Chapter 25
25
T he shooting range echoes with the steady crack of gunfire as I adjust my grip on the small pistol Beckett gave me a couple of months ago. The air is thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, a smell I’ve come to know well during our training. Beckett stands beside me, his gaze constantly assessing my posture and technique.
“Good,” he says as I line up another shot. “Keep your elbow firm. You’re handling the recoil better.”
I nod, steadying my breathing before firing. The shot lands squarely on the bullseye, and I allow myself a small smile. I’m getting pretty good at this, and knowing I can be lethal with a gun sends a thrill racing through me.
Beckett steps closer, his eyes widening as he tracks my progress, almost like he’s impressed. “You’re picking it up fast. Most people flinch for weeks before they even settle in—let alone hit anything.”
As I reload, Beckett watches me, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “If we’d had you backing us up years ago, maybe this one mission would’ve gone better. The view definitely would’ve improved.”
I glance at him, arching a brow. “Oh yeah? What happened?”
His expression shifts, the humor in his eyes giving way to something more serious. “Let’s just say it involved a hell of a lot of gunfire—and Quinn deciding to turn himself into a human shield.”
I lower the pistol, a knot forming in my chest. “Wait, what? You need to back up and start from the beginning.”
He exhales slowly, his gaze distant. “It was years ago, shortly after we first got started. We were tracking a target in Eastern Europe. The guy had security like you wouldn’t believe—mercenaries with military training, fortified compound, the works. We were deep in hostile territory, and everything was going according to plan… until it wasn’t.”
“What happened?”
“It was my fault,” Beckett says, voice even—but there’s something hollow beneath it. Something that still hasn’t left him. “I got distracted for a minute—long enough for one of their guys to take aim. Quinn saw it. Instead of letting me take the hit, the fucker stepped in.”
My grip tightens around the pistol. A second of hesitation—that’s all it took. “Is that…” My throat tightens. “Is that what those scars on his back are from?”
Beckett nods, his jaw tightening. “Two bullets. One grazed him, the other went clean through. We thought…” He pauses, his voice catching. “We thought we were going to lose him.”
“What did you do?” I ask, taking aim at a fresh target.
“Got him out,” Beckett says, his voice controlled, but guilt lingers beneath it. “He finally collapsed, so Whit and I carried him—the idiot wouldn’t let us fucking help him—through what felt like hell and back. Got him to a private hospital. But not before the asshole nearly got himself killed refusing to leave.”
I blink, lower the pistol slightly, and glance at him. “What do you mean he refused to leave?” The words leave me cold. Quinn’s lack of self-preservation is… worrisome.
Beckett exhales, shaking his head. “The stubborn bastard wouldn’t let us pull him out until the target was neutralized. Two bullets in him, barely able to stand, and he’s telling us to finish the job before thinking about him. Said it’d all be for nothing if we didn’t.”
“Did you?”
“Of course we did,” Beckett says with a sharp laugh. “Didn’t give us a choice—reasoning with him was impossible. The second it was done, we dragged him to a private hospital. One of those places that won’t ask questions as long as you pay upfront. He pulled through—somehow. But ever since then…” He pauses, his gaze locking with mine. “I don’t let myself lose focus. Not for a second. That night, Quinn nearly died because I let my attention slip. Never again.”
The weight of the story settles heavily in my chest, and I wonder if that’s where some of Beckett’s control issues come from. Their dynamic makes more sense now—Beckett’s control balances Quinn’s theatrics. Yet, when it matters, Beckett knows Quinn won’t hesitate.
“Quinn’s always testing the limits, isn’t he?” I ask softly.
“He sure fucking does,” Beckett replies, frustration clear in his voice. “Any way possible. But, at least out there, he does it to make sure we all come out alive. That’s just who he is. But sometimes…” He trails off, his jaw ticking. “Sometimes, it’s more than that. Quinn’s got this never-ending need for adrenaline, always chasing the next high. When things get dangerous, he pushes it as far as he can—every fucking time.”
I glance at him, brow creasing as I try to read the flicker of frustration and concern in his eyes. “You think he’s reckless?”
Beckett lets out a low breath, leaning against the partition. “Reckless isn’t the right word. Calculated, sure, but… like he’s got something to prove, like he doesn’t care if it’s the last thing he does. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s got a death wish.”
I can’t help but picture a future without Quinn, and my throat tightens. “Do you think it has something to do with his family? What if he?—?”
Beckett cuts me off gently before I can spiral further into what ifs. “It doesn’t matter why. What does is making sure he doesn’t take it too far. That’s my job—keeping us all alive, even if Quinn’s hellbent on throwing himself in the fire to get it done.”
I turn back to the target, raising the pistol again. My next shot lands just shy of the bullseye. I grit my teeth and adjust my stance without Beckett having to correct me. The next two shots are near perfect.
“Good,” Beckett says, giving me one of his rare smiles. “Soon you’ll be graduating to something bigger.”
Thinking we’re done for the day, I lower the gun and pull off my ear protection—until Beckett steps in behind me. His hands settle on my hips, firm, possessive. The range is silent, but my pulse pounds. “Don’t stop now.”
I freeze as his fingers brush the waistband of my leggings, sliding them down just enough to expose me to the cool air of the range. My pulse quickens, but I don’t dare turn around.
“Eyes on the target.”
“Beckett,” I start, voice unsteady.
A soft click echoes as he hits a button on the wall, setting up a fresh target—lower than the rest. Before I can protest, he bends me over the partition, one hand firm between my shoulder blades, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
He leans in, breath warm against my ear. “Don’t lose focus, Celest. Now, be a good girl and line up your shot.” He releases my hip long enough for me to hear the sound of his belt unfastening.
“Show me how good you can be,” he murmurs, sending a shiver down my spine. His body drapes over mine before he whispers into my ear. “Now, Celest, when my cock slides between your folds, how soaked are you going to be for me?” Before I can think of a response, he places my ear protection back in place.
I grip the pistol tightly, my breath uneven as he slowly presses into me, filling and stretching every inch of my core until his body is flush against mine. My hands tremble, my head dips for a moment, my mind drowning in him—but his voice cuts through the haze, low and gravelly.
“Focus,” he says. “You can take it. I know you can.”
I raise the gun, taking aim as his hips snap behind me, each of his motions just as deliberate and unrelenting as the man. My body fights to split its attention—the fast, rhythmic pace of his movements threatening to pull me under.
The force of him driving into me pushes my arms across the partition, making the target seem as if it’s moving. I lock my elbows, tighten my shoulders, and pull the trigger. The shot rings out, landing just shy of the bullseye.
“You can do better,” Beckett says, voice rough, and I cry out when I feel his hand smack against my rear. “Again.”
My breaths come in short pants, and I try not to focus on the way he feels moving inside me. I fire again, and this time, the bullet lands dead center.
“Good girl. Now do it again.” A thrill runs through me, mingling with the heat building quickly as he continues to push me. He tests the limits of my focus, and when his hand reaches around, rubbing gentle circles on my clit, I gasp before crying out his name.
I line up the gun with the target again, steadying my breath. His free hand slides up my back, fist in my hair, and tugs my view upward. The shift forces me to lift my arms, readjusting my aim.
I pull the trigger just as he pinches my clit, and I scream my release. I don’t bother checking the target as my body turns into liquid. His hand covers mine, easing the gun from my grip. I watch his fingers move quickly to unload the weapon, rendering it harmless, never slowing his relentless pace. The ear protection is removed, and the sound of our bodies smacking together fills the room.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against my skin as he pulls me up to stand, sliding out of me long enough to spin me around, remove my shoes and pants, and then pick me up. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct as he moves. Seconds later, I feel the cool wall behind me.
He fills me in one thrust, then wraps his hand around my throat, forcing me to meet his eyes. He drives into me like a man possessed, and the cries spilling from my lips are nothing but a chorus of his name on repeat.
“Beckett… please,” I beg, as the tension builds within me again. I feel myself on the precipice, preparing to dive headfirst into pleasure.
“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? So tight and wet for me. I’ll never tire of fucking you, do you understand? We’ll never let you go.” His words are a mix of praise and possession. “You’re ours till the end of time.”
“Yes… yours… Oh God, Beckett. I’m going to…” If you asked me later, I’d swear I was speaking in full sentences. But right now? My brain isn’t capable.
“That’s it, Celest, I want to feel your cunt strangle my cock. Come for me,” he says, his eyes never once leaving mine. “Now.”
I explode.
All I can hear is the static in my ears, my mouth open in a silent scream, and I think my eyes have rolled to the back of my head. Beckett thrusts into me a few more times before filling me with his release.
Our breaths are labored as he drops his head into the crook of my shoulder. We stay like that for a few more minutes, my legs still wrapped around his waist, his body pinning me against the wall as he begins to soften inside me.
When he lifts his head, his lips touch mine and kisses me—unhurried and languid. It’s both sweet and domineering. Slowly, he lowers me to the ground, does his pants back up, and then helps me step into mine. Once we’re both fully dressed, he puts my gun and our ear protection away before coming to stand in front of me.
“You’re stronger than you think, Celest,” he says softly, hands gently holding my head between his callused palms. “Don’t ever forget you’re the badass who hit two perfect bullseyes while be fucked from behind.”
I laugh as he drops his hands, flashing me a smug grin I’ve never seen him wear before. Then, I look over to the target and see two holes nearly on top of each other. I stare at it, two perfect bullseyes staring back at me. Then, I meet Beckett’s gaze.
“Not a chance.”