Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 73043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I grinned when I saw him get his sniper rifle out.
“You normally don’t do that in here,” I said.
The indoor range wasn’t big enough.
“I’m taking it to the back,” he answered.
I nodded in understanding.
In a pinch, Dad used the gun range back behind the building because it was convenient. Any other time he used KPD’s official shooting range since he had to log a certain number of hours each week to stay certified as Kilgore Police Department’s sniper.
Sometimes I went with him, while others I didn’t want to be there for four hours while I watched him do what he’d do.
His work was important, but there was only so much sitting in silence I could take.
Luckily, if he was shooting in the back, that meant he wasn’t going to be there for hours.
First of all, it was only conducive with shorter distances, and second of all, he didn’t shoot very long here.
Meaning it would be a lot more entertaining than usual.
We started out inside, him shooting his service revolver because he got unlimited ammunition for practice with it, while I shot my occasional concealed carry weapon.
I say occasional because it wasn’t often that I carried it.
There was just nowhere to put it.
I didn’t carry a purse, and most of the time, I lived in way too tight jeans. There was just nowhere to put it unless I wanted to wear the leggings that already had the holster sewn into it. And…I was too heavy for those. I wasn’t a size three. Hell, I wasn’t even a size nine or ten. I was size thirteen. I had booty and thighs for days (and sometimes weeks). I wasn’t squeezing my ass into leggings designed for dainty little girls.
But, every once in a while, I wore an actual pair of pants with a belt, and when that happened, I carried. And to carry, according to my father, I had a responsibility. A responsibility to the public which included me keeping my skills sharp.
Yes, that was one of the problems with having a police officer father. You did what he wanted, and you didn’t complain. He knew best, and he always would.
Even when you’re a grown woman with common sense of your own.
Like I was right now.
“Finger off the trig…”
I turned my glare on my father. “Dad, if you say that one more time, I might actually throat punch you.”
I placed the gun on the counter where we were shooting side-by-side and pressed the button for the target to come back to me.
I grinned when I saw the grouping.
“You know you’re impressed with this,” I said to him, gesturing to my target.
“You’re jerking up slightly to the left.”
I turned to find Rafe standing almost directly behind me, and by the looks of his amusement, he’d been standing there long enough for him to hear me threaten to throat punch my father.
I frowned at him.
“How did you know where we were?” I questioned him suspiciously.
“You said you were going to go shoot with your dad, and it was only a guess on my part from there,” he answered, his eyes going to my dad.
I turned to survey him too and saw that he was unsurprised to find Rafe standing there.
“I’ve been telling her about her jerking problem for years now. You telling her isn’t going to stop it,” he said by way of hello.
Rafe shrugged. “If she doesn’t want to be the best…”
I sighed. “Y’all are annoying. I’d like to see you do better.”
Rafe came up to my dad’s side. “May I?”
My dad shrugged and stepped out of the way, and Rafe had a gun out and aimed down range faster than I could blink.
One second it was hidden somewhere, and the next he was unloading a whole freakin’ magazine in the time it took me to draw my next breath.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “You’re fast.”
Rafe produced another magazine from somewhere—his pocket maybe—and slammed it into the butt of his gun before the spent magazine could even hit the floor. The next ten shots came in a slower procession, but no less practiced on Rafe’s part.
It went like that for two more magazines, and then Rafe placed his still smoking gun down on the counter and reached up to bring the target back.
My heart was pounding.
He’d moved so fast.
I’d seen my dad move like that, but Rafe was something else. It was different watching the man you had the hots for do it. It was as if he had a line straight to my vagina!
And God, the muscles in his forearm that bunched with each recoil from his gun—total spank bank material.
“Janie, what the hell?” my dad asked.
I swallowed and bent down to pick up the box of targets that I’d somehow knocked down in my perusal of the man that I loved.
When I stood back up and shuffled the targets into a row, my eyes lit on Rafe, who was watching me with amusement.