CHAP 1: THE CHAMPION HUMILIATED THE COFFEE SERVER
“You’re just a coffee seller,” Dylan Ross said, before knocking the tray from Sophia Brooks’s hands.
Hot coffee exploded across the white VIP floor, and every laugh around her sounded like a loaded weapon.
Sophia stood in the middle of the National Long Range Invitational’s VIP tent with empty hands and a burning cheek.
The Nevada sun poured through the glass panels behind her.
Outside, the desert shimmered beyond the grandstands.
Inside, sponsors in linen shirts stared over champagne flutes.
Nobody moved to help.
Dylan Ross smiled like he had done the crowd a favor.
His custom shooting jacket looked untouched by dust, sweat, or shame.
A gold sponsor badge hung against his chest.
His name was everywhere that morning.
Dylan Ross.
Defending champion.
Record holder.
America’s favorite long-range shooter.
Sophia’s name was only printed on a staff badge clipped near her hip.
Sophia Brooks.
Hospitality.
Temporary access.
The fallen tray spun once near her shoe, then stopped.
A ceramic cup rolled under a leather chair.
Someone laughed softly.
Someone else lifted a phone.
Sophia bent down, but Dylan placed one polished boot on the edge of the tray.
“Leave it,” he said.
Then, in front of everyone, his hand flashed out.
May you like
The slap echoed through the tent.
And for the first time, Judge Harrison Cole noticed the strange tattoo on Sophia’s forearm.
