Chapter 4 #2
I knew I was a cold man, hardened by my job and my environment, but the way Grisha had just casually given me permission to sleep with his niece, without any thought to her desires or comfort, made me feel a deep disgust for him, for his world and for my part in it.
“Thank you.”
“You’re still on thin ice.”
“Of course.”
“Tomorrow is our skeet competition. It starts at 7 a.m. I’ll be assigning teams in the morning. Tell Mila to be prepared to be outside all day.”
“I will.”
I looked back at Mila while the bartender poured me and Grisha our drinks.
Her dark hair tumbled down her back and her pouty lips gave her a feminine aura.
She caught my eye and gave me a tentative smile.
I knew it was fake, but the one I returned was surprisingly real. Her expression softened in response.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Grisha nodded as he watched her. “This is the least I can do for her. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
I walked back to Mila and replaced her barely drunk glass with a full one. She took a delicate sip. In a moment of weakness, I drained the rest of her old glass in one long gulp.
She watched me with a perplexed look.
“Sorry, did you want to drink that?” I asked.
“I’m actually done drinking for the night.”
I took the full glass from her hands. “Let’s get out of here.”
Back at the room, she moved to one side of the bed and then stood to give me a hostile look.
I put my hands in my pants pockets and rocked back on my heels, deliberately needling her with an innuendo I didn’t mean. “Grisha’s given us his blessing.”
In response, she grabbed one pillow, ripped the bedspread off the bed, and dragged it over to the couch. “Stay away from me, or I’ll scream so loud even the front desk will hear.”
Why is she so cute when she gets riled up?
I hid my amusement and kept my tone mild. “Relax.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t care who gives us their blessing. You’re not touching me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
Her voice went up a notch. “What does that mean?”
“You’re not my type, and I doubt I’m yours.”
She went completely still and then narrowed her eyes. “I can only imagine what your type is.”
I liked women with a lot of sexual confidence.
I loved women who could go emotionally from zero to a hundred in under a minute.
Mila was an innocent version of my type.
She had a temper on her, and the confidence to call me out on my shit, but she possessed none of the sexual awareness of my previous partners.
I’m not interested in innocent.
I worked to stay focused on the conversation at hand. “Grisha’s watching you. He’s looking for signs you’re happy.” I cleared my throat. “Tomorrow he’ll be watching to see if we’re more comfortable with each other after spending the night together.”
She looked upset. “Like what? What is he looking for?”
“We’ll stand closer. You can lean into me. Stare into my eyes. That kind of thing.”
She gave a derisive snort and then caught herself. “Sorry.”
“Sergei’s frothing at the mouth, waiting for his chance with you.”
That immediately sobered her up. “Fine.”
“We’ve also been entered in tomorrow’s skeet competition. He said we’d be outside most of the day. He told me to tell you to dress warm.”
Dismay crossed her face. “No! My uncle’s competitions are the worst. Did he specifically say I had to participate?”
“Yes.”
“He says he’s trying to toughen up his family. Last winter we all had to do a scavenger hunt while cross country skiing, and four people got frostbite. Another year, we had snowmobile races. Someone broke their leg, and someone else’s machine went into the lake before they were rescued.”
“Skeet shooting isn’t dangerous. And it’s not winter, it’s spring.”
“He always adds some twist to make it harder. And he punishes the losers.”
I couldn’t decide if she was being dramatic or if she was genuinely upset. “It’s skeet, and we don’t have snow anymore. At best we’ll be cold, so dress warm.”
She looked dejected. “You’ll see.”
I decided to give her privacy while she got ready for bed. “I’m going for a walk.”
She turned away from me to kneel by her suitcase, but she didn’t speak again.
When I returned later, the lights in the room were out and she was on her side, with her back to me.
At seven in the morning, after a hasty breakfast in the room, a luxury bus picked up two dozen of us and drove us into the mountains, serving only vodka and coffee on the trip.
Now we stood outside in pairs, listening to the range master go over the rules for the skeet range and the competition. Behind him, the pale morning sun fought against a dreary gray sky that promised no warmth and a chance of rain.
“This is not your typical skeet range,” he yelled out like a drill sergeant. “This is one of the most challenging private obstacle skeet courses in the world.”
Several people groaned while others laughed. Mila and I had been paired together. She stood silently beside me, drowning in her oversized raincoat and boots that came up to her knees. She didn’t look at anyone, just stared straight ahead, like a prisoner bracing herself for whatever came next.
The range master droned on. “Both members of the team need to make it to each station. Each member needs to shoot at least once in this competition. You’re allowed to help each other.
Only one rifle will be provided between the two of you, and only one team member can shoot per station.
There will be clay pigeons, five per station.
You will be judged on how fast you make it through the entire course and how many pigeon disks you hit. ”
Someone called out, “What kind of obstacles?”
The range master sounded bored. “We have the bog station, which is just over half a mile. You’ll need to put on hip waders and walk out to the station to shoot.
We also have a net and wall station, which consists of roped walls that you must climb and netting that you crawl under.
The rest I will let you discover on your own. ”
Beside him, Mila’s uncle took a swig from his flask. “Tell them about the prizes,” he boomed.
“The team that finishes first will be awarded a cash prize and a case of our finest vodka.”
“What about the team that’s in last place?” someone else asked.
“We’ve come up with a suitable punishment, but we’re going to leave that a surprise too. Now you’d best get at it, I heard we have a June storm rolling in.”
Everyone groaned.
Mila glanced up at me and spoke with a regretful tone. “We’re going to lose because of me.”
Her words didn’t sound like an apology. She believed what she said.
I looked around the rest of the group. Most of them were men. Some of the younger ones looked to be in decent shape, but they were paired with older men who might be great shots but would struggle with the obstacles. If things went badly, I could carry Mila. Other teams would not have that option.
“I actually really like vodka,” I told her. “I think we should try and win.”
She gave me another look, unconvinced.
The first station ruled that the shooter wear a blindfold.
“You’re up first,” I told her.
She didn’t look happy about it, but she let me spin her around and tie the blindfold over her eyes. She stood dutifully while the loader prepared the shotgun and handed it to me.
“I’m going to put you in position, and when I call pull, you shoot.”
“I can’t see what I am shooting at,” she complained.
“Then you can’t do this wrong, can you?”
“I guess not.” She still sounded uncertain.
She did better than expected and hit one of the flying clay pigeons.
I took the gun from her arms as she pulled the blind off her eyes.
“You’re done shooting for the day. Now all you have to do is walk with me.”
Her eyes looked at me solemnly. “That’s it?”
“You think you can manage that?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
She barely managed it at the bog station. They had us remove our boots and put on hip waders. Mila was brought the smallest size, but she was still drowning in them.
When we were geared up, Mila stood on the platform and looked across the wetlands. There were some scraggly pine trees and gnarly silver birch, but they looked misplaced, like they were sinking beneath a floor of floating moss and dank waters.
“Have you walked in a bog before?” I stood beside her, looking across the foggy waters that felt deceptively calm.
“No. What is this place?”
“It’s mostly moss floating on water, with roots and logs underneath. It can be tough to walk on.”
She just stared. “It smells bad.”
“I’ll carry the shotgun.” I pointed to the skeet stand in the middle of the bog, where two men awaited our arrival. “You just try not to go under.”
She gave me an alarmed look. “Okay.”
The water smelled like decay. Every step was a balancing act of pulling one suctioned foot out of the moss bed and then precariously stepping forward, never knowing if you’d sink further or hit a log.
We were only waist deep, and Mila looked like she was fighting for her life.
She didn’t have the body weight to break the suction, and she was wasting valuable energy just trying to pull each step free.
“Get on my back,” I told her.
Her eyes widened. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s the only way we’re not going to come in last.”
I bent down, and she hooked one leg over my hand and clung to my shoulders. I stood up and pulled her other suctioned leg free. She wrapped her short legs around my waist.
I placed the shotgun between my shoulders and her chest. “Can you keep that dry?”
“Yeah.” She was breathless from her efforts as she clung to my shoulders.
It helped to have my hands free as I powered through the bog. It was a workout getting us both to the skeet platform, and I was breathing hard by the time we arrived, but her added weight actually helped break the suction of the mud and moss.