Page 45 of Black Ledger

But I made sure to shoot Severin a glower while Sergei nocked his next arrow.

A seven.

I nodded, grabbed a new arrow, aimed, nocked, and loosed, intentionally hitting a seven, too. This time, I said nothing. I simply glared daggers at Severin, imagining all the ways I could kill him.

The score was 12-13.

Sergei went again and hit an eight, but the whole time I hadn’t moved my gaze off of Severin.

We were having an intense conversation without words. No words required. Heat grew in my chest like an uncontrolled wildfire, and I didn’t know if it came from anger or some other emotion pulsing between us.

He cocked his head, and the corner of his mouth lifted, almost as if he were saying, Now go show them your worth.

A rebellious part of me wanted to lose intentionally, to make him eat his arrogance and plans. But I couldn’t do that. He was my future Pakhan, and I knew I had to respect him and the way he chose to make deals.

I was his tool, so I would be his tool, even when I wanted to aim directly at his heart.

I picked up another arrow and felt the fletching between my fingers. I closed my eyes and caressed it, imagining a bullseye—perfectly at the center of the target.

I cracked my neck, settled into position, and lifted my bow. I aimed, nocked my arrow, and loosed.

And smiled.

A fucking bullseye.

Because I was, indeed, that good.

I turned to Sergei and winked. His face paled because he knew, in that moment, there was nothing he could do. He was going to lose.

The new score was 22-21. I was finally in the lead, and I would keep it for the rest of the match.

Sergei shot again—another eight.

But I stepped up and, without even questioning it, nocked and loosed, hitting the same spot I’d just hit and splitting my previous arrow down the middle.

32-29.

We went again. Sergei hit a six, and I split my arrow again, getting a third bullseye.

I smirked at Severin. He simply nodded. The rest of the crowd was rumbling. The New York branch already knew what I was capable of and wasn’t surprised. But they were on edge, ready for a fight, because the Chicago branch was pissed.

All stiff, fury dripping from their features. They’d been played, and they knew it.

We didn’t need to take our final shots, but we did. Sergei hit seven again, and I landed another split-arrow bullseye because, yes, I was showing off.

Don’t bring the best shooter to a range and expect me to sit out on all the fun.

I was going to show these assholes how deadly I could be.

The final score was 52 to 42.

I won easily.

“You cheated,” the Chicago boss growled.

Severin shrugged. “As I recall, this was your game and your choice of players.”

Everyone in the clearing reached for their guns except Sergei and me, still stuck at the line with our bows.