Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THORA
With my arms around him and my veins filling with adrenaline, we speed through the streets until we enter a narrow road leading into a wooded area. I glance around, expecting a hidden home somewhere, but he stops beside a bunch of pine trees and turns off the engine.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, removing my helmet before passing it to him.
He hops off the bike and steps in close, a hand hovering near my waist like he’s fighting the urge to touch me just as badly as I want him to.
“This will be your first shooting lesson.”
“Here?” There’s nothing here but a dense forest.
“Yes.”
He clasps my waist and lifts me from the bike with such effortless strength that a sharp thrill runs through me. He clearly feels it too, his eyelids lowering as my body brushes against his.
My boots touch the ground, but he remains close enough for his heat to surround me, his hand trailing slowly down my side before his fingers link with mine.
“Come on,” he mutters, leading me deeper into the woods.
I don’t know why I’m not nervous. He could kill me out here and no one would ever find the body. Yet I’d still follow him anyway, which honestly feels like a problem I should maybe be more concerned about.
But if Anton wanted me dead, I have no doubt he would’ve done it by now.
When I glance up at him, he catches me staring and grumbles something under his breath in Russian.
New plan: learn Russian.
“So…” I say, cutting into the tension before it can swallow the rest of the air between us. “I’m not sure I’ll be any good at this. I know you probably wonder how that’s possible, but what can I say? I’m probably the only girl in Texas who didn’t find the idea of shooting all that exciting.”
“Oni vso ravno idioty,” he says, and I’m almost positive that was an insult.
He stops near a clearing and turns to face me, and whatever smart comment I’m about to make dies when I catch the calm intensity in his eyes. Reaching beneath his jacket, he draws a gun from the waistband of his jeans.
My mouth goes dry.
“Take it.” He places the weapon in my palm. “Get used to the weight. Learn how it feels.”
It’s strange that I’ve never even held a gun, but that was my choice. My family would have taught me if I’d let them. I wrap my fingers around the grip and raise it toward the thick trunk of a tree a few yards away, trying to look like I know what I’m doing.
After testing its weight, I glance at Anton beside me. “What do I do now?”
His gaze narrows as he takes me in, satisfaction glinting in his eyes at the sight of me holding his weapon.
Instead of answering, he comes up behind me, and my body goes rigid. His palm settles at my waist, guiding me into position before his other arm reaches around mine. His torso presses against my back as he adjusts my grip and angles the gun toward the tree.
“Like this.” His breath brushes near my ear. “Hold it tighter.”
His voice alone should be illegal.
I try to focus on the tree or the gun, on literally anything other than the hard feel of his body behind me or the way his fingers fit over mine just right. My body betrays me, warmth cascading through me while my nipples grow taut against my top.
Fantastic. Apparently I can’t even get through a damn shooting lesson without wanting to jump him.
I try my best to do what he says and actually follow his instructions.
“Good girl. Just like that.”
Oh God.
Sir, that’s not helping…
“You will shoot that tree straight ahead.”
I nod, my stomach flipping with nerves as I lift the gun, his hand still wrapped around mine while I aim toward the trunk and try to focus.
“Breathe.” The word brushes over my ear.
I drag in a shaky breath, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my pulse while his grip keeps mine in place.
“Now squeeze.”
I pull the trigger, and the shot cracks through the woods so sharply that my arms jolt from the recoil. But instead of hitting the tree I intended, it misses, hitting another.
My shoulders sink. “Damn it.”
“Did you expect to hit it on your first try?”
“Yes.” I shrug, turning to him. “I was hoping to be naturally gifted.”
“Well, now that we have established you aren’t, you will try again.”
I scoff playfully. “That’s not very encouraging.”
“You’ll get used to it, printsessa. Now, again.” He grabs my hips and spins me toward the tree. “Shoot.”
His fingers delve into my flesh, his body pinned to mine.
“You’re not helping me?”
“Net. Now you do it yourself.”
When he notices my grip lower, he kisses my neck, and I shudder.
“Do not let one miss rattle you. Focus.”
That’s hard to do when you’re kissing me like that.
I lift the gun with more determination this time, wanting to do it right, to hear his approval. My arm rises, my finger pressing the trigger, but when I fire, I miss again.
“Fuck!” I lower the weapon, frustration bubbling inside me.
When I close my eyes, Anton grips my shoulders. “We aren’t leaving until you make the shot.”
“Well, I guess we’ll be sleeping here tonight.”
Daddy would be so disappointed. He always hated that I was never interested in guns like my siblings. While they were out shooting anything they could, I was tending to the animals.
“Don’t do that.” Anton turns me to face him, his arm sliding across my back as he draws me against him. “Don’t pity yourself. It helps no one. Focus on the tree. Picture someone you hate. Someone you wish you could kill with your bare hands.”
I want to tell him there’s no one, that I’m not a monster who fantasizes about such things. But it would be a lie, because when I face the tree again, his face is the one I see.
Tucker Hargrove.
My throat goes dry as that night comes rushing back. His weight pinning me down. His touch on my thighs. The panic flooding my chest when I realized I couldn’t get him off me.
“He can’t hurt you anymore.” Anton closes the distance between us, the warmth of him drawing me back to the present.
But he can’t, because he wasn’t there. I was.
When I aim again, Tucker’s face fills my mind. His fist connecting with my stomach when I tried to fight him off. That vicious grin telling me he believed he could take whatever he wanted from me.
My finger stiffens on the trigger. Then I fire.
Bark splinters from the side of the trunk, and I stare at the mark with my heart pounding.
I did it. I actually did it.
“That’s good.” Anton leans down, his mouth brushing my neck before he presses a soft kiss there. “Now do it again.”
Heat rushes through me at the tenderness in his voice, and moments like this make it impossible not to see the real Anton under everything he tries to bury.
I raise the gun again, and the next shot lands nearer the center of the trunk.
“Again.”
I fire, then keep going. Each bullet strikes closer to the mark, and with every blast, the knot beneath my ribs loosens, leaving more of that night behind in these woods where it belongs.
The last shot hits dead center, and the weight I’ve carried for so long breaks apart. A shaky laugh escapes me, filling me with relief as I turn toward Anton with the gun pointed safely at the ground.
“So…” I plant a hand on my hip. “What do you think? Did I do okay?”
He takes the gun from me, his fingers closing around it as he keeps the barrel angled away, engages the safety, and tucks it back into his waistband. “I’m just happy we won’t be sleeping here. I have a feeling you snore.”
A laugh breaks out. “I’ll have you know, I do not.”
“Mm-hmm. I don’t believe you.”
“You’re shameless.” I wind my arm around his back, tugging him closer. “You just don’t want to admit I did awesome, do you?”
His mouth slightly tips up. “Do you want a standing ovation?”
I shrug, giving him my sweetest smile. “Maybe. Or how about a kiss? On the cheek, of course. You know, for my stellar performance.”
His fingers curl along my jaw, and the teasing smile slips from my face when his attention perches on my mouth.
He looks at me like he wants to throw me up against the tree and fuck me. His thumb traces my lower lip, pulling a rough breath from me as my thighs pinch together and the image takes hold.
“Kissing you on the cheek is the last thing I’m thinking about.”
Every part of me comes alive. “What are you thinking about, then?”
A low chuckle leaves him, deep and rough enough to send a shiver through me. “Things you don’t want to know.”
“I do want to know.”
Instead of answering, his expression hardens. Then his fingers thread through mine and he leads me toward his bike while my mind scrambles to make sense of what he meant. When we stop in front of it, he continues to look at me like he’s discovering something for the first time.
“Get on the bike, printsessa.”
I’d prefer to get on top of you instead…
Grabbing his jaw, I rise on my toes, inching closer until barely any space remains between us. His lips hover a breath from mine. All it would take is the slightest movement to close the distance.
“Don’t call me a princess. I don’t like it.”
He growls, his teeth grinding. “Why not?”
He pushes me up against the cold metal, his cock already hard and pressing into my stomach.
“Because…” My tone drops as his fingers snake into my hair, fisting my strands. “It makes me feel fragile and weak.”
“And you’re not? I think you’re far more fragile than you pretend to be, Thora Whitlock.” His fingers trace the space between my breasts. “So delicate. So soft.” He continues lower, passing my navel before stopping at the button of my jeans. “I could break you so easily.”
God, I want him to.
“As long as you’re the one who puts me back together, I don’t care what you do to me.” I press my mouth to the corner of his.
A growl tears from him as his fist closes around my hair and tips my head back. He holds me there, the intensity between us growing almost unbearable.
He has to feel this. He can pretend we’re nothing all he wants, but we both know he’s lying.
“I’m not capable of putting anything back together.”
My lips twine to a half-smile, my palm clasping his cheek. “You’re always selling yourself short.”
“Or maybe you see something in me that just doesn’t exist.”