Chapter 11 #2
It’s a whisper I would have missed if I weren’t physically inches away from him. And though I want to yell at him for how he treated me back there, I can’t. I know it’s for my own good. And in this moment, with our fingers intertwined, some of my earlier frustration dissipates.
Something creates a turmoil in my stomach, and my only thought is that even their food doesn’t agree with me. Because it must be the food. Not his gesture.
Right. Of course it’s the food.
“I know you have to do this, but I can’t help feeling angry about it,” I whisper back.
“I understand, but all of this is for your safety.”
My safety . I’ll never be truly safe here. And by the look of regret in his eyes, I know he understands that too.
As we leave the mansion, a man slightly older than Maksim awaits us at the entrance. Instantly, Maksim withdraws his finger from mine, and I feel that familiar whirlwind in my stomach.
Why does it bother me that he pulled his hand away?
“Have you prepared everything?” I hear Maksim ask, and I pause to take a closer look at the new guy.
He has brown hair and green eyes, a nose that suggests he’s been in a few fistfights, but otherwise, he’s an attractive man—the kind I would usually swoon over, except my mind is fixated on how much his eyes don’t appeal to me because they’re not gray.
Not gray? Julia, please, don’t fall for someone you’ve known for just twenty-four hours.
I try to ignore the voice in my head, because I’m not in love. I’m simply grateful to have Maksim in my corner.
“Yes,” the man responds while sizing me up from head to toe.
After a few moments, Maksim seems to remember I’m here and introduces us.
“Julia, this is Akim. He’s the only person in this house I trust, so if you ever need something and I’m not around, go to him. I’ll introduce you to his sister, Zoya, when we get back to the house.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand. My gaze lingers on him, curiosity prickling beneath the surface. “Does your sister work here?”
The words escape before I can stop them, edged with a sharpness I can’t quite hide. The thought of one of my own sisters anywhere near these men makes my stomach twist. I wouldn’t let them set foot in this house—not for anything.
For a few seconds, the men share a look, and then Maksim responds.
“Zoya suffers from a skin condition; nobody touches her.”
I just nod. If you have to suffer from a medical condition for monsters like these to keep their hands off you, ay Diosito... What kind of life is that?
After Akim and Maksim exchange a few more words, including something about strangled children, which I make a mental note to ask about later, I’m led toward what appears to be a kind of shed. Inside on a table are over twenty types of guns lined up.
Guns that could fit in my pocket, rifles, knives with different types of blades, and... ?Dios mío, sí! A machine gun! I'm going to learn how to use the machine gun.
The smile spreading across my face isn't normal, but all I can think about is how I want to see Martin's face when I enter that house with a machine gun in hand and blow his brains away.
When I turn to Maksim, he is studying me with something like amusement in his eyes.
“So, I take it you like the machine gun?”
I sense in his tone that he’s holding back a laugh.
“Well, which one can I use to cause the most trouble?”
He looks at me for a few seconds as if trying to read my mind.
“Clearly, the machine gun.”
He takes my hand and guides me toward the table, where he explains each weapon and its advantages and disadvantages.
I don't think he realizes that once again he's touched me without me seeking it, and even though I know I'll eventually leave this place, something in my chest beats much faster with his proximity.
It’s okay—it’s not like I’m not allowed to be attracted to him.
He’s an attractive man, tall, well-built, with those gray eyes that I could get lost in for hours.
He has those small scars on his face that somehow make him seem more mature, more seasoned.
And it’s perfectly normal to be drawn to him at my age when hormones are running wild.
“Did you understand?”
The question makes me turn to Maksim, who is frowning slightly at me. Damn, how do I tell him I didn’t hear what he said because I was too busy justifying why his simple touch makes butterflies in my stomach?
“Yes,” I respond because I’d rather let the ground swallow me up than admit I didn’t hear anything he said because I was too caught up in the sensation of his hand holding mine.
Something in my response bothers him, and the contact with my skin stops.
“Don’t lie to me, Julia. That’s the one thing I won’t tolerate. I’m risking a lot to keep you safe. If you can’t be honest with me, maybe it’s better for you to go back to Ivan. One less worry for me.”
His tone is so serious and unemotional that for a second, I feel like slapping myself.
I couldn't ever fall for someone like him. The way he suggested sending me back like I’m a product that can be returned made it clear.
I don’t know why he took me out of that room.
Even though he’s better than the rest of the people in this house, he grew up here.
Some of their ruthlessness must have rubbed off on him.
“I understand. It won’t happen again.”
My response doesn’t seem to satisfy him. His jaw clenches, though he says nothing more.
I examine the weapons, placing my hands on them to see which ones I’m more comfortable with. In the end, I decide on the machine gun and a small pistol that looks like a toy. An obvious weapon and a discreet one. Like my personality. I can be quite loud, but I can also be very reserved.
We start with the small pistol, which I learn is called a Kolibri, and after two hours of training, I’m exhausted.
I feel a headache coming on as I try to memorize every detail Maksim provides. How to distribute my weight on both feet, how to account for the wind outside, whether the target is moving or not.
Out of the ten targets set up, I haven’t hit a single one. Great. I’m a disaster with this gun.
“Take the machine gun.”
Maksim’s voice is firm, so I follow the command without a word. I can tell he’s probably disappointed by how epically I failed to hit a target just fifty feet away.
“Any advice here?” I ask because the gun is much heavier, but somehow I feel more confident with it.
“Yes, don’t aim it at me.”
With that, he signals for me to fire. I let out the breath I’d been holding and squeeze the trigger. The recoil knocks me back nearly six feet as the gun erupts in my hands. Thank God for the ear protection—without it, my eardrums would be toast.
“At least we know which gun suits you.”
I hear Akim’s amused tone and glance more closely at the targets. They’re all riddled with holes. I figure that as long as I aim at whoever pisses me off, there won’t be a problem.
“Let’s do another round, this time without headphones.”
I feel like stomping my foot in frustration because I’m tired, but when I look at my instructor’s eyes, I see a hint of pride there, which makes me lift the machine gun and fire.
Because at some point, I started to care what this man feels about me, and that’s a big fucking problem.