AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And admit it, naïve girl,” Natasha smiles secretively. “There’s a part of you thatlovesthe danger.”
I lower my head. Ashamed that she has revealed a thought I didn’t want to admit. The danger does have an appeal. I like itwhen Nikolai is in charge. I love it when he takes control. And I crave the moments when his piercing eyes flash and he makes me beg.
And after, I don’t ever want it to end when I trace his tattoos while we lie naked in bed as he buries his nose in my hair, whispering dark things against my ear.
I wipe away my tears. “Then I will try.”
“Natasha and I will teach you how to navigate his world, Eden.” Paige smiles. “It won’t be easy, but together, we can help you become the woman Nikolai needs by his side.”
“And Zhanna,” adds Natasha, catching me off guard. “This is why you’re naïve, Eden Zakharovna.” She laughs at my startled expression. “But that naivety comes from a good place—a place of love, not stupidity.”
“Zhanna is a masterclass I can’t fail.” My voice is soft as I reconcile the path I’ll take if I get out of here. “After all, I can’t stay here forever.”
The looks they give me aren’t reassuring. And that’s when I realize: there’s a possibility that I may never leave here.
“Well,” Natasha changes the subject. “There is a very nice range here at the estate.” She licks a spot of mustard off her finger, studying me. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”
I shake my head, swallowing thickly. “No, I never have.” The idea of holding a gun, of learning to shoot, terrifies me.
“Let’s change that.” Natasha’s dour tone suddenly becomes light. “A pakhan’s wife should know more than how to kill with her looks.” She looks at Paige, who shakes her head.
“I will pass on the lesson and say my goodbyes here.” Paige hugs me, and I hold onto her. She seems so sweet. Maybe if she could do it, then I can. “Take care, Eden. Remind Radomil that you’re not on a leash.”
We step out into the long hallway. Paige walks in the direction of the front hall as I follow Natasha to a back door that is heavily guarded. We step outside into the crisp autumn air and the scent of fallen leaves mingling with the distant sound of birds. The estate sprawls before me, and Natasha guides me toward a secluded building.
“The estate is well-guarded,” Natasha says as we approach the range. “You won’t get anywhere on foot.”
We step into the building—the ceiling is low, but the length of the building is long. Individual stalls are set up with dividers in between. At the end of the stall is a target. “First lesson: firearms are not accessories,” says Natasha. “They’re tools and demand respect, so don’t aim unless you intend to shoot.” She hands me a sleek handgun, surprisingly heavy in my grip. “This is a Glock 19. It’s reliable, accurate, and easy to use.”
I turn the gun over in my hands, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement I make. “Okay.” I steady my hands. “What do I do?”
“Take a deep breath,” Natasha instructs, her voice calm and patient. She positions herself beside me, guiding my stance and grip on the weapon. “Now, aim at the target. Focus on the center, and when you’re ready, slowly squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it. Don’t compensate for the recoil. Breathe, naïve girl.”
I stare down the barrel of the gun, the world narrowing to the small black circle at the center of the target.
Natasha speaks. “Now, pull the trigger.”
With a deep breath, I squeeze the trigger. The gunshot is deafening, reverberating through my entire body as the recoil jolts my arm. My ears are ringing despite the protection, but when I look downrange, I see I’ve hit the target. Not the center, but I hit the target.
“Molodets!” Natasha praises with a genuine smile. “Again.”
With each shot from the gun and the reverberations coursing down my arms, I feel a newfound strength flowing through me, transforming my nervousness into exhilaration and determination.
Natasha is right.
A pakhan’s wife should know more than how to kill with her looks.
Flexing my fingers,my hands are sore from pulling the trigger while Natasha and I pack up the guns. Up close, I stare at the small holes I shot into the target. The edges are curled and slightly burned from the impact of the bullets. I can’t deny that it gives me a sense of power. It’s a feeling that’s been missing from my life.
The guard is no longer at the back door, and as we enter, we hear a commotion from the front. Nikolai’s voice carries through the hallways, and I stop to listen to his angry curses. I cast a worried look at Natasha, but she simply shrugs.
“Go to him,” she says, her tone betraying concern. “Before you regret it.”
I race toward the front hall, making my way toward the door, each step faster than the last. The hall is crowded with Sorokin’s guards, all armed and blocking my way. Sorokin stands in the doorway, preventing Nikolai from bursting in. As I approach, I’m pushed back by one of the guards, and his cold look warns me from going any farther.
The small coatroom near the door has a small window, and before anyone can stop me, I hurry in there. In one leap, I stand on a built-in bench by the window. Stained glass obstructs the view outside, but I can lift the latch and open it wide.
The path to the front door is a makeshift battleground, as Nikolai and Pavel stand in the middle of a circle formed by Sorokin’s men. Guns are raised, and each man’s stance is unyielding as their eyes lock in a deadly standoff.
