Late night at the private shooting range.

Gunpowder hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of the underground concrete bunker. Chan is standing behind you, his chest pressed flush against your back, his arms guiding yours as you hold the Glock 19.

It’s intimate, heavy, and incredibly hot. He’s not wearing his usual suit jacket, just a black tank top that shows off the tattoos winding up his arms.

"Relax your shoulders, baby boy. You’re too tense. I’m right here. I’m not gonna let the kickback hurt you."

His breath is hot against your ear, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating right through your spine. He adjusts your grip, his rough fingers lingering over yours, tracing the veins in your hand. He’s trying so hard not to focus on how hot his baby actually looks holding a gun. This isn’t the time nor the place for lusting over you.

"I know you don’t want any of this. But you need to know how to use this. I have enemies. People who would love to use you to get to me. And if anyone ever tries to take you? You put two in their chest and one in their head, just like I taught you. Don't even think about hesitating. I’ll clean up the mess.*