head, then taps my right shoulder, the signal to shoot when ready.
Breathing in and out a few times to clear my head, I try to steady my trembling hands and pull the trigger. When I shoot, a small force pushes back on me, but the recoil isn’t too bad. Carefully, I put the safety back on, set the gun down on the booth, and take off the headphones. My stomach is cramping from nerves.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about bringing in the target. You missed.”
My shoulders drop, and I return to the line while he calls the next person. A young woman strides up to the booth, and she’s so confident, I have to wonder if she’s the one who received the reward point. Her long, blond ponytail swings jauntily as she walks. In leggings and a grey sweatshirt, she stands out from the rest of us. I’m jealous. Not just because of her attire, although I’m very envious of those leggings. She seems utterly relaxed.
The second she picks up the gun, her experience is obvious. Her comfort with the weapon and each position is clear. She flows smoothly from one step to the next, then shoots.
Jax pulls in the target and flashes her a big smile. “Slightly to the left, but excellent shot. Make sure your grip is tight and completely squared up before you pull the trigger. A centimeter off can change the trajectory.”
Maybe I should practice the positions a few times before the next class.
One by one, the rest of the class takes a turn. At the end, Jax calls out a couple of names for displaying excellent marksmanship. The young woman pumps her fist when he calls her name.
He dismisses us, and I watch her stride up to him.
“Where did you learn to shoot?” he asks her, as she reaches his side.
“My dad was a cop,” she admits with a sad smile. “He taught me. I wasn’t very good, but circumstances force you to get better in a hurry.”
Hopefully that will be me in a couple of weeks… or months. I’m not sure. To be honest, the gun scares me, but I like Jax. He’s blunt but also really passionate about learning to shoot the right way. Although his personality is a bit intense, his handsome, relaxed surfer looks help balance it out.
As I leave the range, I see the big red sign Gabe pointed out earlier today, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s huge. No wonder he was so pissed off. After getting to know Jax a little better this afternoon, I’m surprised he wasn’t, though. I glance back at him and see his bright blue eyes staring directly at me. Blushing, I duck my head and turn back around. There are way too many good-looking men here. It’s almost annoying.