27 Olivia
June 21st, 2022
It was a hike, which I expected after seeing where the building was located.
I kept my distance, remaining a few feet behind him as the nice path turned into a steeper, bumpier trail. It only took five minutes of walking to realize how alone we were in these woods.
Nothing but the sound of distant gunfire and the wind whistling through the trees could be heard for miles. It was crazy how silent it was out here.
But the air?
I inhaled deeply. It smelled just like him. Just like Everett.
My eyes lifted. His motions were as graceful as ever as he traversed the uneven ground. His muscles slid effortlessly under his clothes so perfectly.
He was even wearing blue jeans today rather than his normal suit attire, and while I liked the way he looked in a suit, I did admire the jeans.
This was completely irrational. All of this.
Serial killers were not redeemable. They weren’t good. They weren’t nice. They were killers. Cold-blooded murderers.
And the thing was, I held no crazy ideas that I had the ability to change him. I didn’t want to change him. I held no delusion that he was ‘nice if I dug deep enough’ or that he would kill anyone and everyone but me.
I knew I was going to die when this was over. I knew that. I understood that Everett was who he was and while every piece of me hated that, there was a small part of me that liked it too.
He was a murderer. He beat the shit out of people for a living. It was his job. He took what he wanted, fuck everyone else. He knew who he was and he wore that with a kind of sadistic pride I had become overwhelmingly addicted to.
My skin warmed at the idea of him, and I scowled. “Goddammit,”
I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
Everett asked, looking back.
I hardened my expression, looking towards the trees. “Nothing.”
“He’s using you,”
I lectured myself. “Using your pussy to pay off a debt. Stop being a cock addicted pathetic whore and get over yourself.”
These feelings weren’t real. They were caused by the addiction. They weren’t real.
15 minutes of hiking later and we finally broke through into a large open, meadow made up of dirt and dead grass, the trees cut down in a wide circle with targets set up across the way against a mountainous pile of dirt.
To me it seemed like some backwoods target practice set up by a pair of hillbillies who wanted to play around with guns while they drank without worrying about killing anyone.
But hey, this was the first time I had ever been to a gun range, so perhaps this was just the normal way of doing things nowadays.
I slowed to a stop while Everett made his way to what looked like the center of the tree line on our side of the space, directly across from the targets.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned back to the targets. Black and white bullseyes. I had my doubts that I would even hit them.
Yeah, I fantasized about shooting guns, about the sound of skulls shattering and blood splattering, but I was also rational enough to know that I had never actually shot one.
My aim was going to suck, and Everett was going to make some comment about how I was turned on by the idea but couldn’t actually follow through.
I frowned at the thought. God, this was a terrible idea. Worse than terrible.
“You can’t use a gun with your mind,”
he commented flatly.
My eyes swung back to him. His gloves were off, his jacket unzipped to reveal a regular dark-blue cotton tee. So normal for someone like him. Too normal. “Why are you still wearing that mask?”
I asked instead.
He looked up, his icy blue eyes unwavering. He snapped the magazine into the pistol and straightened. “Because there are always people watching, even when there aren’t.”
He pointed the gun to a spot right in front of him.
That answer was surprisingly truthful, lacking the usual bitterness that he carried, and I hated that. What was up with him today? He was acting strange. Explosive and then fine…
Just like Steven always acted.
I studied his face, pulling a little on my sleeves. But he wasn’t Steven.
Was he?
I lifted my chin, suddenly desperate to get back to the way things had been between us. Fighting, challenging, fucking, storming off. It was normal. It was something I could depend on. “Evelyn doesn’t wear a mask,”
I reminded him.
He pointed to the spot again and didn’t say a word.
I frowned deeply, rolled my eyes, and headed for him. As soon as I stepped up right where he wanted me, he said, “It’s not as important for them to wear masks as it is for us,”
he explained, walking behind me. “Sometimes they do, it’s their choice.”
“Because they’re women?”
I asked, honestly trying to start a fight. Trying to give him a reason to shout, snarl, lecture. Whatever it took to get rid of this feeling growing in my chest. The feelings, the emotions, the fear that he was just another Steven Pelgard, waiting for his chance to flip the script.
“Face the target,”
he instructed evenly.
I worked my jaw and turned towards the target, centering myself on it. “Because they’re women?”
I pushed, glanced back.
He grabbed the top of my head and forced my eyes back on the target.
I jerked my head from his grip and readjusted myself, gripping my hands at my sides. Dick.
“Because their job is to protect us,”
he answered, stepping closer to me. “Protect people from us.”
My breath caught as the heat of his body seeped into my back, my mind slowly going silent of everything but the way he felt standing behind me.
“Because anonymity is power. People fear what they don’t understand, so they either fight it or run from it, but it was never going to last forever,”
he added almost as an afterthought.
He must have shifted the gun into his left hand because a moment later, he was wrapping his right around mine and lifting it up, bringing the gun around and placing it in my hand, encircling me, his breath tickling my skin, my heart skipping as his scent surrounded me. Fuck, sometimes I forgot how tall he was. How big.
I mean, I knew he was big. Muscular, at least six inches taller than me, if not more, but it seemed like so much more like this. It felt like I could disappear into him. Like the world wouldn’t be able to see me standing here. Like I was suddenly invincible because he was standing right behind me, watching.
I swallowed, my mind spinning as he carefully wrapped my hand around the grip. “I assume you know the basics,”
he began, that low rumble of his unforgiving voice seeping into my skin.
My cheeks warmed, and it was an effort not to shift. In fact, I was having a hard time breathing at this point. “Yes,”
I said, my voice a bare whisper. Fuck. Get ahold of yourself.
When he was sure the gun was firmly in my grip, he released it and reached for my other hand. “This is how you hold a gun properly,”
he explained, lifting my other hand and sliding it under the bottom of the gun. He shifted my hands over until I was holding the gun in direct line with my heart. “It helps with the kickback, and it helps with aim if you need to shoot more than once.”
I was only half listening because I already knew this stuff. I knew how to hold a gun, I knew where the safety was, where the release to the mag was, how many bullets were in the gun, and how the kickback of certain guns made it harder to aim at a smaller spot unless you were really good.
This particular semi-auto had a decent kickback. For a newbie like me, it didn’t matter how prepared I thought I was, I would still have to recenter myself after the first shot.
“How do you hold it?”
I asked, turning my head an inch towards his, just enough to see the corner of his eyes.
He looked down, watching me, his pupils wide. “You won’t be able to handle that.”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “How do you hold it?”
I asked, enunciating each word. We were too close. It wouldn’t have been hard to close the distance.
His eyes flicked down, his lips parting for half a second before his mouth snapped shut. A muscle in his jaw feathered and he gestured for me to turn back to the target, so I did, albeit a little more light-headed than before. He took my left hand off, pushing it to my side and guided my right until the gun was directly in front of my shoulder.
The weight of the gun weighed on me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I could do it just like he could.
At least, I would give it my best shot.
“Your aim is going to be worse this way,”
he told me, something in his voice shifting.
I adjusted my footing this time, more determined than ever to prove him wrong. “This is how I want to learn or are you going to order me to shoot differently?”
He straightened, his body less than an inch from mine as his hand wrapped around my hand, mirroring mine. “I’ll just have to be your crutch until you learn how to handle it by yourself,”
he stated chillingly.
I swallowed. “Fine by me.”
It wasn’t fine by me, but now I was on a path, and I couldn’t jump off. I made my choice, now I had to stick with it.
He wrapped his left hand around my left wrist. “Keep this here. The last thing you need in a gun fight is a limb you can’t control.”
His right index finger, still resting over mine, flexed. “Use this to aim. It won’t be perfect for some time, but you’ll get used to the point of reference after some practice. Wherever you’re pointing this finger, that’s where the bullet will go. As for the kickback? It’s going to be hell on your shoulder. Prepare yourself.”
I adjusted myself again, my ass brushing against his hips before my entire body tensed.
“No,”
he told me, releasing my left hand and finding my shoulder. “Do not tense.”
I shivered as his hand encompassed my shoulder, sliding down a little, my sweater falling off, the air drifting over the now exposed skin, causing a shiver to fall through me. “Preparing for a kickback means forcing your body to take it,”
he explained softly. “Tensing your muscles in preparation for the shot.
“If you’re rigid, your motions won’t be fluid. Stay fluid,”
he instructed, turning his head towards me. He smoothed my shoulder down, sliding his hand back, slowly down my back, spreading his fingers across my ribs as he found my side.
Down, down, down, until his hand wrapped around my hip, squeezing gently. “Fluid,”
he instructed, the breath of his words caressing my skin as my muscles relaxed under his touch.
Shit, I couldn’t breathe. I blinked, trying to clear my thoughts.
“This arm,”
he went on, squeezing his hand around my right one as his left remained on my hip, “needs to be ready. Your shoulder is going to take the blow of it, so your stance needs to be perfect in order to compensate.”
He gently moved my hips, kicking at my left foot, guiding it to where it needed to be before doing the same with my right. Every one of his motions gentle, easing, like a real mentor.
A moment later I was pressed fully against him, my heart racing against my ribs. I was starting to forget why we were actually here.
He adjusted my right arm, lifting the gun again until it was level with my shoulder. He cocked the hammer back and put his hand right over mine. “Now, put your finger on the trigger,”
he told me.
I ran my tongue over my lips and did as he said, his own finger following mine. I couldn’t help the way my eyes fell shut, the way my body clocked his heartbeat, the way I wanted to fall into him. It felt good.
My eyes flashed open, my cheeks warming. Holding the gun. Holding the gun felt good, nothing else.
This wasn’t real. He was following orders. Just following orders.
Everett dipped his head down until his lips grazed the shell of my ear, my lips parting, a breath leaving my lungs. “It’s not a skull, but don’t worry, we’ll get there.”
He pressed my finger down before I registered his words, the sound ripping through the trees as the blast reverberated through me, forcing my arm up and my shoulder back, only for Everett to tighten his hold, bringing my arm back down as his left hand gripped my hip, his body forcing me to remain standing.
A rush of adrenaline slammed through me, a smile breaking out across my face as the ringing in my ears slowly faded. I laughed, looking at the gun and then the target. “Holy shit,”
I breathed out, readjusting myself, his hands tightening around me.
“Again,”
he ordered, his own voice slightly breathless.
I aimed, my body trembling in excitement, my confidence growing. Yeah, that was a shock, but it felt so damn good. His finger rested over mine and we pulled the trigger again, the shock vibrating through me, the rush causing my pussy to throb and my hair to stand on end.
I was more braced for it that time, but the feeling of his solid form behind me felt so good. Like I wouldn’t fall. Like I would never fall again.
“Again,”
he instructed.
This time it was me pulling the trigger, his finger lifting, leaving me to make the choice completely on my own.
The holes in the distance were far from perfect, but at least I was hitting the target. It would take a lot of practice, but this was the second best high I had ever felt.
I was panting now, my breathing labored as I pulled the trigger again, getting used to the way it felt in my hand, the sound of his breathing filling my soul, his hand tightening around my left hip as the other fell down to my right hip, my stomach, his fingers spreading.
“Tighten your core,”
he instructed hoarsely.
I did as I was instructed, feeling his hands digging into me as I pulled the trigger again.
He pressed his hand into my core, my body pressing fully against his, our hearts racing, my thighs clenching, stomach warming, and then I felt it. His cock hardening against me. I kept pulling the trigger until the mag was empty, my ears ringing, my heart racing.
Laughing, and high on the feeling of shooting a gun, I pulled out of his grip and took a few steps towards the target, taking in the eight rounds I had put in the paper. None of them close to the center, but a few of them made the second inner circle.
My smile was painful as I spun around, finding his shining eyes, ready to tell him how exciting that was only to slow when I realized that it wasn’t that exciting. Not to him anyway. He was probably born with a gun in his hand. This was pathetic to him, I was sure. Not one of my bullets hit center. Not a single one.
“You’re pathetic, Liv,”
Steven whispered through me, my smile falling.
I swallowed, rolled my shoulders, and tossed another look back to the target, my shoulders falling. It was okay. I did okay, but I could improve. I turned back to him and flipped the gun around in my hand, straightened my spine, and holding it out to him. “I’ll get better,”
I promised him.
His eyes had hardened and chilled, filling with anger. He took the gun from me and released the mag.
I turned back towards the target while he loaded eight more rounds into the gun, my heart still beating irregularly. I could still feel his body pressed against mine, the way he had tensed around me with each pull of the trigger, the way his right hand had started drifting down towards the top of my leggings as if he couldn’t control himself.
He had been correcting my stance, I rationalized, nothing more. Everett didn’t have the capability to care about anything other than the debts he was owed. I knew that, it was my body that needed convincing of the same thing. I had to make the correction, not him.
But his cock hardening, that hadn’t been a lie. That had been real. Maybe he would take another payment today. Was I allowed to ask that? I’d beg if he wanted.
I bit my lip and turned back to him just as something whizzed by my face, a sharp pain slicing through my cheek.
I hissed, slamming my hand over my cheek and pulling it back, finding a streak of blood lining the palm of my hand.
Everett was at my side in a second, grabbing my chin.
My heart slammed as my eyes widened. “Was that a bullet?”
I breathed out. “What the fuck, your guy needs to move these areas further apart,”
I snapped, slamming my bloodied hand into his chest.
But his eyes were on the woods, trained, his body as still as a statue.
My brows furrowed at the shift in his demeanor, and I followed his eyes to the trees, seeing nothing but darkness beyond. It didn’t take me more than a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t an accident. Someone had just tried, and failed, to kill me.
Everett turned back to me, his eyes hard, unwavering. “Run.”
My eyes widened, panic slamming through me. “I’ll get lost.”
“I’ll find you. Run. Now. Stay low, stay hidden until you hear me. Do you understand me? Do not do something stupid like thinking they’ll be anything like me. Just hide and wait.”
Fear flooded through me, instinct had me grabbing his hand. “Everett,”
I said, unsure what else I could say. I didn’t want to go in there alone. I didn’t want to fucking die alone in the woods. I wasn’t just some body. I didn’t want to be shot by his enemies, forgotten forever, my body buried here, my soul lost. Because that’s what would happen. He would leave me here alone, forget about me by tomorrow. I would just be some casualty of a war I knew nothing about.
I didn’t want that.
I didn’t want to be a blip. I couldn’t be a blip.
His eyes flicked to my lips and back. “Olivia,”
he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Run. I will find you. You have my word.”
My eyes filled with tears because I wanted to trust him, I did, but I didn’t know if I could. I couldn’t tell. I trusted Steven in the beginning and look where that got me. I had trusted mom. I wasn’t a good judge of trust, but what choice did I have?
Another bullet whizzed by us, hitting the ground a foot to my left, causing me to jump, a few tears falling.
I glanced at the puff of dust before turning to him, shaking my head, pleading for him not to leave me here to die. “Please,”
I pleaded.
He shoved the gun into my hand and grabbed my jaw, his eyes wild. “I give you my word,”
he said, enunciating each word.
His word. Unbreakable to those with honor. Unbreakable to those who put loyalty and respect above life.
I had to believe him. I had to trust him, I didn’t have a choice.
So, against all reasoning, against every ounce of rationality, I released his hand, turned, and sprinted for the trees.
The Heir She Loved