Page 9 of Hunted

That hand slid upwards, maddeningly slow, to rest over my stomach. My traitorous lungs hitched.

“Keep your core nice and tight,” he murmured.

I knew he knew it. I bit my lip, my tongue seconds from losing the battle.

That damned hand lingered for a heartbeat longer before creeping up to snake around mine on the gun. I forgot all about my mangled palms. His touch forced every other thought out of my head.

He pressed in even closer, our bodies well and truly touching now. And somehow, despite his stature, he fit perfectly in the hollows my body provided.

Pearce’s breath tickled the shell of my ear as he reached forward to wrap the fingers of his left hand around mine, giving me an up-close and personal view of the neat tally-mark tattoos inked down that forearm.

Not for the first time, I wondered what they meant.

“Look at the target, not at your hands. Keep your right arm straight and your left slightly bent,” he breathed, sliding his left hand up my ribs and down my arm to rest over top of mine. “Good, Sinclair,” he said, not bothering to extricate himself. “Squeeze the trigger on the exhale when you’re ready.”

My breaths came a little quicker than before. My heart danced loudly in my chest. I inhaled deeply, held it for a full three seconds, then let it out and pulled back on the trigger.

BANG.

Bullseye.

My face split into an easy grin.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, and I could have sworn I heard a wink in those two soft words.

And my tiny, stolen, earned moment of elation was ruined a second later by Sebastos fucking Varco.

“Oh, I get it now,” he sneered from the archery station. “That’s how you got to the top of the initiates ladder so quickly, princess. You slept your way there.”

Bodie and Eric both sniggered, spurring him on.

“You can bet there’ll be a Swallow position with your name on it at Graduation.” At those words, my stomach dropped—their insinuation. After all, his daddy was the Commander. “And in the meantime, I’ve got another position you can try out, perfect for swallowing.” Seb spewed the words like poison—and they burned just as badly.

I choked back nausea as he grabbed at his junk in a vulgar gesture, leering at me in a way that promised violence.

Without even thinking, I pivoted, forcing Pearce to take a hasty step back. I stood in the way he’d just shown me, looking down the barrel of the loaded gun pointing at the Commander’s son’s hateful face.

Seb’s eyes widened while mine narrowed in barely contained malice.

Before I could decide whether or not it would be worth pulling the trigger, a low chuckle came from somewhere behind me.

“Consider this a learning opportunity, Varco,” Instructor Pearce growled. “Perhaps you should be more aware of your surroundings… actually have a good, hard look at who you decide to piss off, and what they might be holding in their hands before you do so.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Varco spat, though his brows twitched in concern.

I didn’t move—didn’t blink.

“Wouldn’t I?” I interjected, voice low. Dark. Curious.

I wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t.

Sebastos straightened, seeming to consider Pearce’s words and my countenance. Slowly, he raised both hands in begrudging surrender. His shark eyes glared with abundant hatred, and something a little like fear.

I lifted a solitary brow in response, daring him to try his luck.

“She just hit that target dead centre,” Pearce rumbled, pointing at the handgun target metres away. “And you’re a hell of a lot closer than it is. Care to place bets on her likelihood of missing now?”

Seb remained silent—for once.