Chapter 13 Getting closer

"Orders from your father. As head of security, it's my job to teach you how to protect yourself."

"Why does a politician care so much about self-defense anyway? It's not as if he ever lets me out onto the street," she complained.

A flicker of emotion crossed Richard's face. "You never know what could happen, Jenny." His serious expression took her aback, hinting at the dangers he had likely seen beyond their secure life. Then, his playful demeanor returned. "Besides, it's good discipline, you rapscallion."

Jenny laughed. "I am not a rapscallion!" she retorted, giving him a playful punch on the arm, only to instantly regret it. His solid form likely caused her more pain than it did him.

Richard handed her a water bottle. "You'll want some of this before we start," he advised. Grateful, she accepted it, relishing the first sip as it refreshed her. She managed to stop herself from drinking it all in one go. Richard chuckled at her enthusiasm and began to walk out of the training area, with Jenny following closely behind.

They had to drive to the shooting range. Her father had originally set one up on the property, but moved it to a separate building when her mother began to fall ill, worried that the gunfire might aggravate her condition. Now, their private shooting house was just a fifteen-minute drive away. Like everything her family owned, it was dark in color but warmly lit. There were several lanes for target practice, each equipped with an expensive set of noise-canceling headsets. Large targets with human silhouettes were positioned at the end of each row, and bulletproof glass separated each aisle for safety.

Upon arrival, Richard helped Jenny gear up with her vest and holster. She tried not to shiver when his fingertips brushed against her thighs. He pulled out two pairs of leather gloves from his pockets, handing one pair to her.

Jenny couldn't help but admire him, dressed in his full gear. He looked every bit the part of a bodyguard, exuding strength and lethal grace, yet remaining warm and kind.

He caught her looking, causing her to blush. "Someone looks eager to start her training." His teasing remark made her laugh lightly. He grinned back at her.

"Time to begin," he said.

......

"You don't pull the trigger. You never pull the trigger."

These were the words Richard had told Jenny the first time she held a gun at nine years old. He stood beside her, steadying her hands as she struggled to level the heavy firearm. A gun in her grip felt alien and cold, like holding something both inert and powerful.

It was akin to slipping on a perfect pair of gloves or shifting a car into drive. It felt similar to executing a flawless tennis swing, the satisfying smack as the racket met the ball, or the solid impact of a fist striking a punching bag.

Now, the gun in Jenny's hands felt like an extension of her fingers. She didn't just pull the trigger—she squeezed with her entire hand, breathing steadily, aligning the shot with the quiet pause between heartbeats until it nearly graced the center of the target with a precise, battered hole.

"Almost perfect," Richard remarked, his chin resting on his hand as he studied her marks down the range. "Have you always been off to the right? I seem to remember you having this issue when you were younger."

Jenny nodded, lowering the gun so it pointed safely at the ground in front of them. She lifted her free hand and flexed it, allowing a small 'pop' to be heard as she rolled her wrist, before using it to holster the weapon.

"I broke my wrist, remember? During gymnastics, I landed wrong, and they had to reset it twice. It hasn't been at full strength since."

She recalled the bright pink cast on her hand from that time. At school, it made her quite the celebrity as her classmates clambered to sign it, covering the pink with marker scribbles. In one corner, untouched, was Jessica's signature—everyone knew not to write over it.

"I see," Richard said, taking her hands to examine her wrists closely. He stroked his thumb across the pulse in her right wrist, causing her cheeks to flush with a jolt of awareness. She could almost measure the space left between them. Then, he released her hands and turned back to the targets.

Their shooting practice alternated between slow, focused shots and rapid ones, designed to mimic various scenarios where Jenny might need to use the weapon. Richard instructed her to draw the gun again and take aim. As she did, he moved behind her, his presence a warm sensation against her back through her shirt.

He smelled of soap, a hint of sweat, men's deodorant, and the outdoors—a clean and familiar scent. Jenny wished he had spent more time in the rose garden today, so he'd possess the fragrance of the Richard who occasionally sneaked into her room.

"This is what I want you to do," he instructed, his breath warm against her neck as he leaned closer. Jenny concentrated on the target with intensity until its outline nearly blurred. "Compensate for that weakness by adjusting your stance and straightening this arm slightly. It might take time to master, but it could improve your aim."

"Okay," she replied softly, her eyes meeting his momentarily and finding his gaze already focused intently. She glanced at his mouth, ran her tongue over her bottom lip, and felt a thrilling shiver that seemed to ripple from him to her.

Jenny and Richard stood like that for a moment, feeling his finger gently curl around the trigger alongside hers. They breathed in unison, timing the shot, their hands firm around the metal grip. Jenny could feel his steady heartbeat, mirroring her own, gently swaying them together.

As they fired, Richard absorbed much of the recoil. The bullet pierced the center of the target before vanishing into the material at the end of the range. Richard hesitated, his gaze fixed intently on the bear-shaped target.

"Hey!" Jenny exclaimed, flicking the safety on and lowering the gun. It was her first perfect shot, and she was a bit miffed by Richard's lack of acknowledgment. Instead, he stood there, observing the target as if it was something real they had just brought down. She placed a hand on his forearm, seeking his attention again. "Bullseye!"

"Yeah," he laughed, snapping out of his focus and turning to her. "Let's finish the rest of the exercise before celebrating. Keep that stance and adjust your aim."

Following his guidance, Jenny completed the steady shots, hitting the bullseye with at least half the rounds. Richard remained silent beside her, observing her form with quiet concentration. His attention made her heart race, adding a challenge to her timing, but she managed.

Although Jenny hadn't practiced much lately, the feel of the gun and the satisfaction of the hits just outside the bullseye gave her a renewed sense of self. She adjusted her grip and prepared for the rapid shots, firing at the targets that appeared on either side. Her final shot hit the center of a man-shaped target down the range, prompting her to momentarily imagine Julius's face where the bullet hit.

When she lowered the gun and flicked the safety on, breathing heavily, Richard patted her on the back.

"Good job!" he laughed, waiting for her to holster the gun before retrieving the targets. As he brought them back, he held them up to the light, chuckling. "How can you pick this up so quickly while poor Timothy struggles trying to perfect your stance?"

"Because," Jenny laughed, running her thumb over the gun's grip at her side, "this makes me feel powerful. Training with Timothy, I feel like a rag doll. My body might not be built for combat, but this feels right."