Page 28 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

LOCKED & LOADED

Maggie

They say you’re always nervous the first time you try something new. But I wasn’t. Not about learning to shoot, anyway. No, I was nervous about continuing this new life, in a new town, with a new set of problems. The kind of problems I had no idea how to handle. Like how to survive.

Not that I wasn’t glad to have Graham by my side teaching me how to protect myself—should he become incapacitated—I would have rather spent my time wooing him with my…

assets. Maybe over dinner, a nice movie by the fire, or a moonlit stroll through the bird sanctuary listening to the calls of the nightbirds.

Instead, here we were in the private shooting lane at Locked & Loaded Gun Emporium , and I was making a goddamn fool of myself with my inability to hit the broad side of a barn with this freaking cannon in my hands.

I took another deep breath and stared down the lane to the silhouette of a man on a paper target.

The overhead lighting was dim, but I was able to line up the sights on the barrel directly to where I wanted it to hit.

The targets of past shooters testing their weapons lined the wall—displaying both the best and worst shots of the day.

If I was lucky, I’d hoped I’d at least be somewhere in between.

Another breath.

Steady. Aim. Fire.

The recoil made me yelp.

It was awful, I didn’t even hit the paper.

My hands stung, and Graham stepped in.

“You’re holding it too soft,” he murmured behind me, his breath skating over the Algiz rune tattoo behind my ear. “Gun’s not a pet, Max. It doesn’t need affection. It needs control.”

My eyebrow lifted.

Max?

I liked it.

“It’s just so heavy.” I said, lining it up with the target again.

He stepped behind me, his body pressing against mine, the heat of his touch did anything but calm my nerves. He placed his hands over mine to steady me.

I gasped and took in his scent.

“If I shoot myself, it’s your fault for being a distraction.” I said under my breath.

He didn’t move away, just held his hands over mine. Kept his breath steady—calm.

Graham spoke low into my ear. “If you’re gonna blame me for making you hot under the collar, princess, at least give me a warning shot first.” I swallowed and turned my head just slightly toward him. His voice sounded different coming through the speaker in the shooting muffs.

“Steady, look at your target,” he growled. “I’ve got you.”

I took a breath and squeezed the trigger.

It hit the outer ring this time.

I laughed breathlessly. What a release. What a thrill.

My confidence spiked just enough.

I glanced over my shoulder at him, eyes sharp.

“You like bossing me around, don’t you?”

“Only when you need it,” he said without missing a beat.

“And if I like it?”

“Then we’ve got bigger problems than your aim.” A cocky grin tugged at the corner of his mouth

Graham reached into his back pocket and pulled out a photo of an old crime scene—hands bound, rose petals.

I flinched at the sight.

“Recognize anything?” He asked.

I stared at the wallpaper in the photo, and a sickening sensation twisted in my gut, “That’s upstairs at the manor,” I whispered.

“I think it’d be a good idea if you got yourself a weapon—and not one from Etsy.” He said curtly, holstering his gun. “I’ll be right back.”

Graham went back inside the gun shop and spoke to the owner behind the counter.

I stared at him through the door, wishing I was checking him out, but my mind was elsewhere.

Someone was murdered inside the manor. I thought they were supposed to divulge that information to the new owners. Or maybe that was only when you were buying the property, not inheriting it.

Either way, it didn’t sit well with me, and I would be cleansing the whole fucking place once I got home.

Graham returned a moment later, this time, he held a pistol that looked like a tiny squirt gun in his large hands.

“Here. Let’s try this one out.”

“You got me a starter pistol?”

He smirked. “Relax, Annie Oakley. It’s deadly enough if you hit something besides the ceiling.”

I ignored him. “What is it?”

”Bersa 380. This one is made specifically for concealed carry. It’s light and less recoil.”

I took the silver and black pistol and held it for a moment, before bringing it up to aim at my target.

“It won’t do quite as much as my SIG. But it’ll still give your opponent a bad day—or worse.”

I took a breath and squared my stance, the way he showed me earlier. Legs shoulder-width apart. Elbows loose. Chest tight with anticipation.

The Bersa did feel better in my hands—lighter, less like a cannon, more like something I might actually be able to control. My fingers curled around the grip, and I adjusted my aim.

“You good?” He asked, standing directly behind me again, still close enough I could feel his breath grazing my neck.

I nodded, ignoring the tingles he sent down my spine, “Yeah.”

Resisting the urge to close my eyes, I squeezed the trigger.

I exhaled sharply, adrenaline mixing with something electric in my blood. I pulled again. And again.

Three shots. A tighter grouping. Right where I wanted them.

“That’s my girl.”

I turned to him, a little breathless, my heart thudding harder than it had any right to.

My girl? Did he just claim me?

“You’re a fast learner,” he said, stepping closer.

I swallowed.

He reached past me to flip the target switch, his chest brushing my back. My body went rigid—partly because of the heat suddenly pressed against me, and partly because the air between us shifted again. Less teacher and student. More something else . “You okay?” He murmured.

I nodded but didn’t move. “Yeah… it’s just—I didn’t expect it to feel…”

“Powerful?” His voice dipped.

I swallowed again. “Yeah.”

He leaned down, lips near my ear. “Good. You should feel powerful.”

The target buzzed toward us, the paper riddled with holes I was suddenly proud of.

He looked at it, then back at me, a small grin tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Again,” he said, hitting the switch, sending the target back into its place.

I waited for it to stop swaying and squeezed off another shot.

Dead center.

I lowered the gun and grinned like I’d just discovered I could breathe fire.

“Jesus,” he said, dragging his gaze over me, “remind me not to piss you off.”

“Too late.”

He closed the distance between us again. Just enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep his eyes in my vision.

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t have to.

“Fair,” he said, “but if you’re gonna shoot me—” he tapped his chest once, right over his heart. “Aim somewhere I’ll feel it.”

I blinked, and let a smirk curl at the corner of my mouth. “Oh don’t worry,” I cocked my head to one side. “I know exactly where to aim.”

He chuffed, then stepped even closer. Close enough that I could smell the faint remnant of his boyish body wash lingering under the trace of worn leather and salt at the base of his neck—somehow making him hotter.

I sucked in a heated breath when his hand dropped to my waist.

“Careful, Cupcake ,” he murmured. “You start making threats… you’d better be ready to cash them.”

My fingers tightened on the grip.

I hated when he called me Cupcake.

But I didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

Not until the world came crashing back in—the sharp scent of the gunpowder, the movement of customers through the window fading into our peripherals.

He pulled back first.

Barely.

“Come on,” he said, “before I forget what the hell we’re here for.”

My mouth went dry.

He gestured to the target again.

“I think this one’s yours. You just sent that guy to hell.” His gaze dipped to the pistol in my hand.

“You buying me a gun now?” I asked, trying—and failing—to be sarcastic.

Graham smirked, stepped back, and gave me space to breathe again.

“Let’s call it an investment in my continued survival.”

I laughed, but it came out shaky. “You think I’m gonna be the one saving your ass next time?”

He met my eyes and lingered there, saying nothing.

The tension sat thick between us—too heavy to ignore, yet too risky to touch.

I cleared my throat and looked away, giving the petite gun another once over and switching on the safety like he taught me before he handed his gun over.

“So what now?” I asked.

Graham’s jaw flexed as he plucked the target off the rail and rolled it into a tube. “Now? We fill out the paperwork for your license to carry, and then we figure out what’s still hiding in that house.”

His eyes lingered on mine. There was something behind them. Something sincere. “Because if someone else comes for you… they’re not walking away.”

We moved in sync, silent but aware of every shift of the other’s body. The range was cleared, gear packed, the scent of gunpowder still clung in the air.

I slid the gun into its case, zipping it shut with hands steadier than they’d been an hour ago.

Graham paid for the gun, filled out the registration paperwork and then studied me as I looked over the selection Locked & Loaded had in stock. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me.

Not just watching—tracking.

I slid the strap of my purse over my shoulder, adjusting it with a tug that made my shirt shift just enough to expose the slope of my collarbone.

He didn’t look away.

“Next time,” he said, his voice like gravel soaked in bourbon, “I’ll show you what to do if someone tries to grab you.”

I paused—just a moment—then turned my head slightly, the edge of my mouth curving.

“And what if I’m the one who wants to do the grabbing?”

Shit, that came out way too fast. I didn’t realize what I’d said until it was too late.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

The corner of his mouth lifted, revealing his crooked fang.

“Then you better know what you’re reaching for.” He pushed off the wall, lazy and predatory. His eyes never left mine.

My pulse betrayed me, it got stuck in my throat. But I turned before he could see the blush bloom on my cheeks, before I could do something stupid—like grab him and beg him to fuck me right there on the sales counter.