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“Do you have real bullets?”
“Do you really want to ask me that question? Of course there’s some here.”
“Who are you training? And why?”
He looked up as he stuffed a wire brush into the barrel of the gun. “We’re the good guys, little thief. Stop talking like you’re trying to figure out if we’re not.”
“Bad guys think they’re good guys, too.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Guess it depends on where your morals are, or which side of the law you’re on. You’ve been on the bad guys’ side too long.”
“I’m not—” I stopped short, realizing I was falling into what I was just telling him. “I had good reasons.”
“There’s always a reason,” he said. He finished his cleaning and started piecing the gun together again. “It’s why we have training, not just shooting practice.”
“There’s a difference?”
He placed the gun down in the case. “Training involves psychology, not just technique. For example, let’s say you had a gun.” He shoved the case across the table to the corner and within my reach. “And I have one.” He tugged one of the others toward himself. “Let’s pretend we’re at the grocery store.” He opened his, displaying a Ruger, bigger than I’d seen in person and I guessed it to be a .45.
I opened up the gun case. A .38 automatic was inside, a Smith & Wesson logo on the handle. The cartridge wasn’t in place, so it was clearly empty. His was, too. And since he’d just cleaned them, there wasn’t anything in the chamber. Still, I didn’t touch it knowing these things could kill.
He lifted his, pointing it toward one of the posters at the wall. “I’m robbing the store. I’ve got it in the cashier’s face. You’re in the line next to us. What do you do?”
I frowned, not really amused. “Run away?”
“Ernt!” He made a wrong answer buzzer noise. “I’ve already got my gun out pointed at someone’s head. But if I hear motion ...” He snapped the safety off the .45 and swung his arm until the end of the gun was pointed to one of the targets behind my head. “I’m already a step ahead of you. What do you do?”
I remained quiet, unsure.
“I’m robbing the store,” Raven said. He wriggled the gun toward the wall. “I’m getting all the money. People are scared, on the floor. I’m screaming at the nervous cashier. Kids are crying.” He got up, walking the long way around the table, coming to stand by the bed, the gun still pointed at his target. He loomed over me. “You’ve got an automatic in your pocket. You’re possibly the only other person in the store with a gun. What next?”
I frowned. I had an answer, but I didn’t like it.
“Come on, little thief,” he said. His brown eyes were intense and unrelenting as he stared at me. “Stand up. Show me what you can do.”
My heart pounded in my chest, and I rose slowly, leaving the gun on the bed. I stepped away from it so I was standing clear.
“You’ve left your gun,” he said.
“I know.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not going to use it?”
“No.”
The corner of his mouth lifted and he stepped closer, toe to toe with me, enough so my breasts brushed up against his chest. He angled his elbow, until I felt cool steel at my temple. I didn’t have to look. I knew he had the gun pointed at me. “Why not?”
I resisted the urge to back away, staring back into his face.
“Why Kayli?” He leaned in, until his nose hovered over mine. His dark brows furrowed as he challenged me with his eyes. “I’ve got the gun.”
“But you aren’t shooting,” I said, trying to sound calm even with my heart thundering. I could smell gun oil and a musky scent from his body. His chest moved as he breathed heavily, in and out, brushing against me. A reaction stirred in my nipples and I tried to ignore it. I wasn’t afraid. I was excited, my skin electrified. Because of the guns, or the threat of violence, or maybe just him; I didn’t want to think of why.
“I could shoot,” he said, the tip of the gun pressed into my temple. “One wrong look. One little breath in the wrong place, I might just make the pull.”
“But you aren’t,” I said. I tilted my head away from his gun, and the gun followed until I was looking away from him at the floor. “You’re not shooting. You’re only pointing a gun.”
“So?”
“So if I start waving a gun, you will shoot. Isn’t it better if I let you take the money and leave?”
His head leaned in, his lips traced my ear. His nose shifted through my hair. “Is it? Are you sure?”
I shivered warmly. He was so close and at the same time, I sensed he was toying with me. It almost scared me how much it turned me on. I breathed in slowly to focus. “I’m sure I wouldn’t start waving a gun at someone trying to steal money and run away. If I had to rob a store like that, I wouldn’t shoot. I’d just want the money. So if as a bystander, I shoot, you may be so panicked, you start shooting everyone. If I stay quiet and let you leave, you might have the money, but no one’s been hurt.”
He backed his head up. The tip of the gun eased at my temple, and traced down my cheek, sliding further along the side of my neck. I straightened, finding his brown eyes.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s not often I get the right answer on the first try,” he said. He smirked. “Then again, you do think like a criminal.”
I grunted, rolling my eyes.
“That’s not a bad thing. Training honest men to think like a criminal is much harder. No one wants to turn their minds to always thinking at that angle. Everyone wants to be the hero and find the right solution, and win all. Letting a criminal get away for now is hard for honest people to consider.” He raised the gun tip until he had the barrel planted under my chin, drawing it up until I was looking back at him. “But if you’ve already got the criminal instinct, then you don’t have to think. It becomes natural. You can’t be one step ahead of the bad guys if you’re spending too much time trying to figure out what they’re up to, or worse, play the hero and try to save everything. The real world doesn’t work like that.”
I pressed my lips together as he locked me into looking at his face. His square jaw was set. The ring in his lip glinted under the light. “Do you think like that?” I asked, although my voice was softer than I wanted it to be. “Like a criminal? Is that how you can train them? Are you one? Or did you use to be?”
His eyes narrowed into slits for a moment. He pulled the gun away from my chin, but lowered his face until his nose hovered over mine. “You ask too many questions,” he said. He pulled back, hitting the safety on the gun, turned and walked around the table again. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “There’s Coke in the fridge.”
I huffed. "Do I look like your maid?"
"Do it or I'll tell Axel you tried to take my wallet."
I grunted. Go figure. Making the low man on the totem pole play fetch. I stomped out of his bedroom, but part of me was relieved for a little break. I breathed out slowly after I left the room. Did I just let him point a gun at my head?
And why wouldn’t my heart stop pounding?
AXEL
I glanced at Corey on the couch, who was tuned into his phone again. I sighed, thinking it would be easier and faster to just do what Raven wanted and try to make him feel like an ass for asking by being nice.
I padded in my socks to the kitchen. I tightened Raven’s jacket around my body, shivering at the chill in the apartment. It felt weird to open someone else's fridge. When I did, I paused and stared. The inside was filled with food. Leftover containers. Sodas stacked on the bottom shelf in organized bins. Fresh produce. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled at the sight. Marc was getting pizza? He had so much food here.
A noise behind me made me think Corey had entered the kitchen. "Did you want me to get you a soda, too?" I asked.
"I'll get my own damn soda if I want it," said a voice, smoky and severe.
I turned still holding the door
to the fridge open. Axel stood a mere inch behind me. I felt the need to back up, but I couldn’t move. I was surprised he had gotten so close without me noticing.
He wore blue jeans, black boots and a dark button up shirt. The upper buttons of the collar were undone, revealing the lines of his collarbone underneath and the start of a black tank undershirt. His long black hair was combed back away from his face and he had removed his glasses, leaving his dark eyes unchallenged.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Who's getting you to play fetch?" he asked in a way that told me he had a suspicion but wanted me to confirm.
I wasn’t too sure if I should lie. Was he worth protecting? "Raven."
“Funny. From what I’ve heard, Miss Kayli Winchester isn’t the type to let someone else tell her what to do.”
“He said he’d tell you I’d stolen his wallet if I didn’t.”
His eyebrows lifted. “If you manage to get that wallet, you can keep whatever’s in it.”
Then he nodded mischievously toward the soda bottle in my hand. “I know you’re thinking it. Do it.”
