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Mikhail returns a few short moments later. Off in the distance, he’s set up various glass bottles and tin cans on fallen tree logs, stumps, and mid-sized boulders. He returns to my side and produces a gun from his holster, holding it out to me with the utmost care.
“Target practice?” I ask with an amused smile.
“I swear I’ll never let any harm come to you,” he says. “I’ll protect you at all costs. But it would be foolish of me if I didn’t prepare you for the worst-case scenario. It’s time I taught you how to handle a gun.”
I take a deep breath. This is serious, but at the same time, I’m honored that he trusts me with such a heavy responsibility. I’ve never fired a gun before. I have no weapons training whatsoever. As much as I hate to think about it, if something were to happen to Mikhail, I need to be able to defend myself and our baby. We’ve been blessed with a short recovery time while Konstantin makes his next move. It’s best if we used our time wisely.
Mikhail expertly explains the different parts of the gun. At least, all the parts I need to know about. The safety, the bullet cartridge, the hammer, the trigger.
“Always treat a gun like it’s loaded,” he warns me. “Even if you know it’s empty, others might not. Don’t wave it around, don’t treat it like a joke. Only aim at something or someone you actually intend to shoot.”
“I understand.”
“Good girl. Now, would you like to give it a try?”
Mikhail steps behind me and guides me into the proper stance. The cold bite of the metal against my palm sends a child down my spine. All this power—literally—at my fingertips… It’s enough to make my heart race.
“Center yourself,” he murmurs against my ear. He has one hand braced on my waist, while the other holds my wrist steady as I lift the gun. “Never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.”
“Who taught you about guns?” I ask.
“My father. Right before he died.” I’m about to glance at him, but then he says, “Eyes forward,kisa.”
“What was he like?” I mutter, choosing the closest bottle to aim at.
“Tough,” he answers gruffly. “But fair. And just.”
“Kind of like you?”
“I suppose… Fire when ready.”
My hands have the slightest of trembles. This is all so intimidating. I can’t imagine how I’d fare if I ever found myself up against a living, breathing human being if I can barely set my sights on a bottle. I line up my shot to the best of my ability and allow the tip of my finger to graze the trigger. I squeeze.
The recoil startles me, the kickback sending a jolt through me. It’s a good thing Mikhail braced me against his body or I might have tumbled right over in surprise. The sound of the gunshot rings loudly in my ear, bringing back with it the memories of our escape. Of the gunfire that ensued. Of Charlotte.
I missed my target entirely.
“Shit,” I grumble.
Mikhail chuckles. “That’s alright. You’re new to this. Just try again.”
I suck in a sharp breath between clenched teeth, willing my pounding heart to steady. I aim and fire. This time, I know what to expect. I widen my stance and bend my knees slightly to absorb the shock of the kickback. The sound of glass shattering into little bits and pieces from across the way is a thrill like I’ve never felt.
“I did it!” I exclaim, thoroughly pleased with myself.
“You’re a natural,” Mikhail compliments, pressing a kiss to my temple. He steps away a few paces. “Now, try the rest. Remember to breathe and take your time. It’s not a race.”
I focus on the task at hand, pulled into a strange sort of trance. My worries wash away as I concentrate on the targets before me. One by one, I fire. Some of them I hit on my first try, while others I miss entirely. The simplicity of aiming and shooting is almost rhythmic.
Every time a bottle breaks or a tin can flies, the fuzzy sensation of satisfaction spreads through me like warm sand slipping through my fingers. Fleeting, but so wonderfully indescribable. I feel like I could go on for hours and hours. Eventually, though, when I pull the trigger, it only clicks. I’m out of bullets.
I turn with a smile and find Mikhail watching me, his eyes full of warm fondness.
“How do you feel now?” he asks, stepping forward to take his empty gun from me.
“Much better, actually. How did you know that was exactly what I needed?”
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in close. “Because, Aurora. Iknowyou. Just as you know me.”
