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7
Shaye
One of my eyes floats closed, and I steady my hand. It’s stretched straight out, my arm stiff as a corpse. My heart thrums, as it always does whenever I line up for a shot. The target taunts me from twenty feet away, waiting to see if I have what it takes.
I do. I haven’t missed in weeks.
I pull the trigger, my body jolts from the force of the bullet exploding from the gun barrel. My lips curl upward as the bullet tears through the cardboard head, leaving the target dangling listlessly on its cord.
Katarina says I’m a natural.
I say I’m just pissed off.
The satisfying scent of burnt gunpowder fills my lungs. Under other circumstances, it’d probably make me hurl, but on days like this, when I know I’m coming closer to the time when these shots will be directed to actual live humans instead of cardboard cutouts, it empowers me.
I never thought I’d be standing in a shooting range, speckled with gunpower from my own gun, as the protégé of a Russian mob boss’s daughter.
Nico was serious about me learning how to protect myself. But I’m sure that when he introduced me to Katarina Ivanov, Viktor’s daughter, he had other ideas. Like kung fu. Or jujitsu. Maybe knife play.
But screw that. Martial arts are all fine and good, but while they may get me out of a chokehold, they won’t do much by the way of stopping a predator. Permanently.
And Katarina…she’s as alpha as they come. And since she looks like a Victoria’s Secret model, they’ll never see her coming. And that’s just the way she likes it. That’s what she’s taught me.
With each passing day and each mutilated target, I can see my training hard at work. Katarina critiques every single move, every stance, every position until it’s perfect.
“They’ll never expect it from you, Pinky.” Katarina smirks. “When you get your shot, it’s going to be beautiful. You’ll blow their minds and then blow off their heads.”
“No pun intended?” I snicker. She’s called me Pinky since that first night. It’s because the ends of my blonde hair are dyed a vibrant fuchsia color. Whatever. The nickname reminds me that there’s a sense of humor buried deep inside of this assassin in training.
That’s exactly the kind of instructor I need. Nico would never have been able to detach himself from the situation to give me this kind of training. Hell, he has no idea I’ve spent so many hours at this gun club over the past months, especially since I haven’t worn my watch here. I don’t wear any jewelry at all.
And he’d flip if he knew I carried a handgun in my purse.
A roundhouse kick to the head will only buy me a sliver of time. These motherfuckers carry weapons, badass guns, and I refuse to be the victim again. I can still feel the duct tape tearing at my skin, the dank smell of the abandoned warehouse where, if things had gone differently, I would have been killed at the hand of Frank Cappodamo. Brutalized first, raped most definitely…he was a sick bastard who hunted me in an attempt to bait Nico. And while we left that warehouse pretty much unscathed, there was plenty of emotional damage done.
A shiver runs through me. Never again. I refuse to be in that position ever again. I know I’m a target. I’ve worn that bullseye since birth, for Christ’s sake. And I’m tired of waiting for someone else to save me.
This time, I’ll be prepared. This time, I’ll do the saving.
I place the gun down and stretch my arms overhead. “Another satisfying session.”
Katarina smirks. “Stress begone.”
“Completely.” I pull out the hair band and let the blonde waves fall loose around my shoulders. “But damn, I’m starving. Plugging a cardboard cutout really makes me hungry. Lunch?”
Kat nods. “After we shower. I don’t think you want to stink of gunpowder when Nico ravages you later.”
“Yeah.” I stuff my things into a duffel bag. “That hasn’t really been a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t really seen him too much lately.” I avert my eyes, zip it, and hoist it over my shoulder. “He’s been working late at the club, so I’ve been staying at my parents’ house.”
“Except for last night.”
“Yes.” A shiver runs through me. The delicious memories from the most passionate night we’ve had in…shit, I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been since we’ve made love like that. All I know is we need to get back to the place where it was a nightly occurrence, not just something that happens when I surprise him at the club incognito or when someone gets killed.
Kat narrows her eyes and sticks her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me he chooses not to fuck you? To work late instead?”
