Gunfire and Roses

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the deserted warehouse, the smell of gunpowder mingling with the musty scent of concrete and dust. The air hung thick and heavy, punctuated by the rhythmic clang of metal against metal as Blair ejected a spent magazine and slammed a fresh one into her Beretta.

She adjusted her stance, her breath steady, her gaze focused on the target downrange. A series of bullet holes clustered around the head and chest of the paper silhouette, testament to her deadly accuracy. But her mind wasn't fully on the task at hand. Images of Victor – his smoldering gaze, the powerful way he'd moved in the fight club, the raw intensity of his kiss – kept intruding, disrupting her focus, making her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her ribs.