Chapter 5
Tyson stood close behind me, adjusting my form. With him near, it was hard to focus on the target.
“Remember, slow is smooth. Smooth is fast,” he said in a voice that tingled my spine. In a good way.
The echo of gunfire bounced off cinderblock walls in the enclosed gun range. The ever present smell of gunpowder lingered.
We’d been through the basics when he’d taken me to the range before.
But it had been a long time, and I may have been a little rusty.
Before anything, he went over the rules again.
Consider all guns loaded. Never point a weapon at anything you don’t want to destroy.
Finger off the trigger until the sights are on target. Know your target and what’s behind it.
Before we began, he made me field strip the weapon and put it back together. He taught me a proper stance and grip, and went through dry fire reps. He kept an eye out for muzzle dip and corrected me when necessary.
Finally, it was time for live fire rounds.
I took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.
Pop.
The pistol hammered my palm.
Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel, and gun smoke wafted.
I squeezed off four more rounds.
My eyes narrowed as I looked at the target downrange.
Tyson laughed. "You don't need me. Looks like you’re doing just fine on your own.”
I had put a nice grouping in the kill zone.
Then we did a series of double taps. The natural rise of the barrel after the first shot makes the second tap a headshot, if done correctly.
Pop. Pop.
Then we practiced from a low ready position. Then from a holster.
After several of those, Tyson ran me through a series of timed reload drills.
Afterward, we switched to the rifle—an AR 15. He had me fieldstrip and rebuild. He taught me the proper stance, and we went through the same dry fire drills and mag reloads.
We did it so many times it became a fluid movement. Something I didn't have to think about. A reflex action.
“In the moment, you're going to be nervous, heart racing, sweating. A million thoughts will flood your mind. You won’t have time to think. You have to act. Nobody rises to the occasion—we all sink to the level of our training. So train hard and often.”
"I'm not planning on ever getting into a situation like that again."
"We prepare for war, hoping we never go," he replied.
Then it was time for live fire again. Slow rounds at 15 yards. Then 20 rounds of controlled pairs. Twenty more rounds of standing-to-kneeling. We practiced timed reloads and malfunction drills.
Afterward, we cleared and cased the weapons. My hand, my finger, and my shoulder were already sore. I’m sure they’d be more so in the morning.
We left the indoor range and stepped out into the bright Florida sunshine. As we walked back to my car, Tyson said, “Your homework tonight and every night is 50 dry fire reps with snap caps.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” I said with a mock salute.
As former spec-ops, I couldn’t have asked for a better instructor.
“Seriously. This isn’t a one-and-done. I want you at the range weekly, going through these drills.”
“Ammo is expensive.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
I smiled. “Aw, you care.”
He gave me a look. “When was the last time you were at the range?”
I gave a sheepish shrug. “Life gets hectic.”
“It’s non-negotiable.”
We hopped in my car and went to the Coconut Boxing Gym. Tyson knew the owner, Tommy. He managed a couple of professional fighters, and the gym specialized in Muay Thai and Brazilian Jujitsu as well.
"You need to learn how to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat,” Tyson said. “The goal is to never have to use any of these skills. Your best defense is staying out of trouble in the first place. Don’t slack off on situational awareness.”
A guilty cringe wrinkled my face. “I know. I let my guard down.”
“That’s in the past. Learn from it.”
We warmed up by jogging in place and shadowboxing. We did pushups, bodyweight squats, and burpees. We worked on mobility for the neck, wrist, and shoulders.
“You’ve got to stay loose and limber,” he said.
Tyson taught me proper fight mechanics so I wouldn’t break my hand or my wrist. We focused on palm strikes, horizontal elbows, knees to the body and groin. Low kicks to the shins and knees to disrupt mobility.
He showed me how to get out of various holds—wrist grabs, front choke, rear bear hug.
We went through the motions, slow at first, until they became second nature. We ramped up, getting near full speed.
I was definitely getting a workout in. My heart pounded, and sweat misted my skin. I’m not going to lie, it was a little hot. Tyson grabbed me from behind. I dropped my hips, jammed a heel into his toe, spun around and struck my palm toward his face.
He blocked before I made contact and grabbed my wrist.
“I’m sorry, did I hit you?” I said with wide eyes, worried.
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “But I think you’ve got the concept down.”
I smiled. In a slightly naughty voice, I said, “Can we try the choking thing again?”
He gave me a look.
I made my neck available.
He put his strong hands around my throat. His touch sent a thrill through my body.
“Are you ready?”
“I was born ready,” I replied.
I struck down on his hands and kicked at his groin. He protected himself, and I launched another palm strike toward his chin.
Tyson was a big guy, and I could barely reach him. He blocked, but this time, I caught his lip.
He smiled as he tasted blood. “Yeah, I think you’ve got this down.”
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“I think I’ll live.”
As my boss, there was always a professional line between us.
“I think we should do some mat work. You could pin me down, and I can try to escape.” Now I was asking for trouble.
He knew what I was up to.
Tyson grabbed me and swept my legs as he brought me to the mat gently. He straddled me. “Keep your elbows tight to your ribs. Don’t let me get your arms over your head,” he said, sweeping them up.
We reset.
“Trap my arm,” he said. “Hold it tight to your chest.”
I did.
“Now bridge up, and roll to the trapped side.”
I followed his instructions, bucked him with my hips, and rolled. In an instant, I was on top of him. I struck, and my elbow found his cheek.
“Oh, my God! I’m sorry. I did it again.”
With a playful scowl, he said, “You’re supposed to pull your punches.”
"I know. I just got a little excited." I couldn't resist the urge to kiss his cheek. "Does that feel better?"
I lingered there for a moment.
"Get a room!” Tommy shouted. "What kind of establishment do you think I'm running here?"
Tyson and I stared at each other for a moment. I didn't want to climb off, but I did.
Tyson sprang to his feet. "I think that concludes the lesson for today."
"I feel like I've got so much more to learn," I said, batting my eyelashes at him.
“Practice everything you learned today.”
“Will there be a test?” I said with a little sass.
“Yes. There will be a test.”
“Well, I’m going to need some more mat time.” I was definitely a little hot and bothered. I’d take all the mat time with Tyson I could get.