Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 46: Hold On

We grab an old mattress from the top bunk in the nearest empty cell, dragging it outside to the back courtyard near E block. It's tucked away from the main door, out of sight from the front of the prison, easy to hide away if anything came at us. Daryl sets the mattress up, portrait style, on the far wall near all the extra pallets, then returns to me. He holds out the crossbow.

I hesitate for a second before I take it. It's not as heavy as I expected, less than ten pounds, and I adjust my grip a bit. It almost feels wrong, but I think most of my nerves come from knowing that this crossbow is like an extension of Daryl's body and if I somehow mess this up—

My rambling thoughts come to a screeching halt when I feel Daryl's chest against my back, hands guiding mine into place, lifting my arms and the bow.

"Gotta aim, through there," he murmurs, gesturing at the scope briefly. "Hold it steady."

How the heck am I supposed to hold it steady when he's being all raspy right by my ear? My arms are covered in goosebumps already.

"Ready to load it?"

I blink and lower the bow. It is, in fact, not loaded, and I glance back at him.

He huffs, amused. "Aim it down, like you're gonna shoot the ground," he says. I obey and he comes closer again. "Foot in the stirrup."

He points to the space right above the tip of the crossbow, where there's a metal loop that does indeed remind me of a stirrup. I plant my foot on it, leaning down, and he comes up behind me again. Heat floods my cheeks when he bumps against my ass, holding himself there, and I bite my lip.

"Next?" I ask.

"Cock it."

I exhale heavily. "How?"

"Reach down, grip the string on both sides, pull it back to the trigger box until it clicks."

I do so, bending further, and I glance over my shoulder to find that he's crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze flickers from my butt back to my face and I raise an eyebrow.

"Are you actually wanting to teach me to shoot?" I ask.

"Mm," he hums, one eyebrow lifting as he gestures to me with his chin. "Go ahead and cock it."

I huff and reach down, gripping the string, and I pull.

And holy cow, what the actual hell is wrong with it?! I shouldn't have to strain this hard, right? I release the string and straighten up, more than a little confused, and when I look at Daryl, he's still got a strange sense of amusement just lightly brushing his lips.

"Having trouble, angel face?" he asks.

"It's heavy."

"Held it fine earlier."

I pout at him. "The string! Feels like I'm yanking on a pile of bricks."

He shrugs. "That's the draw weight." I blink at him and he nudges me out of the way, planting his foot back in the stirrup and reaching down, hooking his fingers around the string. "Draw weight on this thing...is 'round 160 pounds."

I blink again. "And that means...?"

"You gotta be pretty strong to cock it."

He does it, muscles flexing as the string clicks into place, and I suddenly understand how his arms could be so much more ripped than the rest of his body. He straightens up, bringing the crossbow with him, and hands it to me.

I take it, but I'm still frowning at him a little. "So I can't even load this thing myself?" I clarify. "What's the point of shooting then?"

"Maybe we'll find you a compound bow sometime. Draw weight usually caps at 80 for those. Most healthy folks can handle it," he says with another shrug. He hands me a bolt. "Load this in the channel."