Chapter 137: A Shooting Range
The G-Wagon tore through the city lines, eventually pulling up to a massive, industrial concrete bunker tucked away in a deserted warehouse district.
Above the heavy iron doors, a faded sign read Collins Tactical. It was a shooting range.
As Nat pushed the doors open, the emptiness of the facility made April’s brow twitch.
Right. It was a great idea to follow a psychopath and end up in an abandoned area.
The entire front lobby and the long corridors leading to the indoor firing lanes were completely desolate. No receptionists, no safety officers, no ambient chatter—nothing but the hum of the fluorescent lights.
"Where are the people here?" April asked, her voice echoing slightly against the concrete walls as she adjusted her handbag strap. "Operating a facility without visible safety personnel violates basic administration."
Nat let out a low, rough chuckle, pushing open the heavy glass partition to the premium private lane. "I locked the whole place down for the day, sweetheart. When I’m spending quality time with my favorite seer, I don’t tolerate any random trash lingering around to harass us. It ruins the vibe."
He walked over to a wall locker, punching in a biometric code. The heavy steel door popped open to reveal an immaculate, gleaming rack of high-end firearms—ranging from compact pistols to sleek, matte-black assault rifles.
April took a look at it with no surprise in her eyes. Nat Collins was the Lord of the underground, so it was no surprise that he owned weapons, be it legal or illegal. But since it was a shooting range, it was probably legal. Probably.
"Is this the gift you prepared?" April asked, her expression entirely neutral. "Am I adding this weaponry to my fortress inventory?"
"Be patient, be patient, we’re getting there," Nat smirked, pulling out a heavy, customized tactical pistol and a box of ammunition. He turned to face her, his wild eyes gleaming. "First, I’m going to teach you how to properly put a bullet through a target. A survivalist needs to know how to handle iron."
April didn’t argue.
In her past life, she had never fully handled a firearm. She had seen guns plenty of times, but they were almost exclusively wielded by the brutal raiders and predatory bad guys who roamed the wasteland, using the threat of a bullet to extort weaker survivors for their food and water.
For a low-tier survivor like her, guns had been a symbol of oppression, not a tool she was ever permitted to learn.
But now, she was being handed one to practice. With the apocalypse looming, shooting was a vital survival skill she absolutely needed to acquire—just for learning’s sake since she may probably never get to use the skill.
"Alright," April said flatly. "Teach me."
Nat’s grin softened into something more focused. He reached into the locker and pulled out a pair of snug, reinforced gloves.
Stepping right back into her personal space, he took her small, bare hand in his. His large, calloused fingers were surprisingly steady as he carefully guided her hand into the tight fabric, smoothing the material over her knuckles and tightening the velcro strap around her wrist.
Next, he picked up a pair of noise-canceling electronic headsets.
"Keep your hair tucked," he murmured, his deep voice dropping a fraction lower as he leaned over her, carefully placing the muffs over her ears to muffle the upcoming concussive blasts.
Then came the positioning.
Nat stepped up directly behind her, his large frame completely overlapping her much smaller, slender frame.
The sudden proximity brought a thick wave of awkward tension into the narrow shooting lane, his chest pressing lightly against her back as he reached around her to place the heavy steel pistol into her gloved hands.
"Your shoulders are too tense, sweetheart," Nat muttered, his breath brushing against the side of her neck as his hands firmly adjusted her posture, forcing her shoulders down and wrapping his tattooed arms over hers to steady her weight.
April felt a minor prickle of annoyance at how close he was, but she forced herself to remain calm. She needed his tutelage.
She raised the weapon, looking down the iron sights toward the paper silhouette target fifty yards away, and without a moment of hesitation, she squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The gun kicked violently in her hands. Even with Nat’s weight backing her up, the muzzle flipped upward, and the bullet struck the distant concrete wall, completely missing the paper target.
April frowned, her lips forming a tight line. Why was shooting so difficult? In her past life, every thug and raider made it look entirely effortless.
Even the movies made it seem like child’s play, swirling around with two of these heavy iron rifles and shooting like it was a piece of cake.
But it was not. The recoil was no joke too. Why was everything such a lie? Nothing was easy at all.
"Rough start," Nat chuckled, his voice vibrating through her back.
He adjusted his grip, his large hands sliding directly over hers, his index finger resting on top of hers against the trigger guard to guide her alignment.
He leaned his head forward, his cheek nearly brushing against her temples as he forced her arms to lower by a tiny fraction. "Don’t fight the recoil. Let your body absorb it. Look down the sight..."
Stuck in his tight hold, April casually turned her head to look at him, intending to ask about the grip angle.
But the sudden movement brought their faces so close together that their noses were barely an inch apart and she paused.
This awkwardness with the proximity... She didn’t like it.
Nat’s breathing hitched for a split second, his intense, wild gaze locking directly onto her eyes.
The ambient noise of the firing range seemed to drop into absolute silence. The sudden heaviness of the tension was practically thick enough to suffocate a normal person.
Nat broke the silence first, a low, dangerous smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You should probably keep your eyes on the target, sweetheart... unless you’re planning to shoot me instead."
April didn’t flinch. She kept her face entirely blank, staring at his close profile before slowly turning her head back toward the distant paper. "I don’t know. Maybe I would like to shoot you someday."
Nat blinked, thoroughly caught off guard. "Oh yeah?"
"For target practice, of course," April clarified flatly. "I feel like you would make an excellent moving target."
Nat froze for a split second, and then a sudden, booming laugh ripped from his throat.
His face nearly flushed with a dark, manic rush of adrenaline, his eyes dancing with a wild, unhinged excitement. He was thoroughly enjoying her cold banter far more than he could ever put into words.
"That’s cute," he laughed, his voice dropping into a dark, playful growl as he lowered his body slightly, his chest still flush against her back. "Tell you what, sweetheart... if you ever actually manage to put a bullet in me, I’ll grant you any wish you want."
"I don’t need wishes," April murmured, her finger tightening against the steel under his guidance as she tried to re-align her sight. "Just... give me your protection."
BANG!