Chapter 17
“What’s in the safe?” I ask as Ivan comes through the front door with a giant metal box in his arms. It must weigh a ton, but he makes it look light as a feather.
“We’ll know when we open it,” he says, putting it down just inside the door. “But that’s a challenge for another time. Right now, we need to get you comfortable shooting a gun.”
A little jolt of adrenaline hits me at the mention of shooting. He said he wanted to do that today, but I tucked it away in the back of my head like it wasn’t actually going to happen. I’ve spent the better part of today lying in the garden, smelling flowers, and trying to make a whistle out of a blade of grass.
“Do we have to do that today?” I ask, taking a cautious step back as Ivan removes his coat. “We could see what’s in the safe first. That sounds more interesting.”
“I need to have a bomb squad look at it first, so no,” he replies. “Believe it or not, guns are a safer option this evening.”
I peek around him, looking at the safe like it’s going to explode any second. Why would he bring it inside if it needed to be looked at by a bomb squad? Does he want to keep me from leaving through the front door?
“Don’t worry about the safe,” he says, coming toward me and slipping a hand around my waist. “Think about all the fun we’re going to have together. Shooting is fun.”
“Maybe for you,” I say as I melt into the warmth of his muscular body. He smells like cigar smoke and the great outdoors, a combination that causes a stir in my belly. It seems like no matter how many times he claims me, I want to be underneath him again.
In bed, under the stars, or anywhere he pleases. As long as I can ride him like there’s no tomorrow, I’ll be happy.
Ivan moves his hand up under my skirt, taking my ass in his hand and squeezing one cheek. I jump at the sudden change of pace, my face flushing hot. I don’t know why I’m still so shy around him. I should be used to this by now.
“Give me a kiss,” he says, leaning down and tickling my face with his stubble.
I tilt my chin up, meeting his lips and relaxing into his body further. I feel like I could melt completely and soak into his shirt. I think I’d like that, actually. I want to be a part of him, going where he goes and never having to be alone.
Ivan’s tongue dances in my mouth for a moment, but he pulls away far too soon, leaving a burning desire in me for more. The urge to pounce on him is great, but I can tell he doesn’t want this to turn into a repeat of the first night I stayed over.
Apparently, we have business to attend to.
“Put on some long sleeves and a shirt with a high neckline. I don’t want you getting burned by any loose shells. We’ll be putting quite a few rounds down range,” he says, adjusting his tie and giving me a lopsided smile. “No dresses, as fun as that would be.”
“I don’t think you deserve a dress,” I say, smoothing down my skirt. “You’re such a tease.”
“Relax, princess. You’ll get what you deserve after dinner. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your behavior this morning.”
I raise an eyebrow, curious as to what he means by that. I may have defied him, but it wasn’t for long. A command is a command, after all.
He claps his hands and winks. “Perhaps a little discipline is in order.”
“What? Really? I stayed home all day,” I whine.
He chuckles, leading me toward the staircase as he smooths his hair back with his free hand. “You stayed home, but you were still a defiant little thing this morning. Stuff like that can get you in trouble.”
“You left so quickly I didn’t even have time to defy you. If you want to see defiance, trying doing something like that right now. You’d have to fight me to get through the front door,” I say, pinching his arm.
“More reasons why you must be disciplined.” His voice is calm, but there’s something wicked in it. He’s the perfect lover, but he can be cruel with how he gives me pleasure sometimes. I suspect this is one of those times.
I won’t know until after we do the gun training, though, so I don’t push my luck. I dash up the stairs, changing into fresh clothes that Ivan had delivered here this morning. Everything is beautiful, practical, and fits perfectly. There’s even a completely separate set of pretty underwear, lingerie, and some things I haven’t even figured out how to wear yet.
In the spirit of keeping things practical, I choose black legging and matching long-sleeved shirt. Underneath, however, I sneak in a little fun with a neon-green thong. I’ve figured out that although Ivan is rather grim and grey with his wardrobe, all the lingerie he’s bought for me is bright and cheerful.
I understand why he needs me in his life so much now. I’m here to balance him out.
As the sun begins to drop toward the horizon, I rush past the stained glass in the hallway and race down the stairs to meet up with Ivan. He’s carrying a black plastic suitcase with an orange caution sticker on the side.
I see tiredness in his eyes, but I doubt he’d ever admit that. He works so hard without complaining at all.
“We’ll have to take one of the golf carts down to the range, but it’s not too far from here,” he says, nodding toward the door. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, attempting to hide the fear in my voice. As much as I understand the need for me to be trained to shoot, I always associate guns with senseless violence. It feels like I’m becoming part of the problem by learning to use one.
But I signed up for this lifestyle, and there’s no backing out.
Ivan leads me out and around the back, where there’s a white golf cart waiting in the grass. Ivan can barely fit behind the wheel, and I stifle a laugh as he struggles to position his knees correctly without knocking the steering wheel.
“Maybe I should drive,” I say as I slide into the seat next to him.
“No, no, I got this,” he says, his voice strained as he wiggles in his seat.
I cover my mouth to keep from laughing as he starts to sweat. He’s trying so hard to fit into this little golf cart, and it’s so funny to watch. There are plenty of perks to be a humongous man, but this is one of the unfortunate downsides.
“Comfortable?” I ask as he finally twists the key to start the cart.
He glares at me, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Just wonderfully so. And you?”
I smirk, wiggling in my seat like he did. “Yes, very comfortable.”
He laughs, pressing the accelerator and causing the cart to lurch forward. “We’ll see how comfortable you are when we get to the range. Those targets are designed to be difficult.”
I like a good challenge. I feel like he thinks I won’t be able to handle it because I’m a small woman with hands a third of the size of his, but I’m sure if he gave me an appropriately sized gun, I wouldn’t be half bad at shooting. I don’t especially like the idea of practicing to kill someone, but if push comes to shove, I’ll do what I have to so that I survive.
Life feels worth it these days. It’s odd that it took a funeral and a brush with death to realize how fortunate I am, but I’ll take it. It’s better than continuing through life with a dark cloud of despair hanging over me.
Besides, I might not even be alive for that long because of my membership in the Bratva. I should enjoy the days I have left to live.
It’s funny how that works. People spend their whole life moping around, feeling sorry for themselves without demanding any better from life, and then when they feel threatened by the grim reaper, they suddenly want to do all this stuff and enjoy themselves again.
That’s my case, at least. I don’t know how Ivan feels about this lifestyle. I can tell it takes a toll on him, but there doesn’t seem to be anything he’d rather be doing than shooting guns, making money, and turning my sex life upside down with his tongue.
The wind through my hair is warm and promising as we arrive at the shooting range. It’s facing a hill, allowing the bullets to stop as they hit the dirt instead of continuing on toward the edge of the property. There’s a short wooden fence around it, but otherwise it’s exposed to the elements.
“Don’t shoot any of my ducks,” Ivan says as he parks the cart.
“Your ducks?” I ask, a bit confused as I step out onto the grass.
Ivan points to the hill, where a few ducks are sitting in the grass. “You’ll want to avoid those guys. They’re usually at the pond, but sometimes they like to hang out at the range. I love those little guys.”
At first, I think he’s joking, but when I look at his face, all I see is silent admiration for our winged company. As it turns out, he really does like the ducks.
I’ll admit, I’ve never really thought much of ducks. My parents never let me feed them bread like everyone else did when we went to the park, but maybe Ivan had a better experience growing up.
“Your ducks,” I clarify as we walk toward the range entrance. “So, they’re pets or what?”
“They’re nature’s pets,” he replies cheerfully. “Beautiful creatures.”
I find his appreciation endearing, but my focus quickly switches back to the task at hand as he lays his plastic suitcase on the table at the front of the range and unlatches it. The smell of gun oil and a faint hint of gunpowder fill my nose as he opens it, revealing a couple of pistols and a folded rifle.
“We’ll start with something small,” he says, removing one of the pistols and pulling back the slide. “Aim for the orange target closest to us, and we’ll go from there.”
I’m surprised when he hands me the gun, forgoing any other instructions or warnings. I try exercise common sense as I hold it, pointing it down the range and keeping my finger off the trigger until I’m ready to shoot.
“Oh, and maybe you want these,” Ivan says, digging into his pocket and pulling out a pair of fluorescent-yellow earplugs.
“Oh, right, so I don’t go deaf,” I say, taking them and plugging my ears. “You don’t need any?”
He shrugs. “Already deaf.”
I laugh, but I realize he probably does have some amount of hearing damage from all the times he’s used his gun without wearing protection. Take that risk enough times, and you’ll eventually face some steep consequences.
My eyes travel down to the gun in my hand, and I feel sick to my stomach. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I lift the gun, looking toward Ivan for approval.
“Both hands,” he says, mimicking the correct stance.
I bring my other hand up, holding the gun so tightly that my knuckles ache. The plastic grip is so sweaty that I’m afraid it’s going to slip out of my hands at the first shot. I adjust my grip a few times, wiping my hands on my leggings before attempting to aim.
“Point and shoot. I just want to get an idea of how your aim is,” Ivan says, his voice muffled to a whisper from the earplugs.
The orange target is nothing more than a piece of metal sticking up from the ground. I think it’s hinged so that it falls when I hit it, but I won’t know until I shoot.
I try to relax my body, starting at my shoulders and then moving to my jaw when I realize how tightly it’s clenched. Slowly, I inhale, and my vision narrows in on the target. Even though my hands are shaking, I hold the gun firmly and squeeze the trigger.
It jumps in my hands, but not so much that I can’t control it. I hear a ding from the bullet hitting the target, and it folds backwards in defeat.
“Alright!” Ivan cheers from beside me. His hands clamp down on my shoulders. “Not so bad, after all. You’re a natural!”
My laughter takes some of the tension away, and the wind dries some of the sweat from my forehead. “You really think it was fine?” I ask, still staring at the bent target.
“That’s on target, so yes. We’ll see if it’s a fluke in just a moment,” he says, pulling a remote from his pocket and clicking a button. The orange target pops back up. “Go ahead and take another shot.”
I squint at the target, raising my gun again and firing a shot off much quicker. It hits the target, knocking it over again.
“Amazing,” Ivan says, beaming at me like a proud parent. “You are going to do great. Let’s get you on some harder targets and see how you do.”