Chapter 299


    Chapter 299 Target Practice


    E


    Theughter from Logan was unexpected-a short burst, barely audible over the ambient hum of the


    bar’s patrons. “You’re very funny, E,” he said, shaking his head. I sat up straighter, leveling Logan


    with an icy stare. “I’m dead serious, Logan.”


    His blue eyes bore into mine, trying to gauge if I was joking. “You? A gun?” “Yes,” I replied, unwavering.


    “Growing up, my father made sure I took shooting lessons. For self-defense. Your bodyguard has an


    extra pistol, doesn’t he?”


    Logan’s expression shifted from amusement to contemtion. “You truly think you can handle it?”


    “I wouldn’t be asking if I couldn’t.”


    He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Alright. But you’ll have to prove yourself first.”


    “Prove myself how?” Iughed, looking around. “Don’t tell me your next big reveal of the night is for me


    to shoot the pimp that’s been standing in the corner and giving you dirty res since you beat up one


    of his customers.”


    Logan’s face turned a slight shade of red, but only momentarily.


    “No,” he said. “Come on. I’ll show you.”


    As the music andughter reverberated through the bar, Logan took my hand and guided me away


    from the throng of people, making sure we went unnoticed.


    On our way to the elevator, he made a quick detour to the bar, grabbing empty beer bottles that had


    been discarded by the party-goers. Their green ss glinted with remnants of liquid under the dim


    chandeliers.


    “Are you nning to recycle those or something?” I asked.


    He smirked. “You’ll see.”


    We stepped into the elevator, where Logan pressed the round button that said “B”. As we took it down,


    the air was silent, save for the rhythmic dings of the elevator as we gradually descended each floor.


    “So, Alpha Princess E took shooting lessons, huh?” Logan asked, ncing over at me. “Color me


    surprised.”


    “Why so surprised?” I asked, “It was important for my safety. My father wouldn’t have it any other way.”


    He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Just didn’t think he’d be the type. He must be an interesting


    person.”


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    I smirked. “You have no idea.”


    There was a slight pause before Logan, with a side nce, added, “Clearly, the apple doesn’t fall far


    from the tree.”


    I tilted my head, the hint of a smile forming. “What do you mean?” I asked. He hesitated, then finally


    said, “I find you… very interesting, E.”


    Surprised by his candidness, I tried to keep my face neutral. “Do you?”


    He looked a tad embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but when I first met you, I had some preconceived notions.


    Thought you’d be just another wealthy heiress, more interested in designer shoes than real-world


    skills.”


    I frowned slightly, taken aback by his frankness.


    “And now?” He smiled, genuine and warm. “Now, I’m d to admit I was wrong. I’m pleased to get to


    know the real E, and not just the tabloid version.”


    I found myself taken aback, not expecting such raw honesty. A thousand retorts rushed to my mind, but


    instead of voicing any, I chose silence. Ema whispered, “He’s being sweet.”


    But getting close was not on my agenda. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” I finally said, my


    voice cool. Logan chuckled. “I’ve learnt that now.”


    The elevator continued its descent, the seconds ticking away, making the atmosphere grow thicker. “I


    look forward to meeting your father one day,” Logan remarked, breaking the silence.


    Inside, I recoiled. I knew that Logan meeting my father was one of the stiptions of our arrangement,


    but thinking about it still made me ufortable. The thought of my straight-ced father meeting


    Logan filled me with a sense of apprehension.


    My wolf growled softly, echoing my sentiments. “We’ll see,” I replied nomittally, leaving unsaid the


    words that swirled in my mind: I’m not sure if I ever want that to happen.


    The elevator dinged, signaling our arrival to the basement. As the doors slid open, revealing the rustic


    confines beyond, I felt a mix of relief and uncertainty.


    Upon reaching the basement, the scent of old cement and moist dirt surrounded us, offering a stark


    contrast to the contemporary atmosphere above.


    Logan began arranging the bottles on an old wooden table. The room was spacious, the brick walls


    damp, revealing its age and history. From somewhere high up, an old rusty sign hung, swaying ever so


    slightly, bearing the emblem of what might’ve once been the name of a shop. Picking up the pistol,


    Logan winked.


    “Watch and learn.” With a swift move, he aimed and fired. Two bottles shattered instantly, their


    fragments scattering across the table. He grinned triumphantly, expecting apuse or at least some


    semnce of admiration.


    “Good shot,” I remarked, pping sarcastically, “but now it’s my turn.” He handed over the gun, an


    amused expression on his face, no doubt expecting me to fumble. Little did he know.


    I steadied my breath, recalling all the sessions, all the instructions, all the relentless drills I had


    undergone. Holding the pistol firmly, I took aim.


    Within moments, I’d cleared the table of the bottles, each shot echoing in the vast space of the cer.


    Logan’s amused expression shifted to one of mild surprise.


    Without waiting for his response, I looked up, fixing my gaze on the old sign hanging from the ceiling. It


    seemed almost a world away, swaying in its lofty domain. But challenges had never deterred me. I


    aimed, ounting for the sway, the distance, and the angle..


    With a deep breath, I squeezed the trigger..


    The report of the gunshot was immediately followed by a loud ng as the bullet hit the sign dead


    center. The impact caused it to swing violently from its perch, catching the dim light in a shing dance


    of rusty metal.


    The room fell silent, save for the ringing in my ears, as I lowered the pistol. I nced sideways at


    Logan, a smug smile ying on my lips.


    “Too bad you don’t have a moving target. I’d have liked to prove myself further.”


    Logan’s jaw dropped. “That was… impable.”


    I handed the pistol back, smirking. “Told you, I had lessons.” He blinked a few times, still processing the


    scene. “Your father really didn’t leave any stone unturned in prepping you, did he?”


    I shrugged. “In our world, you never know when you might need an edge. Not that I’ve ever needed to


    use it before… now.”


    For a moment, we just stood there, amidst the remnants of shattered bottles and the reverberating


    silence that followed the gunshots. Then Logan chuckled, breaking the quiet. “I’ve never been shown


    up like that, especially not by a woman in heels.”


    I nced down at my stilettos. “Shoes shouldn’t be an excuse,” I winked. He grinned, a genuine,


    boyish grin. “You’re full of surprises, E Morgan.”


    “And I hope to keep it that way,” I replied with a yful smirk. He approached one of his bodyguards,


    murmuring something in his ear. The man nodded, removing a sleek, ck pistol from his side holster


    and handing it to Logan. “This is for you,” Logan said, offering it to me, “but only use it if it’s absolutely


    necessary.”


    Taking the pistol, I tucked it discreetly into my purse. “Of course,” I responded. “I hope I won’t need to.”


    Logan’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, he


    seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts.


    “Let’s get back upstairs. We’ve got a yacht to catch.”