Obsession

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Violet

Oh God, he’s going to absolutely fucking murder me for this, but it will be worth it. You only live once, so you might as well make that one time so worth it.

I tried to sleep last night and did end up finally catching some zzz’s, but it was nowhere near enough. My mind was teeming with everything that had happened… and that kiss. So when I woke, I knew where I had to go.

I knew he was meeting me here. I asked in the kitchen about who the shooting instructor was, and by the way they all looked at each other knowingly and laughed, I knew it was Cain.

I wanted to get here ahead of him. I didn’t want to give him even that little bit of control over me.

So I came here first, even though I don’t know what I’m doing.

I guessed he doesn’t just leave guns sitting around, but I found Joe in the kitchen, and I may have told a bit of a white lie embellished with what I knew Joe heard last night about our practice. Joe allowed me to come down here, but there was another guy, some big dude with a shaved head, training outside. He was the one that let me in.

The floor beneath my feet’s sparkling clean, made of concrete. Each practice area, sectioned off like cubicles, has a place to stand, a small table covered in velvet where I’m presuming you lay your guns, a hook with headphone things, and in front, targets at a distance. Half a dozen people could safely practice in here at once.

He’s coming here, coming soon, and my body heats with this knowledge. I want him so badly I can taste it. I want so much more than a kiss.

Even his attention’s nice, and I know I’m going to get more than I can handle if he catches me in here. I’m early though, at least fifteen minutes. I’ll put this all away before he comes.

I may have never shot a gun, but I’m no fool. I got a few hours of sleep, then pulled up a YouTube video on my phone and watched a series of “intro to shooting” videos. I didn’t want to be a complete newb.

I just want to touch the guns. I just want to feel them in my hand, see how heavy they are.

I have to admit, I didn’t know guns were so gorgeous .

I lift each gun, feeling the substantial weight of them in my palm. I don’t know why I ever bothered with throwing knives when guns were an option. I caress the heavy barrels, finger the finely crafted details. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long in my life without ever holding a gun. I’ve been missing out.

I doubt these are all the weapons he has on his property, but I’m pretty happy with what I can play around with for now.

There’s a compact pistol that feels like I'm holding a stick of dynamite in my hands. I place it back in the box, gingerly. Whoa. That thing’s deadly.

Next up, a revolver. Don’t know the name but it’s exquisite. I feel energy pulse through me, and for one brief moment, imagine electricity lighting up my veins like live wires. I’m not tired anymore when I hold the revolver.

There are handguns and shotguns, some that make me think of private investigators wearing suits and trench coats, others that look like they should be strapped to the backs of a military brigade.

I’m not dumb enough to load any of them. I put down the revolver and pick up another gun, imagine pointing it at the target. How hard is it to pull the trigger?

“Come at me,” I whisper, remembering what Cain muttered at Troy last night, his words laden with a deadly threat. “ Come at me, bro. ”

I pull the trigger just to see what it feels like.

Fire erupts from the gun.

I fall to the floor, too stunned at first to feel the pain in my shoulder. My ears ring from the deafening roar of the shot, and the instinctive fight or flight part of me feels like I should run for cover.

The door to the firing range bursts open, and I know before I even look to see who it is, Cain Master has entered the arena.

Great.

I am in so much damn trouble it isn’t even funny.

I place the gun gingerly down on the ground—too little, too late?—and leap to my feet. “I had no idea it was loaded!” I say in my defense. I flail my arms defensively, so he doesn’t actually murder me with his bare hands, but I suspect if he really wants to, my waving arms aren’t going to hold him back.

I knew the first time I saw Cain that he was capable of anger. I knew it from the moment our eyes first met, when I saw a world of hurt and rage simmering in his eyes. I knew it when we began hunting for his sister, and I saw him control and harness that anger when he killed the bartender last night.

But this… this isn’t controlled anger. It’s nothing but unadulterated, boiling hot rage, and he’s coming straight at me.

He has to stop at some point, I reason. He has to… stop walking and… halt.

But he doesn’t.

When he reaches me, he grabs me by the upper arms and shakes me, hard enough to make my teeth rattle, before he shoves me up against the wall with a growl I feel deep in my belly. Cold concrete hits my back as his fingers grasp my chin. I’ve never wanted to look away from someone so badly in my life, but his grip on my chin makes that impossible.

He says something to me, but my ears are ringing from the sound of the shot and the blood pounding in my head. I shake my head to signal to him that I can’t hear him.

He raises his voice so loudly, my stomach clenches.

“You think you can shoot a gun? With no training, no experience, nothing to keep you safe? Do you?” he snarls. A vein throbs in his temple, his nostrils flare. I cringe. What else am I supposed to do? I’m wilting under the heat of his glare, and I totally deserve this. Shooting a loaded gun is really fucking stupid. I wouldn’t blame him if he made me leave or fired me or made me go peel potatoes in the kitchen, or whatever it is a military guy does to someone who’s royally fucked up.

My voice shakes. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was loaded.”

My ears still ring. I want to cover them to still the aching reverberation.

His eyes are sharp as ice, blue rivulets of churning fury, as he holds my gaze.

“Who gave you the gun?”

“I—I don’t know his name. A guy with a shaved head? He was outside.”

“Claude.”

Still holding my gaze, he reaches for his cell phone and makes a call. I’m trembling, scared of what he’ll do next, scared to say a thing. He puts it on speakerphone.

“Yes, sir?”

His voice cuts like a scalpel. “Did I give you permission to give Miss Price a weapon?”

A pause, then, “No sir.”

“She did not have permission to touch a weapon, and I’ll punish her for that. But if you ever again give anyone a weapon without my express consent, I will fire you. Consider this your one and only warning. Do you understand me?”

Punish?

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’m so sorry.”

“Miss Price, I believe you have something to say as well.”

I’m shaking in his grip, and my voice sounds distant and muffled. “I’m sorry I asked you for a weapon. I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

I’m sorry I got myself in trouble?

Why did I think it was okay to work with him again?

I’m shaking as he hangs up the phone and shoves it back into his pocket, which, unfortunately, brings his furious gaze back to focus fully on me.

Gah-reat.

I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. I have to say… something. But when I go to speak, he shakes his head at me.

“No.”

I don’t know exactly what he’s saying “no” to, but I clamp my mouth shut. It’s convenient, since I don’t know what I would say anyway.

I look down at his hands on my wrists and realize he’s shackled me in his grip. With the cold concrete wall at my back, there isn’t a single move I know that could get me out of this position. He dwarfs me, my whole body shadowed by his.

When he speaks, his voice vibrates with anger.

“Are you familiar with the Four-Step Approach to Progressive Discipline, Miss Price?”

Ouch. We’ve gone from the hottest kiss of my life to “Miss Price.”

I shake my head, still not sure if I’m allowed to speak.

“Step one.” His words travel down my neck to my collarbone and warm my skin. I swallow hard. “Verbal warning. The supervisor tells the employee of their concerns and listens to the employee’s side of the story, then issues a verbal warning of disciplinary actions.” His fingers flex on my wrists.

I nod dumbly. Yes. Mhm. Got it.

“Step two,” he growls. Oooh, boy. “Written warning. Self-explanatory, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper. I don’t have a submissive bone in my body but showing some respect right now might help my plight.

His eyes soften for a fraction of a second at my response. I feel about two feet tall and would feel about ten years old if my body didn’t react the way it did to his intimidation tactics. My pulse races, and my mouth goes dry, remembering the last time we were this close to one another, what he’d done next.

I can’t look away from his eyes and wish I could.

“Step three involves suspension. Paid or unpaid leave for a defined length of time, presumably during which the employee considers their behavior and decides how they will proceed.”

A pause where neither of us speaks, before he finishes, “Step four is termination.”

Silence can be loud sometimes. Right now, it’s deafening.

He releases my wrists, but I still can’t move, because he leans in on one forearm, his other caging me in. I’m just as secured as I was before.

This may not be the time to once again remind him that I’m not his employee, but an independent contractor.

“Do you know how many men I’ve let go, Miss Price?”

I shake my head.

“One. This morning. And do you know why?”

I shake my head again. I feel as if I’m going to cry.

“Because he could’ve killed you with his stupidity.”

I can’t breathe. I try but my lungs don’t seem to want to work.

The man I affectionately called Douche… Armand, I think his name is… Fired. Because… he could’ve killed me?

I don’t know why I mean anything at all to Cain. But there's no point in denying the fact that I do. Probably more than I deserve.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I really didn’t know it was loaded.”

His shoulders rise as he draws in a deep breath before he releases it. “The guns down here usually aren’t loaded, because I want my men to bring their own ammo with them. We do have loaded guns on the premises, because the only people who ever set foot here are trained in weaponry and shooting, and because having loaded weapons on hand helps in matters of self-defense.”

I nod. I don’t know how else to respond.

“Lesson one. Always, always assume that a weapon in your hand is loaded.”

I want to smack my own forehead with a resounding duh, because that sounds like something that should be obvious.

“How are your ears?”

“They’re… okay.”

“Lesson two.” He’s still holding his body pressed to mine, still pinning me to the wall. His breath skates across my skin, a reminder of what happened last night. My lips tingle. “You can permanently damage your hearing from one gunshot if you don’t have proper protection. Always wear electronic earmuffs or ear plugs.”

I nod.

His gaze travels down to my shoulder. “Did you hurt yourself on the kickback?”

I forgot about the pain until he mentioned it just now. Ouch. Tears sting my eyes, and not just from physical pain.

“Yes.”

With a scowl that would freeze hell, he reaches for my collar and gently tries to tug down my T-shirt so he can inspect my shoulder. The collar’s unyielding, though, and he can’t see anything.

Frowning, he steps back and folds his arms across his chest like he’s surveying me. “Off with the shirt.”

I try to play this off. Lighten the mood, you could say, to take his focus away from my trembling hands and the way I’m flushing like I’m sunburnt.

“My, my, Mr. Master, so early in the morning and you’re?—”

“Not. Playing.”

The flirtation dies on my lips as I reach for the bottom of my shirt. I try to tug it up so he can only see my shoulder, a really futile attempt at holding onto some semblance of control through this, but it’s no use. With a sigh, I take it off. My shoulder burns .

“Of all the guns you could’ve shot, you chose the one with the quietest sound but meanest kickback.”

“Right. Good one, Vi.” I swallow my need to cry and wince when his fingers graze my shoulder.

I remember the way he kissed my bruised shins when he bandaged me yesterday. I remember the way he cradled my head and comforted me. While still obviously angry, he’s no less gentle this time than he was the day before.

Sliding one hand along the small of my back, he braces me as he inspects my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be bruised,” he whispers. “These all happened on my watch. Never again.”

Not all, I want to remind him. The car accident wasn’t his fault. Hell, none of it is.Why does he blame himself?

“You don’t need to see a doctor for this, but we should wait on any more practice for today.”

I shake my head. “No. No, please, Cain. I’m fine.” I move my arm around just to show him I’m okay, but I can’t hide the wince when pain explodes along my arm and shoulder.

“The hell you are.”

I watch his gaze rove hungrily over my barely clad breasts and flat belly before I yank my shirt back on.

“I need to learn how to shoot! I need you to teach me.”

“You do not make demands around here, Miss Price.”

Fuck him with the Miss Price bullshit.

“I’m not Miss Price!” I yell in a fit of frustration. “My name is Violet !”

Something snaps in him. I see it in his eyes. One minute, he’s staring at me angrily, prepared to argue with me. The next, there’s cold decision in his gaze.

“You want me to teach you?” he asks, his voice an alarming purr. “Fine. I’ll teach you.”

His words ring in my memory.

I’ll punish her for that.

“The gun on your left is the perfect gun for beginner’s practice. Lift it with two hands and point it away from you and repeat the first rule I told you.”

I nod. “Always assume a gun is loaded.”

“ Always. Do what I said and place it on the table in front of you.” Ahead of us are the targets, a few bullseyes, but most covered in thick paper in the shape of a human body.

My hand shakes a little, but I will the trembling to stop. I pick up the gun, point it away from me, and lay it on the velvet table in my cubicle. My hands hang by my sides awkwardly.

“Good. Now lean over the table on your forearms.”

I blink. “Lean over the table?” What the hell does that have to do with holding a gun?

His icy blue stare pins me in place. “Lean. Over. The. Table.”

I turn away from him, shaking, as I do what he tells me. I hear him walk up to me right before I feel his heat at my back. I still when he leans over me, pushing me against the table while he reaches for something I didn’t see before–small leather loops on the table, no doubt meant to secure weapons when they’re not in use. Only it isn’t the gun he’s securing.

“Cain! What are you doing?” I hate that my voice shakes. Hate that he’s scaring me.

Without a word, he slips my wrist in the first leather harness, then the next.

Click. I can’t move my arms. I’m bent over the velvet table, my wrists secured in front of me.

“The target range is soundproof, Violet. No one will hear you if you scream. So go ahead. Scream to your little heart’s content. I’ll enjoy this more if you do.”

If he didn’t have his hand on my lower back just now, I’d be terrified. As it is, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly at ease…

I hear the click of metal, a swish. Is he… unfastening his jeans? What?

My hands shake, and my belly quivers. I…what will he…

“Repeat rule number one, Violet.”

I love the way he says my name.

I swallow, my voice still distant even as the ringing fades. “Always assume a gun is loaded.”

“Maybe this will help burn it into your memory.” There’s the sound of a swish, then a line of fire lights up my ass. I gasp, too shocked to do more than that. I whip my head around to see him standing behind me, his belt folded over in his grip.

Heat fans my core while indignation rises.

I could tell him off. I could tell him to go fuck himself and keep his big hands to himself. But then I’m fucked. Then I’m back to square one, where I’ve been for so long the very thought of going back there makes me feel desperate. No. No, I can’t walk away from him, not now. Not when I’ve come so close to what I need.

I catch his gaze for one heart-stopping moment. I’m the utter focus of his attention. A bomb could go off beside him right now and his attention wouldn’t waver.

His icy voice shatters the silence. “Did I give you permission to turn around?”

I hold his gaze. Is he… into this?

Am I?

I shake my head wordlessly. He makes a twirly motion with his finger and points. “Then turn back around and stay bent over that table.” I didn’t even realize I’d stood up, hunched over as my wrists are still secured.

Shaking, I do what he says.

“Tell me rule number two.”

I cringe, knowing he’s going to punish me now, somehow craving and dreading it at the same time. “Always wear ear protection.”

Again, the whir of leather and another searing strike. I cry out this time, but before I can recover there’s an additional lash of leather.

Rule number two. Two strikes.

I bite my lip. Even though it hurts, I know a man as strong as he is could tear the skin off my back if he whipped me at full strength. He’s moderating his strength, by a lot.

“Earmuffs on.” He’s right up next to me when he slides them over my ears. The ringing stops, but all other sounds are muffled.

His voice sounds as if it’s far, far off in the distance.

He’s still standing behind me. I can feel his eyes burning through me as vividly as his belt.

“Rule number three.”

Oh, God, will that be three strikes?

“ Always keep your finger on the outside of the trigger guard, nowhere near the trigger, until you’re ready to shoot.”

Leaning across my body, he slides the gun between my secured wrists. “Show me.”

I make sure my fingers are nowhere near the trigger.

He nods. “Good. Just like that.” He takes the gun away. “Bend over the table.”

“Oh my God! Again?”

“You didn’t really think we were done, did you?”

I ignore the way excitement builds in my belly, because I don’t have any fucking idea why the knowledge that he’s going to continue to punish me thrills me.

I shake my head numbly. I bend over the table again. This time, I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

No warning at all, but his belt lands with rapid precision, each line of fire building on the one before it until my body screams in pain.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then he’s in my space, his body over mine and his pelvis pressed up against my aching, heated ass. I look down at his large hands placed on either side of me and shiver. I feel his prickly stubble along my cheek as his mouth comes to my ear. “Did you learn your lesson, Violet?” His teeth clench on my earlobe, and I hiss in a breath.

Heat races through me. I close my eyes. I’m drowning in him, in his nearness and dominance, his voice and clean, masculine scent. My heart beats along with his as he’s pressed up against my back.

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me something, then.”

“Yes?” I whisper.

“If I slid my fingers into your panties, would I find you wet?”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

“I spanked you.”

That felt like more than a spanking. My voice trembles.“You call that a spanking? A spanking is over your lap with your palm.”

“I can arrange that, too.”

Gah! I think I swallowed my tongue.

“Cain!”

“ Violet . Did your punishment turn you on?”

In my trademark nonsensical way, I answer a question with a question. “If that was punishment, would I be in trouble for being turned on?”

“Of course. You’d have to wait until I got you alone later to do anything about that.” I slam my lips together so I don’t do something stupid like beg.

I feel his hands anchored on my hips and he draws me closer to him. His erection presses up against my ass.

I’m not the only one turned on.

He unfastens the cuffs, turns me around to face him, then slides his hand along my jaw, his anger dialed back to a low simmer.

“Today’s lesson’s over, but we’re nowhere near done here. We have unfinished business, you and I. Understood?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll meet me here at seven a.m. You do not enter until I am here. You do not pick up a weapon until you have permission. You do not shoot a gun without my permission. And I’ll be sure to help you remember each rule.”

I nod again. Does that mean he’ll… turn this into what I think he will?

How will I focus when he’s doing that?

I wish our lesson wasn’t over for the day, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m already turned on beyond reason, so much I’m shaking.

People always say I’m intense. Some can’t handle my brand of intensity. They want me to play nice, to follow the rules. They like things like polite conversation and social norms. Not me, though. That’s never been who I am.

I once dated a guy who got angry with me when I wouldn’t let him pull out my chair or order dinner for me. I told him I take care of myself, and I’m not giving that up for a guy I hardly know. “You’re too intense,” he said when he dropped me back off at my apartment.

Too intense.

I held those words within me. I remembered them. And when I found myself alone, or wishing for some kind of companionship, I’d pull them up again.

Too intense.

I was too intense for anyone to ever love.

“Where’d you go just now?” Cain asks, his sapphire eyes boring into mine. “You sometimes go somewhere in your mind, like you’re dredging up memories. Where’d you go this time?”

There’s no need to hide the truth.

“I was just thinking that… until I met you, I’d never met anyone more intense than I am.”

A glimmer of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re almost… sad. No, not almost. “You think I’m intense?”

“So intense you make me forget to breathe.”

The flutter of breath on my forehead warns me he’s drawing closer. I close my eyes as his lips brush my skin. I look at him when he responds.

“You’re so intense, you make every cell in my body aware of your presence,” he whispers, and his anger lowers even more. “You shine so bright, it almost hurts to look at you, like I’m staring directly at a beam of light.” My throat tightens. He has to stop. He’s going to make me cry, and I do not cry. “You’re so beautiful, I feel as if I stare too long, I’ll turn to stone.”

“Stop.”

We stare at each other in silence for two full beats before he speaks again. “Why?”

I don’t know why. Words seem ludicrous when the feelings in your heart boil over. “I… Because we just met.” Because I’m uncomfortable with praise, it’s so foreign to me.

He shakes his head, and I don’t know why.

Slowly, so slowly I don’t realize what he’s doing at first, he threads his fingers through my hair. The feeling’s exquisite, sexy, relaxing, and comforting all at once. “When you touched the guns earlier, did you know right away which one fit in your palm? Did awareness strike you?”

The question surprises me almost as much as my answer. “Yes.”

“There was a certain comfort in the touch, wasn’t there? As if the others held power, but that one was designed just for you? Like someone waved a magic wand and crafted it to fit your palm?”

“Exactly. Yes, that’s it.”

He nods. My skin feels all prickly and hot. “That’s how I felt when I saw you for the first time.”

I brush off the compliment, because I’m squirming under his praise. “Cain, the first time you saw me, you looked as if you were bored by me.”

His response is to lower his mouth and brush his lips across mine. I get the distinct feeling he’s rejecting my comment, but I can’t understand why, and then I forget what the comment or question even was. Because he’s kissing me, our lips joined in a heated moment, and when Cain Master kisses me, the world fades to dust.