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The rest of the firing range is empty. Fortunately. Partly, that’s due to the fact that it’s one of the smaller ones and it’s also a late Tuesday evening. But the rest of it is because of me. The people who were already in here when Jace and I showed up took one look at the murderous expression on my face and decided to make themselves scares and live to see another day.
I fire off two more rounds. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh,” he scoffs. “Then why did you come with me to the firing range instead of staying at home with your throwing knives?”
Because every time I hold a knife now, all I can think about is how I want to trace it over Alina’s beautiful body and watch as she squirms and whimpers on my bed before I fuck her into oblivion.
But I would rather stab myself in the eye than admit that to Jace, so I just cut him a sideways glance. “Because you’re a crap shot and you need the practice.”
“Bullshit.” He puffs out his chest and stabs a finger at me. “I’m the best marksman of us all, and you know it.”
Since I’ve always favored knives, he is at least a better marksman than I am. But that is another thing I will never admit to his face. After all, I don’t want to be responsible for inflating his already massive ego.
So I just snort and turn back to the target. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, little brother.”
Next to me, Jace yanks up his gun and fires three consecutive shots into his target. All of them dead center.
I stifle a groan. I can practically feel his smirk from over here.
But thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else. Just goes back to his target practice. I do too. Or at least, I try to.
My mind constantly keeps drifting back to Alina. To her beautiful face. To those big gray eyes that glitter when she smiles. To that brilliant mind of hers. To how right it feels to fuck her like she’s already mine. To how much I fucking love cuddling with her afterwards. And most of all, to how much I hated seeing her sit at a table, eating lunch with another man. She somehow manages to draw all kinds of emotions from me when I’m not even supposed to have any of those frustrating feelings that normal people have. It’s infuriating.
Fucking hell, I hate what Alina is doing to me. I used to be a cold and emotionless strategist who was always above the petty emotions of mere mortals. But now she’s making me feel all kinds of things. And I need to make it stop.
“Do you ever get jealous?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Clenching my jaw, I keep my eyes on the paper target ahead while I brace myself for Jace’s reaction.
But he doesn’t laugh or mock me. Doesn’t do anything at all to make me feel as ridiculous as I know I sound.
Instead, he just lowers his gun and turns to face me before asking, “Of what?”
I fire two more times in an effort to relieve some of the tension thrumming inside me. It doesn’t work. Forcing out a breath, I instead lower the gun and turn to meet my brother’s gaze. Only genuine curiosity swirls in his brown eyes.
“All the girls you fuck…” I begin and then trail off, trying to figure out how to even explain this. Flipping on the safety of the gun, I holster it and then clear my throat before continuing. “When you see them later, talking to another guy, does it ever make you want to cut the man’s hands off and nail them to his balls?”
Jace raises his eyebrows. But I think it’s more due to the strangely specific punishment that I described than anything else.
Cocking his head, he considers for a while and then simply says, “No.”
I resist the urge to scowl. That was not the answer I was hoping for. Flexing my fingers, I try to dispel the panic that flickers through me now that I know that Jace doesn’t feel like that too.
“Why not?” I barely manage to press it out without making it sound like a demand.
He shrugs. “Because they don’t matter.” Bitterness suddenly flashes across his face, and he turns around and fires several times into his target. “Nothing fucking matters.”
Pain twists my cold black heart. I hate seeing Jace like this. I wish he would at last start the conversation. I can make him talk from there, but I need him to start. Otherwise, he’s never going to admit to anything.
But I really fucking hate seeing him like this, so I try anyway. “Jace.”
Fear and anger flash across his features, which means that he must be able to tell from my tone alone where this is going. Clenching the gun hard, he slowly turns back to me. When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are hard and merciless.
“Look,” I begin carefully. “If—”
“Don’t.”
I hold his unflinching stare and try again. “If you don’t want to—”
