Blackstone Gun Range Novels & Stories

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

Nothing unnecessary had been said since the car last night and the feeling in the lift was that nothing unnecessary was coming now either. The lift hit the bottom hard. Doors opened. The nice parts of the estate were gone. Just a big concrete box cut into the rock. The air system overhead was loud and losing the fight against the stale air. The smell reached me the second I stepped out... sharp chemicals and something flat and metal underneath. Guns. And the stuff you cleaned them with. A shooting range. A black pistol came up off the table. Magazine pressed in, top pulled back... the sound of it very loud in the concrete room. Set back down.

Lionel mentioned the newly built shooting range on the estate, which was now ready to be used, and he invited them to test it out. When they got there, a few servers immediately brought over all kinds of alcoholic drinks. Phoebe was aware of Stephanie's weak stomach, so she specifically instructed a server to bring over some warm tea for Stephanie. Two of the guests eagerly grabbed the guns and stepped up to the shooting stand. Two shots rang out, and Lionel clapped his hands. "That's an eight and a nine! Well done, both of you." The pair grew more excited, firing a few more shots, though their accuracy was a hit or a miss. They managed to get a few eights and nines here and there, but it wa

His hand hovered at my lower back, not possessive, just there. Outside, the late morning sun cast golden hues over the gravel yard. The scent of oil and powder lingered faintly in the air. The men had set up a makeshift shooting range in the backyard. Plastic bottles lined up along a fallen tree trunk. A few rusted tin cans. Rick released me gently and walked off to join the others—Jace, already geared in black, and Jaxon, shirtless with his sunglasses pushed up his head, holding a rifle like it was a beer bottle.

"My wife, carrying my child, running my legitimate empire. There will always be people who want to use you to get to me." "Your child?" She touched her visible bump. "The baby isn't—" "Is mine." His voice was absolutely certain. "In every way that matters." Before she could argue, he was moving to the weapons case. "Now we learn to shoot." "Dante, I don't think—" "You think too much." He pulled out a sleek black pistol. "This is about instinct, about survival." The shooting range was in the basement, soundproofed and professional. Dante stood behind her as he showed her how to hold the gun, his arms bracketing hers.

He stretched his hand forward, and I took a minute to stare at the dim red lights that emanated behind his locks. I stretched my hands forward, and he raised me up, not letting go of my hands till I could stand properly. The men and ladies who had once fallen to the ground had now regrouped behind Father Timothy, and this time some of them were with pistols. "You monster!!!" They began to chant, their eerie gazes lingering over us as they wielded their weapons. "We're not monsters." I moved forward, stretching my hands in a plight to stop the villagers from moving any further.

It truly began to feel like their home. ............. The next evening... Ethan asked Natasha to meet him behind the mansion. She found him waiting near a modern shooting range tucked away behind a line of tall trees. The space was private and quiet. Several paper targets stood at different distances. Natasha stopped walking. "You brought me to a shooting range?" Ethan nodded. "I did." She looked from the targets to the pistol resting safely inside its case. "I've never even held one." "I know." He replied and she folded her arms. "And you want me to start now?"

Teeth and tongue and the taste of whiskey from the gala. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Stubborn little slut,” he murmurs. Almost fond. The driver clears his throat. “Two minutes.” Damian nods. Pulls a small black pistol from inside his jacket, compact, matte finish. Check the chamber. Hands it to me grip-first. “You know how to use this?” I take it. Heavy. Cold. “Range day with Tunde last year. I can shoot straight.” “Good.” He pulls another from a concealed holster at his ankle. Tucks it into his waistband. “Stay behind me. Only shoot if you have to. Aim center mass. Don’t hesitate.”

She cocks her head to one side. “What?” I ask. “I like this jacket.” I laugh. “This old thing? It’s just Harris tweed.” I grab some cartridges, protective glasses, and some ear defenders and break open the barrel of my gun. “Ready?” I ask her. She nods, and with her Browning shotgun open, we all walk over to the makeshift shooting area that Jenkins has set up with some hay bales. “I have the traps set just beyond that ridge for a low driven target,” Jenkins says.