10 Scarlett #2
“She also managed to plant wire taps throughout Thomas’s office, Clara’s private sitting room, the upstairs study, and the main conference room.”
Harper’s eyes widen.
“Holy shit.”
“Grant already has a team monitoring the feeds from Knightfall’s main hub,” Declan continues. “If Thomas slips up even once, we’ll know.”
Asher notices my expression immediately and reaches for my hand beneath the counter.
“You’re safe here, Red.” The certainty in his voice somehow calms the panic trying to rise in my chest.
“Come on,” he says after a moment while standing. “Before tutoring starts, let’s go work on getting you comfortable with a gun.”
My nerves immediately return and Asher notices instantly.
“Hey.” He tilts my chin toward him gently. “You trust me?”
“Obviously.”
“Then trust me when I tell you I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
He leads me through the back doors of the house toward the woods behind the property.
I didn’t realize how massive the estate actually was until now.
The backyard stretches endlessly into thick forest and rolling hills, sunlight cutting through the trees in soft golden beams.
Somewhere deeper in the woods I can hear water rushing from the creek bordering the property.
Eventually we reach a large, clear area near the tree line.
A temporary shooting range. Targets are lined up across reinforced barriers while tables hold ammunition, protective gear, and several different firearms laid neatly across black mats. The second I see them, I stop walking. Asher immediately turns back toward me.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Barely.” I glare at him slightly and he smirks.
“We’re starting slow. Nobody expects you to become Lara Croft in one day.”
“That reference alone tells me Harper’s been picking movies again.”
“She’s a terrible influence.” I laugh softly despite my nerves and that seems to relax him too.
He walks over to the table and picks up a handgun before ejecting the magazine and clearing the chamber carefully.
“First rule,” he says seriously. “Treat every weapon like it’s loaded. Always.” I nod carefully.
“Finger stays off the trigger unless you’re ready to fire. Never point it at something you don’t intend to kill.” The bluntness makes me swallow hard. He notices immediately and softens his tone.
“This isn’t about turning you into a killer, Red. It’s about making sure nobody can ever make you helpless again. That hits something deep inside me.
He steps behind me and places the unloaded weapon carefully into my hands. The metal feels heavier than I expected.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Now I’m gonna show you how to safely check the chamber.” His hands cover mine from behind, guiding each movement slowly and patiently.
For the next half hour, Asher walks me through everything slowly and patiently, never once making me feel stupid for not knowing any of it. Every movement is precise, controlled and done with military precision, but somehow gentle too. He starts with loading and unloading the weapon.
“First thing you do every single time you pick up a firearm,” he says while placing the handgun carefully in my hands, “is check if it’s loaded. I don’t care if someone just told you it isn’t. You check yourself.”
He steps behind me, his chest brushing lightly against my back while his hands guide mine.
“This here?” His finger taps the magazine release. “Press it.” I do, and the magazine slides free into my hand.
“Good. Now rack the slide back.” I struggle at first, the spring tighter than I expected. Asher chuckles softly behind me.
“Use your whole hand, baby. Not just your fingers.” He places his larger hand over mine and helps me pull it back until the chamber opens.
“Now look inside.” peer into the gun nervously.
“Empty,” he says. “That’s called clearing the chamber.” He releases the slide smoothly.
“Again.”
I repeat the motions myself this time:
“Perfect,” he murmurs approvingly and something warm spreads through my chest at the praise.
Asher points to the small lever.
“Safety on means the trigger can’t fully engage.” He flips it with his thumb. “Safety off means the weapon’s live.” He hands it back to me.
“Your turn.”
I mimic the motion carefully.
“Good. But don’t rely entirely on the safety.” His voice turns more serious. “The real safety is you. Careless people are what make guns dangerous.”
I nod quietly. That somehow makes sense coming from him.
“This is where most beginners screw up.”
He takes the gun from me briefly before repositioning my hands carefully.
“Dominant hand high on the grip. Tight enough to control recoil, not tight enough to shake.” His fingers adjust mine one by one.
“Other hand wraps here. Thumbs forward.” He lifts my arms slightly.
“See how your wrists are bending?”
I nod.
“Straighten them. You want the recoil traveling through your arms, not snapping your wrists back.” His hands linger over mine while he steadies my grip.
“Better.” The warmth of him behind me is distracting enough that I barely hear the next sentence.
“Eyes up here, Red.”
I blush immediately and he laughs quietly.
“Maybe we should have had Declan or Roman teach me, I feel like you are distracting me.”
“Only me, Red. Always only me” He places a kiss on my neck. Then his tone shifts serious again instantly.
“Now trigger discipline.” He taps my index finger gently.
“This finger does not touch the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. Ever.” He physically moves my finger higher along the side of the frame.
“Right here.”
I glance up at him over my shoulder. “Even if the safety’s on?”
“Even then.” He steps around me and gently nudges my foot outward with his boot.
“Feet shoulder-width apart.” He moves my other foot next.
“Dominant foot slightly back.” I wobble awkwardly and he catches my waist instantly.
“Relax,” he laughs softly. “You look like a newborn deer.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Unfortunately, he’s correct. His hands settle on my hips.
“Lean slightly forward. Not backward. The recoil will push into you, so you want balance.”
He lightly presses between my shoulder blades until my posture shifts.
“There. Stronger already.” I honestly don’t feel stronger. But the way he looks at me makes me want to believe him.
“People panic and hold their breath,” he explains while helping me raise the gun toward the target. “That makes your aim shaky.”
He places one hand over my stomach.
“Slow breath in.” I inhale.
“Hold for a second.” His voice stays low and steady near my ear.
“Now slowly let it out.”
I exhale shakily.
“Feel your body settle?” I nod.
“That’s when you squeeze the trigger. Not pull. Squeeze.” He repeats the process several times until my arms stop trembling so badly.
Every correction is patient, his every touch deliberate.
He never makes me feel weak or incapable.
By the end of it, I realize something surprising.
I’m not scared of the gun anymore. Asher never teaches me like it’s about violence, he teaches me like it’s survival.
Like every lesson is another piece of myself he’s trying to give back to me.
Eventually he positions himself behind me again, adjusting my arms and stance.
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he says quietly near my ear. “Lean forward slightly. Don’t lock your knees.”
His chest presses lightly against my back while he adjusts my grip.
“Like this?”
“Perfect.” Then, because he’s still Asher, he adds:
“You look sexy as hell holding a gun, by the way.” I elbow him lightly.
“Asher.”
“What? Just motivating you.” I shake my head, trying not to laugh.
He has me load a single round into the magazine before helping me aim at the target.
“This one’s real,” he says softly. “But I’m right here.” My stomach flips nervously.
“You ready?” Not even remotely, but I nod anyway.
Asher places protective headphones over my ears before wrapping one arm lightly around my waist from behind.
“Slow breath in.”
I inhale shakily.
“Exhale.”
“Now squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it.”
I focus on the target and pull.
The gun fires with a loud crack through the trees and I immediately jump, spinning toward him in shock.
Asher bursts out laughing.
“Oh my God!” I gasp. “That scared the shit out of me!”
“You did good, baby.”
“I think my soul temporarily left my body.” His grin widens.
“You still hit the target.” I blink.
“What?”
He points toward the paper target and sure enough…I hit it. Not the center, I mean it isn’t even close, but I actually hit it. A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“There she is,” he murmurs quietly.
“What?”
“That smile.” His fingers brush softly across my cheek. “I’d burn the whole world down just to keep seeing it.”
We kept practicing for the next hour. He stayed behind me most of the time, constantly correcting my grip or adjusting my stance with patient instructions spoken low against my ear.
Relax your shoulders. Don’t lock your elbows.
Breathe before you pull. Each time his hands covered mine, steadying the weapon, the nerves in my stomach twisted tighter.
Not because of the gun. Because of him, despite everything happening around us, despite the danger and the constant fear sitting like a weight on my chest, I felt safe out here with him.
Which was probably the most dangerous thing of all.
By the end of the hour, my arms ached and my ears rang faintly from the repeated shots, but I felt…
better. More comfortable, not comfortable enough to actually shoot someone.
I glance down at the handgun in my hands, swallowing hard.
I don’t know if anyone is ever truly prepared for that moment.
To pull a trigger knowing there’s another human being on the other end of it.
Maybe survival just takes over when the time comes.
Maybe instinct decides for you. Or maybe afterward you simply have to live with it.
“All right,” Asher says gently, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Let’s clear it.” He walks me carefully through each step again.
Unload the magazine. Check the chamber. Safety on.
His eyes stay on mine until he’s certain I understand every part of it.
Then he shows me how to lock the guns securely back inside the heavy black safe mounted against the wall of the temporary range.