The cars took the service track back to the range complex instead of the public approach. By the time they stepped out, the mounted field had moved on. The local director welcomed them briefly without asking about the delay. Gladice was already moving toward the arms table, where several BOAR-29 rifles and P220 pistols had been laid out on a dark cloth.
“Range safety briefing is short here,” she said. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re on target. Don’t point anything at anything you don’t want dead. Sergeant Simington will coordinate your lane assignments and scoring. Any questions?” She looked at Louis first, then Angelique. Neither of them spoke. She handed them ear protection and safety glasses. “Good. Let’s go.”
Angelique took the safety glasses and ear protection. Louis strapped his own goggles on and tried not to look at her. Louis drew the M1911 from inside his jacket and set it on the bench. He shoved the .45 rounds into the magazine with his thumb, one after another, until the pad of it stung.
Louis walked into the second lane. Gladice took the lane to his left. Angelique took the lane to his right. They started with the twenty-five-meter targets. He took the M1911 in both hands and raised it. His fingers dug into the grip. The first shot cracked. The pistol kicked, and he forced it back onto the target. He fired again. The second round landed low and right. He pressed harder until his thumb started to ache.
Louis kept staring at the black center of the target. He did not blink. The front sight blurred at the edges. His finger pressed the trigger again, and Angelique clenching around him came back at once. The front sight slipped right. He fired anyway. The round punched the paper farther right. He reset his hands.
After the third round of shots, Gladice left her lane and came to Louis’s bench.
“Relax your shoulders,” she said beside his ear.
Her palm settled between his shoulder blades. With her other hand, she corrected his grip, keeping the muzzle downrange.
“You’re still fighting the weapon the way you fought that horse,” she said, close to his cheek. “And the way you fought her.”
Louis’s grip tightened on the pistol. Angelique kept her pistol raised in the next lane.
Gladice leaned closer. Gunfire popped down the line. “She’s good. But you’re not as bad as you think you are. Stop trying so hard.”
She set his elbow, pressed his wrist down a fraction, and let her fingers stay there a beat before stepping back. “Show her you can stay steady.”
From the corner of his eye, Louis saw Angelique’s next shot hit low left. She lowered the pistol, breathed once, and raised it again. Her shoulders stayed tight.
Gladice leaned close again. “Tell me, Louis, do you always fuck better than you shoot?”
Louis kept the M1911 pointed downrange and turned his head just enough to look at her. “You talk too much, Sergeant.”
Gladice let go of his wrist, dropped her hand, and slapped him once on the ass before stepping away. Louis jerked. The muzzle dipped before he caught it. He raised the M1911 again. The next three shots stayed on paper. One sat low. One drifted right. The last clipped the edge of the scoring ring.
When he lowered the pistol, he glanced right. Angelique was staring straight ahead, cheeks flushed beneath the safety glasses, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked like she was one wrong word away from either shooting him or dragging him behind the berms again.
Gladice saw that look and enjoyed it. She moved between them, resting a hand briefly on Angelique’s shoulder. “You’re holding back, Angel. Let him see what you can really do.” Then she moved off to speak to the range officer, leaving them alone between the lanes.
Louis cleared his throat and kept his voice low. “You good?”
Angelique didn’t turn her head. She raised the pistol and fired the remaining rounds until the slide locked back on an empty chamber. She dropped the magazine, took another from the bench, seated it hard, and sent the slide forward.
Louis looked back at his own target and decided not to ask again.
Gladice came back from the range officer with a rag in one hand. She leaned against the divider between Louis’s lane and Angelique’s, arms crossed, and looked from Angelique’s target to Louis.
“Getting competitive now?” she asked, voice pitched just loud enough to sound innocent to anyone listening. “Careful, Angel. You keep shooting like that and people might think you’re angry about something.”
Angelique didn’t look at her. She ejected the magazine, checked the chamber, and set the pistol square on the bench. “I’m fine.”
Gladice grinned. “Sure you are.” She glanced at Louis, then back at Angelique. “You know, most people who just got fucked in the dirt have a harder time hiding it. You two are doing admirably. Almost convincing.”
Louis hissed. “Gladice.”
“What?” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m just saying the obvious. The way you’re both gripping those weapons… it’s cute. Like you’re still trying to prove who’s in control after you already lost it together.” She pushed off the divider and stepped closer to Louis again, this time resting her hip against his lane’s table. “Relax your trigger finger, Louis. You’re telegraphing everything.”
Angelique turned her head, the flush on her cheeks deeper now. “You enjoy this far too much.”
“I do,” Gladice smiled. “It’s not every day I get to watch two very important people try to pretend they didn’t just ruin each other behind a tree while the rest of us were being polite.” She leaned in slightly toward Louis, her voice dropped so that only he could hear her. “She’s wet again just thinking about it. I can tell by the way she’s breathing. And you, you’re hard every time you look at her. The pistol’s the only thing keeping your hands busy.”
Louis’s neck burned. He bit down on the answer and shoved a new magazine into the M1911. The baseplate smacked against his palm.
Angelique spoke without turning her head. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just bored.”
Gladice laughed. “Oh, I’m not bored. I’m entertained.”
She crossed to the arms table and picked up one of the BOAR-29 rifles.
“Tell you what. Next round is rifles. Three targets. A hundred, seventy-five, and fifty yards. Fastest clean run wins.” She looked from Angelique to Louis. “Loser serves the other two until midnight. Service will be reasonable and in keeping with the spirit of the Collective. You will assist when asked. You will show proper deference. You will not refuse any order that can be justified as necessary for the group or for the evening’s success.” Her eyes gleamed. “And since we’re all friends here, we’ll keep the definition of ‘reasonable’ flexible.”
She looked between them, eyes bright with mischief. “Unless you’re both too scared to play.”
Angelique looked at Gladice. “Define ‘reasonable.’”
Gladice’s eyes sparkled. “Whatever the winners decide is reasonable. Fetching drinks. Adjusting clothing. Holding doors. Whatever feels… necessary.” She glanced at Louis, then back at Angelique. “Behind closed doors, the definition gets more flexible. That’s the fun part.”
Louis’s pulse kicked harder. If he won, Angelique would have to serve him. She would have to stand in front of him, listen, wait, and do what he asked. He wanted to see that composed face crack again. And Gladice. He wanted to wipe that grin off her face. Winning would put her in his hands until midnight.
“Alright,” he said, voice rough. “I’m in.”
Angelique’s gaze flicked to him. After a moment she gave one short nod. “Fine.”
Gladice’s grin widened. “Excellent. Let’s make it interesting.”
They stepped into the rifle lanes. Louis pulled the BOAR-29 into his shoulder and set his cheek against the stock. The range officer called the drill. Three targets snapped upright downrange. The whistle blew.
Shots came from Louis’s right and left. He kept his eyes on his own front sight. He took the hundred-yard target first. The rifle cracked, and the stock drove into his shoulder. He pulled it back down and fired again. The second hit felt better. Then he shifted to the seventy-five-yard target. The rifle kicked his shoulder again, hard enough to make his teeth meet. He forced the sight back onto the black and fired. The fifty-yard target came faster than he wanted. He moved the rifle across, caught the front sight high, and squeezed anyway. The shot broke before the sight settled. He swore under his breath and dropped the magazine.
When the cease-fire was called, they stepped back and waited while the range officer scored the targets. Gladice had a tight cluster in the center. Angelique was close, but one edge hit on the fifty-yard target cost her. Louis had one high mark on his final target.
The range officer tallied quickly, then looked up. “Sergeant Simington takes first. Miss Bourbon second. Mr. Collins third.”
Louis’s neck burned. Angelique stood still. Her fingers flexed once at her side. Gladice stepped closer. She looked at Louis first.
“Collins, you’ll start by carrying my range bag back to the car. And you’ll address me as ‘ma’am’.” She turned to Angelique. “Angel, you’re with me for the debrief. Louis will clean the weapons while we talk.” Her mouth crooked. “And later… well, I’ll think of something.”
Louis swallowed, then nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
Angelique looked at him sharply, then looked away. She followed Gladice toward the debrief tent without looking back. Louis stayed by the bench, with the range bag at his feet and the rifles still waiting to be cleaned.