GUN IN MY HAND

CHAPTER 5: BIRTHDAY WISHES

I'm back, and with more of the mysterious bad boy 😈😏

'I need noise

I need the buzz of a sub

Need the crack of a whip

Need some blood in the cut.'

"Aren't you supposed to go to your booth? You know, to shoot and do what you're here for." I tried not to sound too rude, though my voice was as tense as the rest of my body, and I was crippled when he replied,

"I came here for you."

Me? Once more, my emotions must have been written all over my features, and he was close enough to analyze them precisely and take a great delight in it, because he added, his smirk not leaving his pink lips,

"Pete sent me to give you this."

As crazy as it could sound, my chest relaxed with a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding when he lifted the rifle in his hand toward me.

Of course, he was the owner's nephew. What had I even thought? And how much time had passed that he was already back?

It was clearly more than the few minutes it had felt, yet I needed more gunshots to clear the blur and answer all these questions.

"Um, can I keep the automatic one?" I glanced at the gun my fingers were fiddling with. "I like it better, it..."

"Give you more freedom?" He leaned his head down, letting me glimpse a softer smile on his sharp features when I lifted my gaze again.

Though it didn't last long, and as soon as I replied with a small 'yes', his dimple was back, and with it, the deviousness. 

"I don't know... It's illegal..." His smirk pulled down into a wince for a second, and it was as clear as his eyes that he was more amused than affected by this fact.

I doubted anything could affect him actually. Even when he grabbed the gun in my own hand with a swift movement, he did it with the same nonchalance, not even blinking at my gasp.

"Hey! Please, give it back." I reached my hand out, ready to show him how fast I could be too, when my eyes took in what was on my way to the gun.

His hand and the dark ink that was standing out more than the shiny metal in the bright lighting. So much so that my fingers stopped midair, and as they hovered above his hand, I didn't know if the itch to unwrap his tight grip was to get the gun or just to trace the intriguing patterns that looked like branches and follow their trail along his lengthy fingers.

It was a simple tattoo, nothing extraordinary, at least, next to all the ones he had all over his arms and probably his whole body, and yet the intricate design was catching all my attention, and maybe a little bit of my remaining breath.

"You're asking for a huge favor, and it needs something in return, princess," he drawled, and the rolling syllables yanked me out of whatever trance I'd been in—not the first one with him, and I should have taken it as a warning sign.

Anyway, my fingers froze one inch away from his skin, and the tattoo didn't matter anymore, like everything around in fact.

All that remained in the empty wide room was the echo of this word, more deafening than any gunshot.

'Princess', it was Spencer's nickname for me, one of the many, but also one of the oldest. It went back to one of our first Halloween parties, where I'd wanted to be a pirate like him and many boys, yet my mom had imposed me to be a princess.