Chapter Five #3
I drove into her relentlessly, my own control slipping with each thrust. “Come with me, Jade. Now.”
Her back arched off the bed as she shattered, her inner walls clamping down on me in waves that triggered my own release. I buried myself deep, groaning her name as I emptied inside her, pleasure radiating through every inch of my body.
For a long moment, we stayed connected, breathing hard, our sweat-slick bodies pressed together. I braced myself on my forearms to keep from crushing her, my forehead resting against hers. Her fingers traced patterns on my back, gentle now where they had been desperate moments before.
I’d never felt anything like it, and I knew she was my one and only.
* * *
The range sat behind the shop, a rough strip of cleared ground pressed up against a dirt berm.
Targets leaned crooked against wooden frames, scarred and taped over from years of use.
This place existed for blowing off steam, not ceremony.
Lately, it doubled as a reminder helpless didn’t have to be permanent.
I’d spent plenty of time out here. Shooting alone. Running drills with brothers who needed rust shaken off. Breaking in Prospects who still flinched at loud noises.
Never brought a woman.
Jade stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself against the morning chill.
Frost clung to the grass, glittering in early light.
She wore jeans Casey and Maui had picked up for her last night, a long-sleeved shirt, and my hoodie.
The sleeves swallowed her hands. Though the hood hung down her back, I could tell she wanted to pull the fabric over her head and disappear.
“You’re sure about this?” she asked, voice quiet but steady -- not afraid so much as measuring the situation.
I nudged the folding table with my boot where the pistol waited. “Last night you told me you were tired of being scared.” My eyes met hers. “Learning this fixes part of your problem. You never have to use a gun. The knowledge alone will change everything.”
Her gaze slid to the gun and lingered. Nine mil. Light frame. Easy recoil. Something forgiving.
“I hate guns.”
I gave a single nod. “Makes sense. You haven’t been around men who respect what a gun is for. Roth and his people would’ve used one to scare you into compliance. That’s how they operate -- by preying on fear. A gun itself isn’t the problem. It’s only as dangerous as the hands using it.”
The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re still comparing yourself to a well-trained dog?”
“When something works, I stick with the approach.”
She exhaled a cloud into the cold morning air. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Okay. Show me how.”
I picked up the pistol and cleared it, slowly and deliberately. Slide locked back. Magazine out. Chamber empty. I checked again anyway. Habits kept people alive.
“Rule one,” I said, turning it so she could see. “Treat every gun like it’s loaded until you personally verify otherwise. Even then, don’t point it at anything you aren’t willing to destroy.”
Her brows knit. “Destroy.”
“Not hurt,” I confirmed. “Movies lie. This isn’t about warnings.”
She swallowed but didn’t look away. I showed her the grip. Where her hands should be placed. How her thumbs rested. Feet shoulder-width apart, weight slightly forward, knees soft. I adjusted her elbows, rolled her wrists a fraction.
Every time I touched her, a shiver ran through her. Not panic. Awareness. “You good?” My hands stayed light, steady.
She nodded. “You’re just… close.”
“We can stop anytime.”
“I don’t want to stop.” Her jaw set. “I want to learn.”
“Then you will.” I stepped behind her, close enough to guide without crowding.
Chest brushed her back. My hands settled over hers.
“Sight picture,” I said, nodding toward the silhouette downrange.
“Front sight centered. Equal light on both sides. Breathe in, let half out, then squeeze slow. No jerking. No rushing.”
Her breath came shallow. She followed anyway.
“Finger stays indexed until you’re ready.” I nudged her knuckle into position. “There. Good girl.”
Her inhale hitched. “You can’t say ‘good girl’ while I’m holding a gun.”
“Maybe you shoot me after.”
A shaky laugh broke loose. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Focus.” I stepped back and grabbed the magazine. “Five rounds. See how you handle it. The recoil may be bad, but the noise is probably worse.”
She swallowed. “I’m not ready.”
“Perfect. Means you’re paying attention.”
I seated the magazine, racked the slide, then handed it back grip-first.
“Muzzle downrange. Finger indexed. Take your time.”
Her hands trembled as she raised the gun. She breathed in. Let it out. Lined the sights.
For a second, everything froze.
Then she squeezed.
The crack echoed sharply against the berm. Her body jumped. The round tore through the silhouette’s shoulder.
She lowered the gun immediately, breathing fast. “Fuck.”
“Target’s hit,” I said. “That’s more than most manage on their first try.”
“I felt it in my teeth.”
“That fades.” I kept my voice steady. “Again, if you want.”
She licked her lips. Hesitated. Then lifted the gun again.
This time the shot landed closer to center mass.
Her eyes went wide. “Did I --?”
“Lung shot,” I said. “Bad day for cardboard.”
A small, fierce smile curved her mouth. “Good.”
By the last round, her hands still shook, but control had replaced panic. Three solid hits. One high. One wide.
She set the gun down with care and flexed her fingers. “That felt… powerful.”
“Because it was.” I cleared the weapon again. “You made it do what you wanted.”
She stared at the target. “Can you bring it in?”
I called cease-fire out of habit, then walked downrange and pulled the cardboard free.
She studied the holes in a way I recognized. “I did this.”
“You did.”
“You didn’t swap out the target to make me feel better?”
I met her eyes. “I lie about birthday surprises. I never lie about whether someone can defend themselves.”
A breath left her in something close to relief. “Fair.”
The walk back felt different. Her stride stayed cautious, but confidence straightened her spine. Like she’d grown into herself just a little more.
Inside the clubhouse, noise and warmth swallowed us whole. Casey greeted us at the door, eyes bright. “You alive?”
“Barely,” Jade shot back. “He handed me a murder stick and told me to aim.”
“And you aimed,” I added.
“And I did,” she said, pride sneaking in.
Lunch passed in a blur. We sorted paperwork while kids ran around laughing. Jade seemed to find her place, slipping between moments in a world she no longer feared quite so much.
The sky darkened as night fell again.
When we reached my house, she went to the bedroom and changed. I found her waiting in the doorway, her bare legs beneath my shirt hanging loose on her frame. I caught a flicker of uncertainty cross her face before she spoke.
“Can you just hold me tonight?”
“Yeah,” I answered without pause.
We stretched out side by side on top of the covers. The lamp threw soft light across the room as her fingers drew lazy circles on my chest. Her breath grew steady. Sleep stole over her quietly while I remained awake.
Beyond these walls, danger lurked. Roth continued to breathe somewhere out there. A stranger in an SUV probably watched my house even now.
Inside, Jade slept pressed close, trusting me with her fear, her safety, her future.
Tomorrow would bring plans and orders and consequences.
Tonight, I wrapped my arm around her and held the line.
Whatever came next, I wouldn’t step back.