AN: I am sorry for the delay. I struggled with the last chapter. Please show this work some love. It keeps me motivated. Happy reading!
Vince might have a pretty face, but his forearms look like they're sculpted from granite, and I can't help but stare at them as he stands beside me.
He wears a simple black T-shirt that showcases his powerful build, and his movements are economical and precise. He holds a standard issue service pistol in his hands.
"Alright, Madam," Vince's voice is a low rumble.
"Just call me Tyr. It's odd being called madam," I say, tearing my eyes away from his biceps.
Vince smiles. "Okay, Tyr. I see a little apprehension in those eyes. Have you ever used one of these before?"
I nod, my gaze fixed on the cool, dark metal of the handgun. "Yes. My dad taught me, but my aim was always... bad. I could hit anything but not what I was actually aiming at."
