Read Dealer and his Bestowed Bride (The Rossi Family Mafia Book 2) Online
Authors: Avery Hawkes
Dealer and his Bestowed Bride (The Rossi Family Mafia Book 2)
Chapter Twenty - More Books by Avery Hawkes
Copyright © 2016 Avery Hawkes
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
978-1532848346
Piper
There was nothing better than target practice, especially when said target had a crotch I could aim for.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Smoke rose from the barrel of my pistol. I held the gun up for a few moments after I had finished shooting. I stared at the paper target at the far side of the field. It was a ¾ body target and all of the bullets had pierced its groin. Okay, so it was childish to aim for a piece of paper’s jewels, but a day at the range was better than therapy for me.
I sighed and placed the gun down before me carefully. It was a Taurus and I was sorely in need of an upgrade. I was used to firearms that were sleek, sexy and didn’t jam every other shot. I’d had to leave them all behind in a hurry and I was strapped for cash. So a Taurus it was.
I pressed the button to start the motor, bringing the paper target forward. When I was able to get a better look at it, I saw all of the holes were less than a few inches away from each other.
As I was admiring my work, I felt something touch the small of my back behind me. I grabbed my gun, a bad habit at a range. It took everything in me not to swing around and hit whoever touched me in the head. I did however, about jump out of my skin.
“What the-”
“Looks like you missed,” a breathy voice whispered into my ear. The dude sent chills down my spine, and not the good ones.
I turned and pushed the guy away.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” I yelled. “This is a GUN range! You don’t just sneak up on people like that!”
I looked the stranger up and down. He was good looking for a creeper, but that didn’t make up for him touching me without my permission. He wore a T-shirt with an eagle flying against the American flag and a black cap with a flat brim. While he might be good looking to some club rat or street trap, the man looked like trash to me.
I stood before him, waiting for a reply, but not receiving one. Glancing up and down the lanes, I realized that the safety manager was at the far side of the range, helping someone else.
Finally, the man started yakking like nothing ever happened.
“I’m a three-time sharp shooting champion,” he told me, flashing an obnoxious grin. “Maybe I can teach you a few things.”
It wasn’t a question. He stepped forward, piercing my personal bubble and reaching for my gun.
“See, this is how you hold a pistol,” he told me. His grip was alright, but not as firm as it could be. All I did was raise my eyebrows at him.
“You aim for the chest,” he said. “That way you have the best chance of killing him.”
It’s a piece of paper! I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. He was starting to reload my firearm. My eyes darted over to the range employee, who was still focusing on helping someone else down the range. Dammit. I would have to deal with this guy myself.
“Oh, there’s no need,” I said, putting on my best smile. “Thanks for your pointer though.”
“No, no, no,” he had finished reloading my pistol, then turned to look at me. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in toward him, making me bristle.
He was doing that romantic, shooting range move where he wrapped his arms around me in order to show me his stance. Up that close, he smelled like cool ranch Doritos and Bud Lite.
Great. Drinking and giving random women shooting lessons, what could go wrong?
He situated my hands around the firearm awkwardly.
“Put your finger on the trigger,” he told me. Even if it was wrong, I acquiesced. The sooner I shot at the target and he felt good about his teaching, the sooner I could get out of there. Luckily, it was my last clip of ammo. I had hoped going to the range would calm me down, not send me into a panic. The dude pressed the button to send my paper target less than halfway down the lane. He didn’t think I could hit my target that far off. Ha.
There was a part of me that was used to this kind of treatment. I had always been a tomboy, participating in hobbies that were male dominated. Shooting, fishing and playing first-person shooters on my X-box. While most of the guys who surrounded me were great, normal people, there was always one who would want to “show the little lady how it’s done.” Not only was it patronizing and sexist, but it was the worst way to pick up a woman.
“You’ll want to hold your pistol out like this.…” he raised my arms up a little too high. “Then you want to tense your muscles in your abdomen.”
“I got it.” I couldn't help but grow impatient with the man. Just let me shoot already.
My thoughts were cut off as I felt a hand on my stomach. “I told you to tense your abdominal muscles.” He chided.
UGH. That was enough for me. His hand felt like slime against my flat stomach. There was no way I’d let this go on for another minute.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
I emptied the magazine as quickly as possible, my face and body like stone. The man who had his arms around me yelped in surprise. His grip on me loosened as smoke rose from the firearm. I had emptied the magazine, this time aiming for the target. My stance was off by quite a bit because of the bozo behind me, but I had somehow managed to get most of the bullets into the bull’s-eye.
When the shots were fired, I took a few labored breaths, waiting for how he might react to me.
Instead of getting angry, like I expected, he started to laugh. His laugh filled the room and bounced off of the walls. I could feel the rising and falling of his chest behind me before he finally stepped away from me to bring the target forward.
A sigh of relief escaped me as I placed my gun down and started to pack it up.
“You’re a fast learner,” he told me as the target stopped before us. I didn’t look up at it.
“Well I’ve learned from the best,” I retorted. That was true, it just wasn’t him that taught me anything.
“Tell me your name, quick draw” he said.
“It’s Piper.” I grumbled, packing my crappy gun away into my bag.
“Piper, eh? Well I’d like to fill your pipe.”
Oh my God. I hadn’t heard that one before. It took everything not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous it was. Instead, I bit my tongue and started to take my target down.
“So Piper,” he said, getting closer to me again. I wanted to elbow him in the stomach, but didn’t know if he had his own gun on him. My safety was more important than my need to hurt him.
“...You want to give me your number.”
Folding the large target, I finally turned to look the man in the face. He was cocky, to say the least.
“I’m not interested in men.” I replied.
“Ahhhh!” he grinned, “So you’re a lesbian? I bet I could change your mind.”
“I’m not a lesbian.” I told him.
“Then what are you?”
That was a good question. Sure, I was straight, but I had sworn off men for the near future. From my limited experience, all a boyfriend or casual acquaintance added to my life was complication. I hated it when things got messy.
For the past few years, my only boyfriend had been my hand and two glasses of whiskey in the evenings. I had never been in a better relationship. As I looked up at the creeper who had invited himself into my personal space, I realized how much I wasn’t ready for a man to be in my life.
“I’m not interested.” I replied.
“You’re GOING to give me your number,” he said. It was a demand.
“I’m not GOING to give you anything,” I retorted, placing my gun bag and the folded up target into my black messenger bag.
The stranger stepped forward, grabbing my forearm forcefully.
“I’m not budging until you give me a number.”
“Here’s a number for you.” I raised my hand to give him the middle finger. There was no longer a need in me to keep nice and slink away without some sort of confrontation.
The man’s face got red as he realized what I had done.
“You fucking BITCH,” he grabbed my other arm and tried to pull me in, but he was cut off by someone tapping on his shoulder behind him.
I glanced over the douchebag’s shoulder to see a man in a suit waiting patiently. My body tensed automatically. I recognized the man that stood behind him. Even if I was being harassed and assaulted by the stranger, the man in the suit was even more dangerous.
He was middle aged, with a pin-striped suit that was perfectly tailored to his body. He didn’t belong in the range and didn’t wear ear or eye protection. His hair was black, with salt and pepper near the temples.
His name was Armento and he was one of the most dangerous men on the east coast.
“Excuse me,” he cleared his throat and tapped again.
“Back off bro,” the creeper growled, glancing over his shoulder. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”
“I’d appreciate it if you would remove your hands from the lady.”
His grip on my arms tightened, but I didn’t react. There was no way in hell I was going to show weakness around Armento. The man despised weakness, even in women.
“Make me, old man,” he said.
Oh my god.
“If you wish,” Mr. Armento said. He nodded off to his left and then to his right. I couldn’t see the men he nodded to until they were upon us in the box. Both were more than six feet tall, and built like brick walls. Huge, saucepans for hands pried him off of me. He yelled out, but after a second he fell quiet. That’s when I noticed one of them was pressing a gun into his side.
There was no way someone wouldn’t notice. That, and the types of people who frequented the range were on the law’s side. However, no one came to the creeper’s aid.
“Come with us.” Mr. Armento said. They pulled the man away from me and for a second I didn’t realize he was talking to me. When the Mafioso realized I wasn’t following them, he motioned me toward the exit.
I dropped the noise canceling headphones and eyewear at the front desk, but since I was walking with Armento, the range employee waved me on with wide eyes. Mr. Armento was a known face around these parts, and if he was leaving the range without hurting someone, no one wanted to stop him.
“Piper Smith,” I told him before I followed the four men out of the door and onto the streets of New York City.
At the first alleyway, we all turned. My head whipped back and forth, looking to see if there were any people watching from the street. It was late and most New Yorkers had their heads down and didn’t want trouble. They especially didn’t want trouble from a group of large men in an alley.
When I turned to follow them down the alley, piss and garbage hit my nose. It had been warmer than usual for the fall, so that made the problem worse. The only living souls were the pigeons fighting over a pizza crust at the end of the alley. They flapped away as soon as we got within a few feet. I watched as they fluttered up to the rooftops. The sounds of the city echoed in the distance. Yelling, sirens, horns blaring.
