"Hey Judas," one of the teens shouted, pointing a mag pistol down range, "Where's the safety on this thing?"
"First of all," I snapped, coming out from behind a barrel I was setting up as a target, "I don't know how you learned my first name, but if you say it again, I will shoot you myself!"
I tromped up the range. "Secondly, it's
'Jay Arr'
. Not Judas, not Rostbane. J-R. My initials. And third...actually this is the most important and I probably should have led with it..." I mumbled, "The first rule of gun safety is: don't
ever
point a gun at something you don't intend to shoot. And that includes me!" I snatched the gun from the teen's hand. "Go sit down!"
Nineteen-year-old Kolby gave me a hard, aggressive stare, only to meet my harder, aggressiver (more aggressive?) one, honed by age and years of bad attitude. Finally, he huffed a, "Fine!" and dropped his gaze, storming to a seat on one of the upturned crates.
"Anyone else wanna fuck around and find out?" I growled, looking over the assembled teenagers, anger radiating through my Aurawave. They looked at me with wide eyes, but no one responded.
"I wasn't gonna hit you," Kolby mumbled, "I'm a Timeseer..." he finished, referring to the type of savant who could see into the future.
"I don't care," I said, casting my eyes at Sam, off to the side and on a range of his own. It was only his first day and the kid had already laid more bullets on the bullseye than I had in my entire life. "Doesn't mean you know how to use a gun."
I glanced at Sam again. It didn't help that in addition to his Timseer Skill, he was also a Mechanic like his dad—and that man could use any gun without instruction and hit the eye of a needle from 50 yards.
It was bloody unfair, that's what it was. Stupid Mechanics.
"All right," I said to the group, "Before I tell you where the safety is, I'm gonna tell you about gun safety."
I rattled out the rules, "Number two: Treat all guns as though they are loaded. Number three: Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. And number four: always be aware of your target and
what's behind it.
WHICH INCLUDES ME!" I gave Kolby another hard stare and the teen scowled.
Honestly, I found my appointment as "firearms instructor" laughable. There were handfuls of people in the base who were far better shots than me, but for some reason I'd been General Helmsley's first choice. While he told me it was because I had the best form and more extensive firearms knowledge than most, I still wondered what I'd done to piss him off.
Mostly, I thought it was because no one else wanted to do it.
Only once I made sure Liam, Isolde, Ryann, Orlene and yes, even Kolby could spout those rules back to me, then I gave them back their guns.
"Okay, y'all see this little gray switch? That's the safety. Now flick it off and for the love of God,
don't shoot me."
#
"I can't believe you got yourself shot," the doctor, Karl, said in his infuriatingly sexy British accent that was a thousand years too old for him.
"It's not like it's the first time," I grunted as the man dabbed at the wound on my arm with an antiseptic cloth. "This is nothin'."
Karl snuffed.
"Seriously," I said, trying to display my machismo to the handsome doctor on whom I've always had a crush. "This one was worse." I pointed at a much deeper puckered scar just below my final rib on the left side of my abdomen. "Then there's the one on my leg. Haven't walked right since."
"I see," Karl said, washing the wound.
"Wanna see?" I asked through teeth gritted against the pain.
The doctor chuckled. "I'm sure you'd love nothing more than to show me, Rostbane," he said.
"I would," I leaned close, whispering that phrase in Karl's ear. "Also, it's JR," I said for the millionth time in my life. Why was it so hard to get people to call me that?
The man's eyes twinkled, though he pushed me away just slightly. "Why, Lieutenant Rostbane," Karl said, "You're a touch more friendly than usual. The pain meds making you feel
that
good?"
"What?" I asked innocently, screwing my face into a pout, despite the burning in my arm. "Can't a guy engage in a little harmless flirting to pass the time?"
Karl picked up a length of gauze and folded it into a square. The shallow wound had already stopped bleeding, but I supposed the dressing was still a good idea. "Is it harmless, though? I know your tastes swing wide."
I shrugged. "It can be," then I licked my lips, "But it doesn't have to." I winked.
Karl was so close I could pick up his scents despite the overwhelming smell of antiseptic. He smelled clean—he was always so clean—with citrusy soap and a touch of some cologne that reminded me of springtime. Of all the people in the rebel base, Karl was the first one I knew to wear cologne.
And it drove me crazy.
The doctor looked up from his bandaging, gray eyes meeting mine.
"And if it
wasn't
harmless, what would it be, hmm?" he asked with a mysterious little smile on his lips.
I touched his fingertips with my uninjured hand, "Whatever you want it to be."
Karl smirked but didn't pull away. I could see the longing in his eyes, tinged with lust, and a healthy amount of curiosity. Everyone knew Karl was married, but no one knew to whom. And it was clearly not someone in the base. I'd been to his room.
The doctor had a cozy set up, but believe me, it screamed "sophisticated bachelor." Though some people speculated that his husband was made up—part of some grand joke the doctor was playing on the base, I believed him to be real.
Hell, with how mysterious the bugger was, I wouldn't be surprised if Karl's husband was some type of British spy, like 007 or something. Or, maybe he was a POW in some far away prison camp? Either way, that thought only made the doctor more attractive. Yet, I am a man of my morals, however few they were, so I pulled away.
"Would I be...offending the dubious existence of your husband...if I told you I found you very attractive?"
The doctor laughed at my awkwardness. He full on
laughed!
Like my discomfort was