Chapter 44
I find it weird meeting the man who wants to kill me. It’s like I have Stockholm Syndrome or something. I gravitate toward my captor, and I can’t help but think it’s because he’s like me, broadly speaking—Prince Reen’s more…psycho.
Still, I can’t place my finger on why I keep accepting his invitation to leave the ship.
Alad eyes me funny whenever I see him, and I can replace Astin with a cardboard cutout, and no one will fucking notice.
Prince Reen, though, has brought more entertainment and fond memories of life than I had when I was growing up.
When I think more about it, it’s pathetic, really.
So, it brings us to our next destination, but it reminds me too much of home and the memories of the weight of a weapon in my hands that’s not a dagger.
Prince Reen seems entertained by the idea as he parks Senri Toshiharu’s car—the one we were supposed to give back yesterday—near the shooting range.
Memories flood me of all the times Dad taught me how to handle a gun and pull a trigger on anyone but family. He wanted it to be an extension of my arm, handled with grace. The disappointment he held for me when I told him I enjoyed sinking a dagger into someone sank my heart lower.
“We only use knives when we’re desperate,” he said one evening when I killed the man who touched me in a way I wish not to remember.
“To think, after all the training I had given you, your mother’s emotional tug made you like knives more.
You’d best get out of the habit soon and disconnect yourself from each kill with a gun. ”
The memory hits hard, and sharp pain sparks across my temple, splintering through my mind. Then, heat flushes across my forehead, and when I open my eyes, Prince Reen is poking me again.
I slap his hand away.
Enough with the poking, dude!
It weirds me out because I enjoy it when he does it.
We exit the car and walk down the street. The shooting range is across the road. As we wait for the lights to turn green, I notice pairs of eyes gawking at us. Although we have roamed freely, we have had fewer encounters, but that doesn’t stop the staring and sneaky photos in the distance.
“From our encounter on the rooftop, I noticed you were an excellent shot,’ Prince Reen says. “I want to know if it’s a fluke or if you have some talent in you.”
I smile. “I prefer sharp, pointy things.”
“Still,” he says, “you nearly got me.”
“Is that what made you not kill me? Did the thought of dying turn you on?”
He eyes me with an arched brow. “No. It was you doing the unexpected. Still, I would have killed you. What changed my mind was when you panicked. The fear in your eyes wasn’t over me killing you, and since then, it made me curious about your secrets.”
We walk across the road. Elemny swarm on either side, crowding the street, unless they notice Prince Reen. They side-step and keep their distance, as if he’s a constant threat to society that everyone needs to fear.
His eyes narrow at every elemny passing by and cringing away from him.
It’s annoying me, and so I do the unexpected.
Stepping closer to him, I take his hand.
My smile softens at the constant tapping of his thumb.
He does that frequently, and initially, I assumed it was when he was lost in thought. Now, I reckon it’s a coping mechanism.
“What will we do when we get to the practice range? And why do we have a gun range when guns are illegal?” I ask.
“Even if it’s not legalised, elemny are curious about their power.’ Prince Reen smirks. “And we’re going to have a little healthy fun competition. Whoever loses has to do as the other says.”
“Are there any rules?”
“Nothing sexual or unflattering—like running down the street naked.”
I nod. “Cool.”
We enter the shooting range. A unique experience compared to the interrogation rooms. For one, there is no screaming, panicked, desperate elemny wanting their freedom. The sounds of gunshots cause me to jump back and eye the three men aiming their pistols at the paper targets.
Looking away from the gun range, there’s a rage centre.
Two women with sledgehammers break everything in the room.
Plates shatter, littering the ground among torn photos, broken furniture, and ripped clothing.
Their faces contort in pain, and one of the women’s mascaras smears black lines underneath her eyes.
“They’re likely here because their lovers are tethered to another, or they cheated on them,” Prince Reen says.
“What about loss?”
“They wouldn’t be here.” He frowns. “They would seek revenge, mourn, or drink their way to the end of a bottle. They wouldn’t come here to relieve their anger over someone they loved.”
“You could be wrong,” I say.
Prince Reen shrugs. “I’m never wrong.”
I breathe a laugh at his cockiness.
The man working here shows us the gun range. As we enter, the three men shooting put down their guns and leave—they dart wary looks at Prince Reen, flinching when he moves past them. Yet, Prince Reen doesn’t bat an eyelash.
When we were walking here, it didn’t seem to bother him that everyone around him feared him. It’s bothering me, though.
“Pick your poison,” the man says.
I focus on the knives and guns behind clear glass and hanging in a display case. The man unlocks it with his master key and slides the door to the side.
“To make this fair, pick what you want, and I will match it,” Prince Reen says, earning me a sly smile.
I roll my eyes toward the Glock. The very first gun Dad let me hold, and I trained with it as if it were a part of me I couldn’t grasp but also couldn’t let go of. If I want to win, I should grab the Glock. But the memories of shooting, bullet after bullet, at the enemies’ heads after they touched—
I swallow the bile stinging in my throat and grab the Beretta M9. Prince Reen does the same, already sliding the bullets into the chamber that the man hands him. I stand where the man gestures and awkwardly grip the Beretta.
“Ready?” Prince Reen asks.
I smirk. “Always.”
Prince Reen pulls the trigger. The sound of the bullet leaving the chamber echoes through the gun range, and if it weren’t for being around loud noises my entire life and hearing the sound before sinking it into someone’s head, it would have stung my ears.
When he finishes, he looks at me with a crooked smile and an arched brow.
Irritated by his cockiness, I raise my arms and aim at the paper cutout.
My finger moves and slides across the trigger, and when I squeeze, there’s weird tension I’m not used to.
The bullet leaves the chamber, sinking into the corner of the cutout man.
Prince Reen chuckles. “I may allow guns into our fight. That shot on me must have been a fluke.”
“Shut up,” I groan.
I fire again, but my steady heartbeat thumps, loud and erratic, as if I have no control over my body. It frustrates me, and I let out another round, but it’s like I am deliberately missing so Prince Reen can win.
Why?
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Heat suddenly presses against my back. As I turn, my body moves into fight mode, Prince Reen’s hands grab mine, and he pushes up against me like he’s stone. Every fibre of hair on my body stands on edge, but it’s not out of fear. His touch on me electrifies me like static.
Hot breath breathes down my face, daringly close to my ear. “You've never used a Beretta before, have you?”
I shift my stance and feel him against me, earning another flutter in my chest. “No,” I grumble.
He raises his hands with mine until our arms lock, aiming at the cutout. “A Beretta has a larger magazine size, so the weight may feel off for you if you were trained with Glocks your entire life.”
“I shot…never mind.”
He sighs, and the brush of heat tickles against my face. “Yes. I am aware you used a different gun for King Ragan, but unlike here, where you feel the pressure, I believe in that situation, shooting came naturally to you because you weren’t overthinking it.”
“Okay, so teach me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
His hands move away from mine, and the warmth he brings shouldn’t make me feel anything but discomfort. Whenever Xavier touched me, sweat poured off me, inflaming my body until red blotches pricked across my skin.
But with Prince Reen, a shudder of delight moves through me until I ache. It’s distracting. I should focus on what he’s teaching me, but he’s too close, confusing me with what I am supposed to feel for him.
“Pandora, focus,” he says.
“You make it hard,” I say through clenched teeth.
A dark, humorous, breathy laugh tickles my ear. “How so?”
I roll my shoulders and straighten up, and when Prince Reen takes a step away from me, I breathe easier. With every breath of clear air, I focus on the weight, adjust my aim, and pull the trigger. It sinks into the forehead of the paper cutout.
“Good,” Prince Reen says. “Can we start the game, or do you need a bigger handicap?”
I glower at the paper cutout. “Where do I shoot?”
“Head, chest and neck,” he says. “Whoever misses loses.”
He goes first, which becomes my handicap because if he misses, he loses. I silently beg that he does, but then I’m curious about what he would make me do if I win. My brain comes up empty, but I bet he already has something in mind.
Of course, he aims at the head, chest, and neck with perfect precision, which causes me to be more on edge with the prospect of failing.
Pulling the trigger, my heart clenches with worry, even when I don’t miss.
There’s too much anxiety. My hands shake, and after the fourth round, where Prince Reen’s cool as a fucking cucumber, I graze the neck.
I exhale an irritated breath and say, “You win.”
“I do.”
Placing the gun on the table, I turn to him and fold my arms across my chest. “What do you want from me?”
He smiles, eyes crinkling when he says, “I need a date for the twenty-sixth. All you need to do is dress up.”
I arch a brow. “That’s it?”
“Yes.” He dips his head, and when he looks up, glowing red eyes look at me, burning with curiosity. “What would you have requested if you had won?”
My face burns with heat. Prince Reen arches his chin, looking down at me with an unsettling smirk. “Now I am really intrigued. What has gotten you so red? From my recollection, I thought I said nothing sexual, but it seems your mind is…”
“Shut up,” I say through clenched teeth.
“No.”
Fuck me, Reen. Drop it. I’m confused enough!
He takes a step toward me, his finger tapping against his lips.
“It wouldn’t be a fuck. At least, not yet.
I doubt you want me to touch you, and you speak of my cock as if you fear it, so you don’t want to do anything to me.
So…” He stands before me and looks down as I glare up at him.
“A kiss.” Heat flushes down my neck. Prince Reen breathes a laugh, catching me in what I subconsciously want.
“Pandora,” he says as his arms cage around me until they remind me of iron bars, “we have known each other for five days, and you’re already this hot and bothered over someone who wants to kill you. ”
“Shut. Up.”
“Fine.” He leans in swiftly, and his mouth crushes against mine with such intensity and heat that the clothes I wear feel uncomfortable on my body.
The silk of his tongue wraps mine in warmth, smoke, and the taste of crimson he has spilled over the years.
Heat pulses to the surface, tingling until my clit is desperate for his touch—the touch of the enemy.
My hands move before my brain can process it. Wrapping around his shoulders, my fingers lace through his soft, red hair. His hands that cage me move to my hips, pulling me into him, stroking across my waist, touching my...
I break away from the kiss as fast as it came. Short, panting breaths break through my mouth, erratic and making it harder to breathe. And I’m the only one. Prince Reen’s chest rises and falls steadily, and while I’m hot and bothered, his level look tells me he is in control of his actions.
“Sorry,” I say, and my hand touches my waist, digging into the fabric of the shirt. “I’m just a little conflicted.”
“Are you torn between two, or are you scared?” he says as he takes a step away and gives me more breathing room. “If I weren’t daring and touched near your scars, you wouldn’t have stopped, would you?”
Turning away from him, I glare at the paper cutouts. “I don’t…” I bite my bottom lip until I taste rusty iron. “I don’t like my body, Reen. Never have. It’s tainted by all the hands that have touched me, so…”
Prince Reen folds his arms across his chest and grimaces. “Then we can go slow until you can love yourself again.”
I glare at him. “And you? What’s this for you? To get into my fucking pants?”
He takes another step toward me until the heat penetrating from him tingles against my exposed skin. “If I wanted to get into your pants, I could whenever I want, Pandora. What I am suggesting is that we explore why we feel so heated toward each other.”
“Does this change anything?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t love you, Pandora. I don’t fucking know how. And if by chance you and my brother were in danger, I’d hate myself because, for the first time in my life, I would choose you over protecting the crown.”
“Then why not let me leave?”
A smile reaches his face, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.
“You killed my mother. No matter how you slice it, I can never fucking forgive you for taking the most important elemny out of my life, regardless of your reasoning. Besides, I can’t help the urge to hunt and kill you.
It’s why we will never fuck. You will die. ”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your mother. I wish she weren’t tethered to King Ragan.” He doesn’t say a word, and so I keep going. “Let’s do this, then. This is only a fling before we kill each other.”
“Exactly.”
“What do we do now?”
He furrows his brow and looks puzzled. “I have no fucking idea.”
I break out into a smile, laughing.