Page 32 of The B!tch is Bad

Chapter Ten

Patience

“All right, stand straight on the shooting line. Relax. You want to grasp the pistol firmly, but not so your knuckles turn white.”

Knuckles? My entire spirit was white I was so tense.

How many times did I have to remind my cerebellum to loosen my grip? I was so overloaded with conflicting, intense emotions. The need to murder Fingerhut. The terror of going to jail for it. Railing at the injustice of the need to defend myself. The slow burn, bittersweet memory of Creed’s cock flooding my throat.

Lytton touched my shoulders with his fingertips, adjusting me like an x-ray technician. He was muted under the protection of my earmuffs. “Remember, just lightly squeeze the trigger with your first finger joint. You’re good to go.”

Squeezing the trigger of the 9 mm Springfield, the explosive report was so strong my arms recoiled a few inches. But I held fast, and felt like I’d at least smashed the inner bullseye ring ten yards away.

The joy in Lytton’s words told me I’d done so.“Right on, woman! See, I always say women are better shots than men. They listen better. Creed, all clear?”

In the next lane, Creed slid his safety glasses on top of his shiny head. “Clear.” He didn’t sound so certain.

Lytton repeated his safety instructions. Drop the magazine, pull back and lock the slide open, place everything on the shooting bench, and step back. Although we were on Bare Bones private property on Mescal Mountain, I admired the way Lytton adhered to rules. He even had Tuzigoot and Duji as range masters, sitting off to the side sharing pictures of their grandkids on their phones. They barely glanced at our pieces before yelling, “Clear!”

In my excitement, I was the first to get to my target. Yes indeed, I had smacked a blob within the bullseye range.

“You nailed it!” bellowed Lytton, although I hadn’t, not in the X-ring.

From his frown, I could tell Creed hadn’t done as well. In all his years of music and film producing, authoring crossword puzzles, and collecting art, he’d never shot a gun?

Some of his shots had gone wild of the target, punching into the clay berm behind. Four shots drilled the silhouette’s shoulders. We’d fired ten rounds, and all of mine had pierced the splatter target. Creed’s best had hit the seven ring.

“Very good!” My voice rang false. I hoped it didn’t sound too obvious when I said, “Lytton, this time you help Creed.”

“Sure,” Lytton said. “Let me put up fresh targets. We’ll keep going ‘til it feels natural to you.”

Creed and I walked back downrange holding our holey targets. November was idyllic for being outdoors on this plateau behind the Citadel, Bare Bones HQ for their construction company. The disused silver army hangar reflected like passing smoke against Creed’s sculpted face. The safety glasses lodged over his skull mirrored a half-moon in the sky I hadn’t noticed.

Creed grinned at the ground. “You’re already a natural.”

We stood well behind the shooting benches. On their tall stools, the relaxed Boners admired their relatives. Tuzigoot said, “Mateo, he finally stopped doing raves and sideshows and hitting the pipe. He entered the laborer’s union as an apprentice.”

Duji asked, “He working for Illuminati Trucking?”

Tuzigoot smiled, revealing teeth of many shades of black. “Yeah. Yesterday he got stuck in his first port-a-potty.”

“Good show. That’s the only way to learn.”

“The journeyman sent him to the supplier asking for blue steam and sky hooks.”

Duji slapped his thigh. “Good one! I once asked my apprentice to catch sparks in a bucket.” Duji still worked as an electrician.

I told Creed, “Not really. I think I’m just so determined, you know? The whole scene with that narc really shook me.”

“I can’t blame you,” said Creed. “You felt Slayer deprived you of your revenge, but we have to leave things to these guys.”

My mouth was a thin line. “I know. We’re learning to shoot in case of a dire emergency. I really don’t know why Fingerhut can’t just get a new fucking wife to beat on.”

“Your mother is probably pressuring him to find you. You being her sole support and all. Hey, I could just wire her money directly if you want.”

I scoffed. “Not that bitch. I couldn’t care less if she has to go on food stamps. You know what she used to yell at me? ‘Constant, I’ve worked so hard to support your dreams and wishes! I’ve always helped you out of hardships!’ Yet my modeling was her dream. I went to the fucking pigs at least four times, bleeding and bruised, to get a restraining order against Fingerhut. No go. They’d just add to the insults against me. He was powerful around there. I once went to the abused women’s shelter and of course the pigs told him where I was. I had nowhere to run.” I loved the way Creed petted my face with the back of his hand.

The night before, returning home around midnight, shattered and ruined, we’d just slid into his bed naked. I think I was already slipping into darkness when his heated, muscular torso cuddled my bare back. I remember gasping and tensing as an automatic reaction, but when my brain relayed that it was him, it injected tranquilizers into my autoimmune system.