Blackstone Gun Range Novels & Stories

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?"

"You're somewhat ahead of schedule, but of course you're welcome. Shall we proceed to the library with the others?" "No." His pale blue eyes, cold as ice in winter, meet mine with blatant disdain. "What we have to discuss should be here." I feel Jonathan tense beside me, his protective instincts kicking in. I feel his wolf rising to the surface through our bond, ready to protect me from harm. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're referring to," I say warily. "Oh, don't you?" Blackstone steps further into the hall, and I notice his men move to fill in the doorways behind him, blocking our exits. "Tell me, Lady Whitmore, what do you know of the hunters?"

But every word I thought of felt wrong. So I stayed quiet. We reached the shooting range. It was a private facility—isolated, secure. I had used it myself a hundred times. This was the first time I had brought anyone else. Bella stepped out of the car and looked around. The air was still. The sun was just beginning to warm the morning. Inside, the air smelled of metal and gun oil. I walked to the counter, pulled out a case, and set it down. When I opened it, a sleek black handgun rested on the foam.

“Well, I’ve got your back. Let’s see what secrets the Blackstone Pack holds, then.” As they approached the pack house, Kane’s sharp eyes took in the looming structure of the Blackstone mansion. It was large, formidable, its stone walls framed by tall, ancient trees that created an eerie canopy around it. The pack house sat high on a hill, almost hidden, as if it wanted to keep its secrets close.

“Can you tell us where there is a practice range?” He’d been reading about the Horton Legacy 225 in his sportsman’s magazine and was actually considering getting one, so he was eager to try it out now and see if it was everything the articles and reviews claimed it to be. “Well now,” said the young, freckle faced clerk. “That’s a puzzlement. Let me think.” He scratched the sparse fuzz on his chin as he contemplated where to send us. Las Vegas was geared for gambling and party times and offered little for those who were interested in hunting and the great outdoors. “There’s a place near Pahrump that might let you practice.”

Giovanni stood at the window, sleeves rolled, coffee in hand, watching. “What’s going on?” I asked, pulling on a robe. He turned, and that slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face. “A lesson.” I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of lesson?” “The kind that involves a gun.” I blinked. “You’re joking.” “Do I look like I’m joking?” He didn’t. Ten minutes later, I was standing at the edge of a private shooting range carved into the back of the property. The sun was sharp, the air still carrying the chill of morning. A row of targets stretched before us. Giovanni handed me a sleek, matte-black pistol.

“Yes, ma’am.” I went back out when the sun was already high, burning. The mansion shimmered under its light, deceptive in its calm. I needed to get some air, needed to get rid of the frustration scratching at my insides. The drive to the gun range was quick: fifteen minutes through the city, five into the quiet stretch near the woods. It was almost empty when I got there, with just the faint echo of shots from the far end. I signed in, slipped on the protective gear, and stepped into lane twelve.

He grumbles the last part. What the hell is his problem? I don't want to be here just as the next person. Heck! I Hate it here and I Hate him as well. So he could as well shoot me in the face, while he's at it. "Ugh, fine. Listen carefully, because I don't have all day," Mad Max grumbled, eyeing me in a clueless expression. "A shooting range is a designated area for firing guns. You've got your targets, your shooting stands, and your safety gear. Don't even get me started on safety protocols – you'd probably just get yourself killed." He sneered, holding his temple.

I stormed inside the cabin and grabbed her Glock 43 from her purse. “Hey!” Rain tried to seize the gun from me. “Not my baby!” She makes her bullets, and through years of experimenting with weapons, she perfected the number of groves needed to maximize the range and speed of her guns. I chuckled sarcastically. “You should’ve thought of that earlier!” I ignored her big pleading blue eyes, which saved her through a lot of fuck-ups in the past. I know better than to believe her act. Sloan had Klaus under him, his legs on either side of Klaus’ torso, returning the favor of busting his brows and lips. Ghost and Blade were standing at a safe distance from their bosses, arms crossed in their middle