Blackstone Gun Range Novels & Stories

~Author's POV~ The loud noise of gunfire rang out at the shooting range. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, blending with the cold, metallic scent of used bullets. A man stood at the far end, standing tall and holding a custom black pistol tightly. The paper target in front of him had multiple holes, each shot hitting the mark with precision. A young man in a neat black suit walked over carefully, holding a ringing phone. He paused for a moment before getting closer. "Sir, your phone," the assistant said, reaching out with it.

“I think I’d feel less insane if I had something normal to focus on that wasn’t dead fathers or watching cameras.” Something in me eased at the offer. “Alright. Teach me.” We ended up in the mansion’s private range the next afternoon, a space hidden behind the wine cellar that I hadn’t known existed until Ethan led me down to it. He handed me an unloaded weapon first, walking me through the basics with more patience than I expected.

The whole training arena almost equalled the size of a stadium. Synchronized thuds echoed as multiple men jogged along the extremes of the wide courtyard. The training center, a yolk of several portions dedicated to practice of different weapons. The shooting range, filled with loud bangs from different guns and the scent of gun cleaning solvent apparent. Grey stood in its midst with a certain dislike for every single detail. He was one for Knives, Crossbows, Swords or Sabers, a Morningstar once when he was improvising but guns he hated. His irritation grew to his face as he watched young trainees shoot and miss the targets multiple times, their instructors tired of given the same instructio

I wasn’t built like that. After our third lap, I was finding it really hard to breathe but Justin said that we were finally done with that work out so I could take the pack off and I grabbed my water bottle and we started slowly walking towards the shooting range. Now, that is something I was looking forward to. Standing still while firing a gun. I could do that all day long. “So, what sort of bullets do we use here?” I whispered. And Justin looked around to make sure no one was near us.

" I snap but there's still no answer. I give up, knowing full well that when Aamon doesn't want to talk, he definitely won't. * * * Aamon slams his car door closed and rounds to my side, I fold my hands over my chest, refusing to step out. He holds the door open and glares at me until I feel like the side of my face is melting down. Rolling my eyes, I finally step out of his car. "What is this place?" I ask when I see boards lined up in human form. Realization seeps in when he ushers me to where a pair of guns are set on a small table. A shooting range. "Why are we here?" I ask because I don't trust the guy, what if he's going to use me as a target and kills me then burries me in some godfor

he said lightly. Lie. I knew it. But I didn’t push. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he added, his gaze scanning me like he was trying to figure something out. I lifted my chin. “I could say the same.” His eyes sharpened. “Blackthorn isn’t exactly…” He paused. “…easy to get into.” There it was. The subtle dig. I smiled sweetly. “Good thing I didn’t come here the easy way.” Recognition flickered in his eyes. “Scholarship,” he said.

The Sopttyi District was a smudge of gray in the rearview mirror, and Timothy hadn't looked back once. Grief was a luxury he couldn't afford, not with the weight of two men like Kan and Gideon pressing into his life. Cus was in his element at the Blackwell estate—or "the fortress," as the old soldier called it. Within the first week, Timothy had caught the man actually whistling while he cleaned the armory. The Zions had claimed the thousand-acre perimeter, patrolling the treeline like they’d found holy ground. Timothy had never seen them so at peace.

Throughout the trip, Bentley continued to pamper me with the finest amenities money could buy. However, this fun-filled agenda didn't end at the restaurant. After a few hours had passed and seeing that my body was starting to look more relaxed, Bentley actually took me to a private shooting range located in a hidden area of the district. The place was incredibly luxurious, a far cry from the shabby military training warehouses or police facilities I usually visited. "As a cop, your skills will get rusty if you stay cooped up in Echelon Nine too long without honing your instincts, Kitten," Bentley said casually as he handed me a semi-automatic pistol.

Archer raised himself from his bunk, he had been staring at the same crack in the ceiling for at least an hour now. “Sure,” he said, jumping down from the bunk and kicking his boots on. The two men headed down to the shooting range. It was only a five-minute walk but Archer welcomed the fresh air and the chance to stretch his legs. Blake was already at the range, checking over the rifles. “Hey!” He bumped fists with each of them before passing the rifles over, allowing them to set up position in their lanes. Archer lowered himself to the ground, laying his body flat, and adjusted his sights. Ammo lay beside him in several magazines, he loaded one into the rifle, resting the butt into his sho

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but if the bond snapped, and he didn’t claim you… that’s not nothing. That’s pain. For both of you.” I stared at her. Then turned away. “I’ll meet you outside in ten,” I said flatly. Blackridge’s training grounds were carved into the forest behind the estate. Wide dirt clearings, reinforced dummies, weapons racks. I recognized a few of the patrol wolves from yesterday. They watched me like I was made of acid. Mara tossed me a weighted staff. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” I caught it, took one look at the weapon, and spun it through my fingers with ease.