Chapter 21

Training Camp – Day 14 (Part 3)

I know we must be approaching the end of the hour. So, I'm not surprised when we leave the gym and head up the path that leads to the armoury. This is what I was expecting from the start.

Even I can admit that I've made progress with my fear, but its by far still my weakest skill. And as much as the comfortable thing would be to avoid this, I need to face the reality that this is my immediate future.

The armoury is as cold as always. I can feel the pressure on my chest as soon as I walk in the door. The place freaks me out. On the back of the dream I had last night, my anxiety is high. Not yet panic, but not far off.

"Pick one up," he says, his voice smooth but commanding. I don't look at him, just focus on the cold metal in front of me. I'm shaking already, and I haven't even touched it yet.

I take a breath and grasp the gun in my hand. It doesn't feel any easier than last time. I can feel the panic rising but I push it down. I can't leave this camp without getting over this. I can feel Styles' eyes on me, and I try to block out the way he's studying me. It's like he's expecting the snap and just waiting for it to happen.

I look up at him quickly, a flash of annoyance cutting through the panic.

"I can handle it," I snap, though I can feel the sweat starting to bead on my forehead.

"Alright snappy. Who shat in your cornflakes? I haven't even said anything yet." He sounds amused but I refuse to look at him, his smug expression will only piss me off more.

"Yeah, but you were about to, weren't you?" I reply. There's the defensiveness again.

He shrugs, laughing lightly. "Yes."

I nod to myself, feeling justified by his response.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Someone's an eager beaver today," he replies, clearly still enjoying this interaction.

"I just don't want to have to hold this any longer than necessary," I respond honestly.

"We're keeping it simple. Target practice. The target directly in front of you. Shoot it." He instructs.

I raise the gun. The quicker I do this, no matter how shit of a job I do, the quicker he'll get off my back about it and move on. At least that's the strategy.

"Okay, you're aiming for the head of the target. Go."

"Just give me a second," I mutter, trying to steady myself. My breathing is too fast. My heart's in my throat, and the gun feels heavier with each passing second.

"No. Now," Styles says, taking a step closer. I can feel him beside me, looming, but he doesn't touch me. His proximity is enough to make my skin prickle with a mix of anxiety and something else I can't name.

I try to focus, but the world feels like it's spinning. The target seems miles away, and the weight of the gun is unbearable. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to calm the panic creeping in, but it's no use. The air feels thick, suffocating. Fuck. It's happening.

I hear him sigh behind me, and when I open my eyes, Styles is standing just a bit closer. His breath is warm on the back of my neck as he looks down at the gun in my hands. He knows what's happening.

"Holton," he says, almost too casually. "You think I'm going to let you off the hook? You think you're special?"

I grit my teeth. He's pushing all the wrong buttons—deliberately. Arsehole. My hands tighten around the gun, my knuckles white. I feel like I might snap.

I turn to him, my breath shallow. "Just shut up and give me a minute," I snap, my voice shakier than I'd like.

Regardless, it catches him as his head recoils back slightly and he arches his brow.

"I can let that go. In fact, since you asked sooo politely, you can take all the time you need. I'm sure that'll help you so much when you're out in the field." His voice is dripping with false pleasantries.

And he's done it. Brought up reality. Made me think about the real life repurcussions of this. I swallow hard, my teeth gritting. I can't let him get to me, not now. He knows exactly what he's doing—baiting me, pushing me to the edge. And damn it, it's working.

"Shut up," I repeat under my breath.

He hums quietly behind me, like he's considering whether to back off. But then he doesn't, he goes for the kill.

"I can already hear it now. When I'm talking to the other officers and they ask how my recruits have got on. What will I say? Jefferies, could punch his oppositions lights out without even breaking a sweat. Hawkins, she's got it what takes to hold her own in an interrogation. Cairns, she's an all-rounder, she'd be an asset to your team. Holton? What can I say about Holton? So brave when she's mouthing off. So shaky when it actually counts. Yeah, she'll probably die before the weeks out, and if it's not herself she gets killed, it'll be someone else. She only made it through the course alive because I gave her so much extra help -"

And that's it. That's the last straw.

Before I even register what I'm doing, I spin back to face the target, flick the safety, and raise the gun. My hands are still trembling but my rage does the aiming for me. I squeeze the trigger.

Bang.

The shot rings out, sharp and final. The sound cuts through the armoury like a blade. I'm breathing hard, chest rising and falling as the echo dies away.

I don't even look to see where the bullet landed.

There's a long pause. Then, from behind me, Styles lets out a single amused breath.

"Good girl. Took you fucking long enough."