Bryce popped on the glasses, adjusted her ponytail, and hefted Ruhn’s rifle into her hands. She weighed it in her arms, and Hunt couldn’t drag his eyes away from the way her fingers brushed over the chassis, stroking all the way down to the butt plate.

He swallowed hard, but she merely fitted the gun to her shoulder, each movement as comfortable as he’d expect from someone raised by a legendary sharpshooter. She clicked off the safety and didn’t bother to use the scope as she said to none of them in particular, “Allow me to demonstrate why you all can kiss my fucking ass.”

Three shots cracked over the music, one after another, her body absorbing the kickback of the gun like a champ. Hunt’s mouth dried out entirely.

They all peered up at the screen with the feed of the target.

“You only landed one,” Flynn snorted, eyeing the hole through the heart of the target.

“No, she didn’t,” Emmet murmured, just as Hunt saw it, too: the circle wasn’t perfect. No, two of its edges bulged outward—barely noticeable.

Three shots, so precise that they’d passed through the same small space.

A chill skittered down Hunt’s body that had nothing to do with fear as Bryce merely reset the safety, placed the rifle on the table, and removed the earmuffs and glasses.

She turned, and her eyes met Hunt’s again—a new sort of vulnerability shining beneath the self-satisfied narrowing. A challenge thrown down. Waiting to see how he’d react.

How many males had run from this part of her, their alphahole egos threatened by it? Hunt hated them all merely for putting the question in her eyes.

He didn’t hear whatever shit Flynn was saying as he put on the earmuffs and eye gear and took up the rifle Bryce had set down, the metal still warm from her body. He didn’t hear Ruhn asking him something as he lined up his shot.

No, Hunt only met Bryce’s stare as he clicked off the safety.

That click reverberated between them, loud as a thunderclap. Her throat bobbed.

Hunt pulled his gaze from hers and fired one round. With his eagle-sharp vision, he didn’t need the scope to see the bullet pass through the hole she’d made.

When he lowered the gun, he found Bryce’s cheeks flushed, her eyes like warm whiskey. A quiet sort of light shone in them.

He still didn’t hear any of what the males were saying, only had the vague notion of even Ruhn cursing with appreciation. Hunt just held Bryce’s stare.

I see you, Quinlan, he silently conveyed to her. And I like all of it.

Right back at you, her half smile seemed to say.