Stars & Stripes (Cut & Run #6)(73)
Author: Abigail Roux

Finally, Ty stepped closer to Mark and said something, to which Mark gave him a tolerant look and reached out to fix his shirt cuff for him. Ty thanked him with a smack on his shoulder that sent Mark stumbling sideways, and Ty sauntered up to the judge holding the rifle and took it with an easy grin.

He looked the rifle over and hefted it. “That’s nice,” he said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “What is it, Marlin .44 Special?”

The judge nodded, frowning.

“That’s real nice,” Ty said. He cradled the rifle in the crook of his arm, the muzzle aimed carelessly toward where Stuart stood. Stuart flinched as the barrel swung his way.

“Watch where you aim that damn thing!” Stuart shouted. A round of laughter followed.

“I’m watching,” Ty said, his tone lazy but his words heavy. He rested the rifle in the crook of his arm, using his other hand to discreetly keep the barrel aimed at Stuart as he moved forward to stand on the X marked in the sand.

Stuart sidestepped but couldn’t get out from under Ty’s aim. He flushed in the hot sun. Zane read his lips as he called Ty all kinds of unsavory names.

Annie turned a look of disbelief on Zane, who had to cover his mouth to muffle the laugh. He knew Ty; there was no way he’d pick up that rifle while drunk unless he or someone he loved was threatened. Ty was playing it up. He was also sending Stuart a clear message: they had him in their sights.

“Shooter ready?” the judge called, and Ty brought the six-pound rifle up to snug it against his shoulder. His stance was wide and even, and something about the way his shoulders rounded was incredibly fun to watch. But he was having a hard time gripping the rifle. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd; they expected him to make a fool of himself.

“Zane, I told you we should have cut off this cast,” Ty called out.

He had a point. He couldn’t just switch up and shoot lefty with a rifle. The cartridges were made to eject to the right of the shooter, and if he fired with his left hand, the hot cartridge would eject right into his face after every round.

“Hope he shoots better than he fights,” Stuart said loudly, and another round of laughter followed.

The first shot of the .44 kicked Ty back, but his aim was true and the bullet snapped through the rope just an inch above the weight. A murmur of surprise went through the crowd. He rattled off six more shots in rapid succession, his long fingers cocking the rifle with practiced speed and ease despite the cumbersome cast. Each shot drew more sounds from the crowd, until many were hooting and whistling every time he dropped a target. It was an impressive show.

And then he missed. The eighth rope twisted as the bullet grazed it. A groan ran through the crowd. Ty shrugged his shoulders and looked up from the sights of the rifle. He grumbled something. He tried the next rope and missed again, fraying the rope but not enough to make the lighter weight drop. He graced the crowd with a distinctive curse, held up his broken right hand and waved it, then aimed at the last rope.

The weight dropped with an anticlimactic plop in the sand, followed by a round of rowdy calls.

Ty handed the rifle off, then threw his hands up and took a cheeky bow for the crowd. They ate it up, and Zane had to shake his head. His lover was a born entertainer who liked to kill things. How he wasn’t in a psychiatric ward or on a Most Wanted list somewhere was anyone’s guess.

Zane tore his eyes away from Ty to glance at Stuart. The man looked a little green now, and even Mark was shifting his weight nervously.

“Huh,” Annie said, turning to Zane with a suspicious look.

“What?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “You brought in a ringer.”

Zane’s lips twitched. “No. Although his lethality is a hell of a benefit.”

Annie smacked his arm once, then again, and Zane shoved at her hand, rubbing his arm and laughing. “Hey, I’ve got to shoot. Stop it!”

Annie poked him in the chest. “I have to go home with Mark! You know what kind of mood he’ll be in if you beat him?”

“You’re the one who pushed us to enter!”

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d bomb!”

Zane wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. It hurt to think he’d have to be the one to tell her that her husband was the bad guy, and he hoped Ty was wrong this time. He looked up to see Ty walking—no, swaggering—over to the other shooters waiting their turn. He hugged Annie tighter.

Ty stopped in front of Mark first, smirking, and held out his arm. “Luck must have rubbed off on me,” he said as he swiped at his shirtsleeve. “Want it back?”

“Oh Lord.” Annie shoved at Zane’s chest and walked away. Zane smiled sadly. Annie still thought this was a friendly shooting competition.

Ty came to stand beside Zane, valiantly trying to restrain his grin. Zane glanced at him, snorted, and pressed his lips together hard to stave off the laugh. “You’re such a showboat.”

Ty turned to him, the sun reflecting off his sunglasses as a smile flitted across his lips. He pushed his hat back. “You telling me you didn’t enjoy that?”

“Oh, I enjoyed it a little too much. One down, several to go.” Zane grinned. “And at least you look good.”

Ty clucked his tongue. “Damn good.”

Zane couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand against Ty’s back. Mark took up his spot and readied to shoot.

“Watch this,” Ty said, almost laughing.

“What’d you do?”

The crowd fell quiet. After a few heartbeats, Mark pulled the trigger. His shot grazed the rope but merely frayed it. He had missed the first and easiest shot.

Zane cleared his throat and stared at his boots for a long moment, trying not to tip their hand with his expression. “What’d you do?” he asked Ty under his breath.

“Got in his head, stole his luck,” Ty said. Mark turned to glare at them, and Ty pointedly wiped his imaginary luck off his shirt cuff, still grinning.

Mark rolled his eyes and set up again. He made the next shot, and the next. Ty was still laughing, obviously enjoying the mental game as well as the physical one. This was the same part of Ty that enjoyed profiling.

Mark ended up scoring one less than Ty, and although he looked like he was shaking it off, Zane didn’t miss his narrowed eyes as Mark walked off the range.

“I don’t care if we win,” Zane said as he watched Mark and Annie talk. “But I’d really like to beat him. And Stuart.”

Ty hummed. “Cut my cast off.”