Page 81 of Ricochet

His words stole my defense parked at the back of my throat, and the look on my face must’ve been more of an accusation than what was really spinning through my mind. I hadn’t been expecting him to say that. I’d expected him to tell me I was an idiot—that I should’ve fought harder.

He shook his head. “Years of bruises and scars. You must be exhausted.”

I’d fought every day of my life—even the days it seemed futile—and I’d been tempted to piss Michael off enough for him to kill me. “Thank you.” Lifting the sheets higher, I smiled, though I wanted to bury my face in the pillows and cry. Not for myself. Not for the scars. Not even for what Nick’d said so much as from relief that someone finally understood, finally saw the real me behind the mask I’d been forced to wear. Such a cathartic realization, it made me want to crawl inside of him and stay there forever. “Surely, strong women aren’t wrecked with bruises and scars.”

“You’re a fighter. Your scars aren’t about the rounds you’ve lost. They’re about the ones you walked away from. The ones you survived.”

At his pat to my ass, I twisted into myself to get a look at him as he stood, earning myself a view of the sexy happy trail and the top of the delicious ‘V’ that disappeared into his jeans. “C’mon. Get up.”

“What’s going on?”

Bending forward, he planted a kiss to my temple and whispered, “No questions.”

“And if I don’t want to get out of bed?” My confusion turned to a wily smile.

The raising of his brow coupled with the intensity of his eyes said, I didn’t ask you, I’m telling you. He reached out a hand to me, beckoning me with a flick of his fingers, and I took the bait. After all, how could I deny those beautiful instruments that’d pushed me over the edge more times in one night than I’d ever experienced in my whole life? I rose to meet him, and he dragged me into his body. “Wear something warm.” He kissed me and left the room.

A pair of ripped jeans, a thick, black cable sweater, and the black combat boots made for what I hoped would constitute warm. When I ventured downstairs, Nick jerked his head for me to follow him out back.

Blood still coated the pavement where Blue must’ve been shot. Nick didn’t so much as spare a glance, like he’d told himself not to look at it, as he made his way down the stairs to the back yard. Though abandoned houses could be seen off in the distance, the house sat on a pretty good chunk of property, with a small copse of trees, the sight of which brought a rush of bile to my throat.

He slid a pistol out of a holster at his hip that I hadn’t noticed on the way out. Eyes squinted, he peered down the barrel of the Sig Sauer and pointed it toward a mound of dirt a couple of hundred yards off. “Ever shoot someone?”

“No. Last I checked, hunting people is considered murder.”

His lip kicked up into a smile. “I think you need to learn.”

“Why would I do that?”

Lowering the gun, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “All women should know how to protect themselves.” He motioned for me to stand in front of him and held out a gun to me.

I caught a quick glimpse of his stoic face, then glanced back down to the gun before lifting it from his opened palm. This could be fun.

“How’s it feel?”

I shrugged. “Like a gun in my hand.”

He moved behind me and pointed toward a mound of dirt. “Aim there.”

With my finger half-heartedly curled at the trigger, I lifted the gun and, tilting it sideways like I’d seen gang members do, I aimed it at the mound.

“No, no. Hold it level and keep it upright. Not cocked to the side.” His hands covered mine, and he turned the gun upright. “Gangstas do that shit because it’s a fast way to deliver a bullet, but you want to steady your hand and aim at your target. Grip with both hands. Click the safety off, here.” He pushed my thumb against the hammer and pulled it back. “Ready?”

Oh, yes. The whole experience had me swimming in excitement.

At my nod, his fingers curled around mine. The gun kicked back at the same time a thunderous crack hit my ears. The lingering ring had me working my jaw, as a plume of dust kicked up from the mound of dirt.

“That’s good. Let’s do it again. This time, aim a little higher. You might’ve hit a set of nuts with that one, but nothing that would kill a bastard.”

“What makes you think I didn’t aim there?” I laughed at the roll of his eyes and raised the gun once more. It wasn’t the exhilaration of the weapon itself in my hands that had me excited right then. As he gently guided my aim, I realized it was the excitement of the man putting that power in my hands, adding another layer of appreciation for Nick.

My father was the only man in my life who’d ever made any attempt to empower me like that.

Nick’s chest pressed into my back and his arms wrapped around mine. I wanted to focus on the lesson, but being enveloped in his stiff muscles and his delicious scent left me distracted, burning with a desire that shot through my veins like lust bullets.

Just as before, he squeezed my fingers and the bullet bounced off the dirt. “That’s a little better. Might’ve hit a kidney that time.” He chuckled at my ear.

Smiling, I turned around and held the pistol out to him. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn the gun on you?”