Page 148 of Dustwalker

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Lara squeezed the trigger. The pistol fired, its report echoing through the chamber, and her arms jerked, but she maintained her grip and leveled the barrel quickly. Her ears rang despite the earplugs Ronin had given her.

He tipped his head forward, brushing her shoulder with his chin. His solid presence at her back was a big help in controlling the gun, but knowing what to expect made even more of a difference. She’d learned a lot since taking that shot at him back in Cheyenne.

Not that her aim had improved much.

“One foot, two inches to the left and ten inches down from your mark.” Ronin’s voice was clear through the earplugs, thanks to the tiny electronics he said were inside them. That he could measure the distance so accurately was as amazing as it was discouraging.

She glared at him over her shoulder.

He met her gaze and smirked. “It’s a little closer than before.”

“By what? An inch?”

“Five-eighths of an inch, actually.”

Lara rolled her eyes and faced her target—a small circle Ronin had drawn on a wooden board twenty feet away. She couldn’t tell her latest shot from the other holes in the board, but she trusted Ronin’s assessment.

Taking a deep breath, she aimed and pulled the trigger. The pistol boomed again. Wood splintered at the top left corner of the board.

“Closer,” Ronin said. “Only?—”

“What’s the point?” Lara clicked on the safety and lowered her arms. “What kind of damage can this do?”

“None, if you don’t start improving your aim.”

She turned toward him, narrowing her eyes. “Ronin.”

“It depends on what you’re shooting at.”

“You know damn well I’d be shooting at a bot.”

“Not all bots are built like me.” He banged his knuckles on his chest. The solid thud was muted by his clothes and skin, but what lay beneath them wasn’t a mystery. “That pistol would barely put a scratch in my casing. But not all of Warlord’s gearheads are outfitted for war.”

“How much use am I going to be? I’m not a soldier, Ronin. Shouldn’t I leave the shooting to them?”

“You’re the one who insists on going. You know what use you will be, and if it goes as planned, you won’t have to fire a single shot.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “But I won’t have you separated from me without some way to defend yourself.”

“There will be soldiers with me.”

Gripping her shoulders, Ronin turned her back toward the target. He slid his hand slowly along her arm before settling it over hers. “None of them are me.”

Lara’s skin tingled at his touch. When he moved closer, pressing his body to her back, her breath and heart quickened.

In the two and a half months since they’d come to the base, their physical contact had been gentle, warm, and affectionate, but lacked the intimacy she craved. She knew Ronin was worried about hurting her, and she hated that he thought she was so fragile, even after her splint had come off a week ago.

“Both eyes open.” His deep voice was so close to her ear that she could almost feel his non-existent breath against her skin. “Point your whole arm directly at the target, in one straight line. Imagine that line continuing from the barrel and train it on the spot you want to hit. Then squeeze the trigger.”

There’s something else I’d rather imagine in my hands. And it’s not a trigger I want to squeeze.

She switched off the safety and took aim along the barrel. Ronin withdrew his hand. Lara squeezed the trigger three times, pausing between each only long enough to adjust for the recoil.

“Six inches low, two to the?—”

“I’m done.” She plucked out the earplugs and dropped them into the pocket sewn on her skirt. Holding the pistol loosely, she turned to Ronin, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her body against his.

Ronin leaned forward and raised an arm, reaching behind his head to pluck the gun from her grip. He engaged the safety and returned the weapon to the holster on his thigh. “You’re never going to learn anything new if you allow yourself to get so frustrated.”