Page 90

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GUNS. The mecca. The holy grail. The end-all and be-all of gunsmithing. Bishop’s skin tingled with each boot fall in the parking lot. The wrought-iron gate swung heavy when the impenetrable door clicked open. Security cameras followed every movement as he and Locke stepped inside a place that Bishop had seen in magazine spreads and read folklore about for years.
No one was in the entryway to meet them, though someone had to have seen them coming. “Eyes in the sky maybe?”
“There were enough cameras to have known we were out a mile away.” Locke’s footsteps followed on the polished wood boards behind him. Locke sounded as in awe as Bishop felt. “This place…”
“Right?” They were both field grunts by blood, Special Forces by design. What stood behind these walls was the stuff that starred in their wet dreams.
Bishop ran his hand over the glass cabinets that housed beautiful handcrafted weapons. State of the art. Historic. Everything in between. Hot damn, he could get a hard-on over firepower.
Footsteps pricked his ears, and a lady who looked slightly out of place, with freckles and wearing a non-Sugar-like outfit, appeared. “I’ve been waiting for you three—two?”
“Jax will be here…” Bishop had no idea where that guy was. “Soon, and hell, we’ve been waiting too.” Bishop extended his hand. “Bishop O’Kane.”
“Sarah Gamble.”
“Locke Oliver.”
Sarah swooped her hand out. “Pretty, huh?”
“Gorgeous,” he agreed.
“Want to see the real beauties?” she asked.
“Hell yeah,” Locke said.
Apparently, Locke wasn’t silent when it came to weaponry, just as when it came to defending what was right. He was moving farther and farther into Bishop’s good-guy column.
“Move boots, boys.” Sarah turned, hustling down the hall. There was something inherently badass about a Titan chick. It didn’t seem to matter if she could field strip an AK or breach an insurgent weapons hold, or if she had a baby stuck to her boob at a barbecue or simply showed them down the hall at GUNS. Titan women had a strength about them that was Titan strong.
“Welcome to the workshop.” Sarah stepped aside, and his pulse jumped.
Locke didn’t wait for an invitation. Bishop trailed him, gulping in the sight. The ceiling had to be eighteen feet high. Straight ahead, the GUNS logo greeted everyone who came into the room. A large hammered-metal display of dueling pistols was transposed over the letters G-U-N-S. Working around that were rows of automatic rifles, stacked with variations, carbines to the left, handguns to the right. The spread rippled in size, shape, and brand along the length in a stunning view of armaments.
“I’ve died…” Everywhere he looked, something unbelievable caught his eye.
Workshop tables took up the floor space, and opposite walls held shelving. Parts containers seemed expertly organized, and they were standing in a gun connoisseur’s dream come true.
“As you probably know, this is Sugar’s place.” Sarah walked around a table, rubbing a nonexistent speck of nothingness away. “It had a few versions of its usefulness over the years, but it’s always been the best of the best and always has been GUNS.”
He and Locke nodded like little puppies hoping to be released to the great outdoors. Any second, camo-covered elves would appear as if this was Santa’s gun-making workshop. The place was simply more than he could comprehend, and Bishop had had high hopes.
“GUNS being Sugar’s, and Titan being Jared’s, means you two, or three when Jax finally arrives, can basically write your shopping list. On the table, the catalog is filled with possible customizations, etcetera. Just let me know everything you want. From what you’d like stocked for your everyday carry to what you consider necessities, what’s on your dream list…” Sarah paused and let that sink in. “Andwhat you think might be impossible.”
“Impossible?” Locke asked.
“The woman loves a challenge. Tell Sugar something doesn’t exist, and you might just get it.”
Bishop could attest to her loving a challenge, and damn, making his dream list? While on the payroll at his dream job, standing in his dream store?Solid.And he’d been working with his own dream girl—well, whoa. That was a bit much. He shook his head. That barbecue had thrown him off course.
Bishop recalibrated and focused on the workshop as Sarah tossed pens and a set of keys onto the table. “Enjoy.”
“We’ll do that.” Locke scooped up the key ring and went to the secure shelves, while Bishop paged through the catalog and listing options, eyeing customizations.
Locke dropped a box of rifle grips on the table, then more carefully, laid out scopes. “So.”
“So.” Bishop pushed the catalog aside and stepped to Locke. Talk about tactical optics for the win. This would make any buildout badass. “What are you looking for?”