Chapter 12 - Mikhail
She lingers in the doorway like she’s debating if merely stepping into the warehouse might kill her.
If she does something foolish, it could. But fingers crossed, that won’t be an issue.
Not giving her a choice but to follow, I keep moving through the warehouse, heading for the back portion of the building.
Her short heels click behind me, letting me know that despite everything, she’s still trailing. I doubt she’d want to linger at the front with the guys still around, so keeping up with me is in her best interest.
She’s still in that black dress, and while it isn’t exactly the optimal attire for what I have in mind, I’m not opposed to mixing a bit of elegance with danger.
Whether she knows it or not, she looks like living, breathing temptation, and I have half a mind to glance back at her.
She’s a contradiction walking through my place of work, and yet, I can’t help but feel like she belongs there.
Reaching the metal door, I push it open, letting her in first.
Lily’s eyes rove over the room, taking it all in with a healthy mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Then she glances back at me with her brows slightly furrowed.
“What is this?”
Guiding her a bit farther, I close the door behind me, well aware that the walls lined with locked cabinets and steel cages have caught her attention. More so, their contents have.
“The armory, of course,” I say simply, heading over to one of the cages full of handguns. Unlocking it, I pop the door open and reach for one—black and sleek, just like the others.
While I can only imagine how intimidating the space must look to her, it’s been cleared like I asked, showing nothing too intense for someone as inexperienced with firearms as her.
Even so, she looks at the guns like they’re capable of biting.
“Plus, it’s a firing range,” I add, motioning for her to follow me over to the back wall set up with targets on the far side. “I thought I’d give you a crash course, just in case you need to know how to shoot.”
She looks less than enthused, with her gaze narrowed at me. “And this is supposed to make me feel better about everything?”
“No,” I murmur, grabbing a pair of nearby earmuffs and lifting a brow at her. “But it might help you stop flinching every time you hear a whisper about what I do.”
“You said we weren’t doing anything dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous if you’re smart and know what you’re doing, hence why I’m teaching you now,” I tell her, not willing to skimp on safety when it comes to her.
“I told you I’d protect you, but if there’s ever a time that calls for you to take control of a situation, you need to know how to do that. ”
Her eyes narrow further with her arms crossed. “So, this is some kind of exposure therapy?”
“Sure…whatever you want to call it.”
Despite her irritation, I carefully slide the earmuffs over her ears, allowing myself the chance to take in her features, regardless of how tight they seem. My lips pull slightly, amused by her hesitation.
I can see it in her eyes how she wants to turn around and walk out. To tell me I’m insane and demand to go back to the penthouse until I can’t stand listening to her complaints, and give in.
Maybe she should, knowing what my life entails.
But she doesn’t.
She glances between me and the pistol on the counter with apprehension surrounding her, then she pushes one earmuff back.
“You’re serious.”
“I am. You should know that by now.”
To start, I lift the gun, pop out the magazine, and show her every step—every part that she should know. I run her through it, and she at least seems to listen. Then, I offer it to her to handle first.
But she doesn’t take it.
“Is handing me a weapon really in your best interest?” She asks, lifting a brow at me.
I can’t help but huff my amusement, gesturing with the gun. “Attempting jokes now? That was actually funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“And I’m not either. If you were planning on assassinating me here and now, then you’ve just blown your cover,” I say, letting my words come out a bit more serious. “I want you to stop assuming you’re too delicate for this world.”
Her lips part as if preparing some kind of retort, but no words come out, and it almost looks like I’ve slapped her.
Then, a stubborn glint shines through, and a rare but appealing heat follows.
“I’m studying to heal people, not injure them.”
“Shooting guns doesn’t require hurting anyone. Now take it before I start assuming you don’t have any balls.”
Lily glares at me, then snatches the pistol before I can say anything else to get beneath her skin. She steps closer to the lane with a clumsy grip on it.
I let her fumble with it while she gets familiar with the weight, and despite her attempts to act indifferent, I know it makes her nervous.
But beneath it, I can see a different kind of fear.
She’s afraid of liking it.
When she lets go of an uncertain breath, I step in behind her, wrapping a hand around hers to adjust her grip. “Hold it tighter.”
My chest brushes against her back, and I swear I feel the shiver that moves through her.
Lily doesn’t say anything, but she moves her fingers as I guide them, tightening her hold.
“Good, that’s better,” I murmur close to her ear, feeling the tension as it ripples through her.
Now, it seems less attributed to fear, and more so that something else is simmering between us.
“Stand here…feet shoulder-width apart,” I direct her, lightly nudging her closer to the lane.
With the gun slightly raised, she glances over her shoulder at me with a slight scowl on her face. “Do you get off on this or something?”
I hum at the accusation with a small grin. “I’ll admit, seeing my innocent wife with a gun does something for me.”
Lily scoffs and half-heartedly rolls her eyes before focusing on the pistol in her grasp.
My amusement lingers for another moment while I look her over and adjust her earmuff, and then I slowly guide her arms up. “Find your aim and keep it steady. Finger on the trigger, take a breath, then squeeze when you’re ready. Got it?”
She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she inhales and holds the gun in place while her gaze narrows at the target at the far end.
A moment later, she pulls the trigger, and the crack of it echoes throughout the space with a satisfying sound.
Lily jolts from the unfamiliar recoil, but my hands instinctively fall to her waist to keep her steady.
Her shot lands on the outer ring. For a first attempt, it isn’t bad at all.
She looks vaguely startled by it all, blinking through the aftermath.
“Again.”
Despite herself, Lily lifts the pistol and fires again. And again.
Once the magazine is empty and the paper target is riddled with more holes than she was likely expecting, her posture is more confident and relaxed. Her eyes are wide with exhilaration, and she isn’t flinching.
Instead, she’s grinning, even if she doesn’t want me to see it.
“Well, it seems I need to be careful. I might have an assassin on my hands after all,” I muse, eventually taking the gun back once she’s done. Like a prize, I retrieve the target and pass it to her.
Lily looks at her progress over, unable to keep that lingering awe from her features.
“Admit it, you liked it,” I say, watching the way her chest continues to rise and fall through the aftermath of her excitement.
She still manages to throw an unimpressed look in my direction. “It was interesting.”
“Close, but that’s not what I said.”
Handing me the earmuffs, she sighs. “Don’t assume I’m going to start collecting guns or something.”
“Of course not,” I say lightly, moving to put everything back. “But you’re understanding, and that’s what matters.”
***
After showing Lily more of the locked-up firearms and giving her time with them, I know she’s doing everything in her power not to give away her subtle smiles. The adrenaline rush is clear as day.
Even while in heels and that dress, she walks with assurance behind her steps, almost like she belongs there. Like she belongs next to me.
Something about that has me walking on a cloud of my own, wanting to see more of it.
Leaving the armory behind, we venture through the rest of the warehouse, seeing things at a surface level, but nothing too extreme that might push her progress back. I show her a few storage rooms, the surveillance hub, and the offices up top.
In the one I typically take up, I pause and flick the light on.
The desk is mostly bare except for my monitor and laptop.
The chair sits tucked beneath it, there’s a black leather couch along the back wall, and a bottle of whiskey rests on the shelf behind my desk—one I’ve been saving for a rainy day.
Lily walks in after me, glancing around at the minimalistic room. “Are we done?”
“Not quite,” I say without expanding, moving over to the shelf.
“You’ve shown me almost every square inch of this place…what else could be left?”
My lips barely pull at her question, but I don’t answer. Instead, I grab the bottle along with two solo cups and pour a small amount into both.
Turning to face her, I hand one over and move to sit on the edge of the desk.
She looks skeptically at the drink, but I take the opportunity to look at her. To truly look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair isn’t quite as put together as before. That sternum tattoo I can’t get enough of is more exposed than usual, and it takes a great deal of restraint not to cut that space between us and trace over that delicate linework.
With those gold-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, somehow softening the roundness of her cheeks even more, her eyes look less apprehensive.
Instead, they’re sharper with a renewed spark, and a fire I can’t help but stoke.
If she tried hard enough, I was sure she could cut me with them.
And right now, I wouldn’t mind.
I take a small sip of whiskey and keep my gaze on her. “You’re not what I expected.”
Her gaze narrows, as if unaware of where I’m going with this. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I assumed you’d break down during dinner. That you’d maybe even shed a tear before ever willingly firing a gun.”
My words seem to grate her immediately, and her voice almost lashes at me. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in any of it. I’m surviving.”
My lips pull. “You’re doing more than that, and you know it.”
“Don’t romanticize this. Just because you taught me how to shoot a gun doesn’t mean I’m any less trapped.”
She may have a point, but I move closer and soften my tone by a touch. “But you’re not running. You’re looking at me like you’re almost brave.”
Silence lingers between us, and I know even she feels the crackling between us. Her eyes stay connected with mine, and she doesn’t look afraid.
“I should hate you,” Lily says quietly as if trying to convince herself then and there.
“You should.”
She remains in place, not flinching as I drift closer. “I never should’ve gone home with you that night. I never should’ve touched you.”
“Right again, sweetheart.”
Still, she doesn’t pull back or recoil like any sane person would. Instead, she stays there, almost like I’ve corrupted her.
This time, she takes a subtle step closer until she’s just shy of my chest.
There’s a fine line between us, and I let her decide if she wants to cross it.
She reaches for the front of my button-down, pulls me the rest of the distance, and then her lips are on mine.
I’m almost caught off guard by the fierceness of the kiss. It isn’t soft or tender, but instead, there’s an anger to it. It’s a tangle of confusion and lust, like everything has finally boiled over.
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, melding my lips with hers.
She kisses me like she has every intention of hurting me, and I kiss her like she belongs entirely to me. Because she does.
My fingers creep closer to the back of her head, slipping through her hair to cradle her while we both let go of everything we’ve been hiding for too long.
She eventually breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against my lips, “I still hate you…”
Not arguing, I let my nose brush against hers, savoring her closeness. “Keep going and hate me tomorrow instead.”
We both pause as if weighing the risks at the same time.
But in a mutual bid to say to hell with it, we surge forward, giving in to the fire neither of us can ignore any longer.