Chapter 19
KIRA
Atlas gives me a couple of wary looks during breakfast the next day.
They’re quick, but not so subtle that I don’t notice.
I’m about to ask him if they have bad news to tell me, when he says, “Viper would like to go over some basic firearm safety with you. Not firing. Just handling, and only if you’re open to it. ”
“Firearm safety?” It’s the last thing I expected to hear.
“Have you ever fired a gun before?”
I shake my head.
“It’s about preparedness,” he says. “Not fighting.”
I draw in a breath. “Okay.”
He looks uneasy. “You don’t have to, and it doesn’t change how we protect you. It’s just knowledge.”
I glance over at Viper, who has me fixed in his ice-blue gaze. There’s no pressure in the way he’s looking at me, only his usual watchfulness.
“I understand,” I say. “But I want to.”
Mid-morning, Viper leads me outside and down a path toward the shooting range.
“Why the range, if I’m not going to be shooting?” I ask him. At breakfast, Atlas detailed several reasons why I shouldn’t fire a weapon while pregnant, including lead exposure, noise, and the physical impact on the body.
“The range is where we handle guns,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Weather makes it work today, too.”
There’s been a thaw recently, and the snow has receded in areas around the compound. The sky is clear, and the air is cold, but not bitter.
“It’s so quiet out here,” I say. “I’m still not used to it.”
Viper makes a noise in his throat. “Lot of noise in the city. You miss it?” He watches me as if preparing to observe and catalog my answer. From his tone, I get the impression he doesn’t care much for civilization.
“Not really,” I say, “though it’s hard to be objective with all that’s going on.”
Viper nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“I think all this peace and quiet would have unnerved me a few months ago, but now it feels like safety,” I say.
“Quiet does that,” he says.
An older-looking structure off in the distance catches my eye. “Is that the cabin? Atlas and Grizz told me about it.” Viper nods again. “Does anyone ever stay there?”
“Sometimes,” is all he says.
“You, I’m guessing?”
After a pause, he says, “When I need even more quiet.”
I steal glances at him, taking in details from his dark, weathered jacket, that looks like it’s been through several long winters, to his mud-scuffed boots, with the scar on the left toe that’s dented like something heavy might have fallen on it.
The colors he wears are neutral and natural, and I imagine that if he took a few steps off the path, he could blend right into the forest and disappear if he wanted to. “You’re not much of a people person, are you?”
This gets a smirk out of him, and I feel inordinately proud.
“People are overrated,” he says.
“All people?”
His eyes hold mine for a beat, even longer than they usually do. “Not all people,” he says eventually.
The shooting range doesn’t have walls or flashy targets. It’s a clear stretch of ground cut into the slope with packed earth behind it.
Viper pauses at the edge of the clearing, scanning. The lean strength in his frame and the way his muscles move under his jacket have me filled with as much nervous excitement as what we’re about to do.
Standing close, he opens the case and shows me the weapon, a nine-millimeter pistol, he says.
He details the parts, explains how it operates, then talks about how the gun should be used safely.
He shows me that it isn’t loaded, then says, “Before you touch anything, I need you in a stable position.”
I nod, even though my pulse has picked up, not from fear, but awareness of him.
“Plant your feet, and get your balance. You need to know how to center yourself.”
I do as instructed, shifting my weight until he’s satisfied with my stance. He checks the weapon one more time, then sets it in my gloved hands.
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” I tell him.
“Feel the weight. That’s the point.”
My fingers tighten, and of course, he notices.
“Easy. I’ve got you.” His tone is professional, but the words hit differently with him standing so close.
“I’m going to adjust your grip,” he says. “Okay?”
The crisp, clean scent of the man, mingled with earthy notes from his leather gear, occupies my senses even more than the cold metal in my hands, especially when Viper steps behind me.
He’s solid at my back as his hands reach around to cover mine.
He moves my fingers into place without hesitation, the heat of his body seeping into mine, even through all our clothing.
“Finger goes here.” He taps a spot on the side of the pistol. “Always.” After he adjusts my wrists, he reassesses, then says, “You’re balanced. Keep it that way.”
As if that’s easy. As if I can focus while he’s standing so close.
The longer his hands stay around mine, the harder it is to remain unaffected. When he steps away, cold air rushes in to fill the spot where his body heat had been.
“Did you have a lot of experience with guns before you joined the Marines?” I ask, mostly to distract myself.
“Not much.” He takes the weapon out of my hands, giving me a break.
“What made you enlist?”
He lets out a short breath and looks uncomfortable being questioned, if I’m reading him right, but it’s impossible to tell.
“Quickest way out,” he says.
“Out of …?”
Viper stares off into the distance. “My home wasn’t a place you stayed unless you had to. The Marines were … simpler.”
It’s not a word I’d apply to military service. “Simpler? Surely not easy,” I say, mostly thinking out loud.
“Simpler because in the Corps, I knew what I was dealing with.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice, but I can connect the dots and imagine him growing up in some sort of difficult situation. I’d like to know more, but I don’t want to push my luck today.
“I’m glad you got away,” is all I say instead.
He looks at me again, unreadable as always, and simply says, “Me too.”
The wind shifts, and Viper asks if I’m up for more. When I tell him I am, he takes me through the motions again.
Once he’s satisfied, he locks the weapon away and steps back, putting distance between us.
“You did fine,” he says, which I take as high praise from this man of so few words.