I fold my arms across my chest, amusement turning into pride as I admire Georgia holding a pistol like she was born with it in her hands. “Does this mean you're reconsidering your anti-gun stance?”
“No. Obviously. I still hate guns that kill real people, but I can make an exception for shooting at little paper men.” She tosses a smirk my way.
“I can work with that.” I show her how to reload the pistol and stand back as she lets off another round. For a woman who is admittedly anti-gun, she’s a naturally great shot, pumping lead into the hearts of at least ten paper silhouettes.
I whistle my appreciation when she releases her last bullet and turns around to give me the thumbs up. She’s sexy as hell holding a gun—even sexier rejoicing in her success.
“Tomorrow we move on to something a little bigger. How do you feel about that?” Her eyes open wide in surprise. I’m playing with her. I shouldn’t be, but playing with her is just so damn satisfying. Relishing her body while I fucked her into oblivion would be a hell of a lot more satisfying, but just being around her makes me feel good. She banishes the dark shadows—my near constant companion—with her light.
Fuck. Thinking like this is only going to get me in trouble.
“I can handle something bigger.” Her cheeky tone makes it clear that we’re playing the same treacherous game.
Leaning back, I watch as Georgia takes off her ear and eye protection, and puts away the gun safely, like Boris must have shown her. “I’ll walk you to lunch,'' I offer.
She shrugs. “I’m not hungry. I want to keep on going.”
“Too bad. Food is essential for training.”
She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, but then turns towards me, batting her pretty eyes. “A little more time?”
I have a million things to attend to right now, but when she looks up at me with those soulful gray eyes, my mouth can’t form the words no.
Dermo, I’m going soft.
“You ready for another round?” I ask, grinning as her eyes light up.
Chapter18
GEORGIA
For a person who hates guns, I’m kind of kicking ass right now.
The piece in my hand is heavy, a solid weight like an extension of my arm. Andrei is standing behind me, watching as I unload a round into the poor silhouette man, but my mind is elsewhere. Invading every thought is the fact that we are alone on the edge of the Kozlovs’ property line. Woodland surrounds us, and I am in possession of the lone gun between us.
This is my chance to escape.
Andrei always wears his weapon in a side-holster, or tucked into the back of his pants, but not today. Today, he’s wearing a thin t-shirt and a pair of worn-in jeans; I don’t even see a cell phone in his pocket.
For this brief moment in time, I have all the power, though Andrei doesn’t realize it. He’s smiling, looking as carefree and as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. I’m working hard to give the impression that I am just as relaxed as him, but the truth is I’m as tense as a violin string, because the only way to escape him is to shoot him, or at least threaten to shoot him. I definitely don’t want to kill him, just to stop him from coming after me.
But what if I sever an artery?
Could I just leave him to bleed out on the grass?
Horror ices my blood at the thought of Andrei dying by my hand. He’s asking me to risk my life, but he’s not doing it haphazardly. Or at least he doesn’t think so.
Andrei releases a low-whistle as my last shot finds the target spot on. He’s still standing behind me, leaning against a tree, his pose casual, unguarded—as if we are two friends hanging out for the day. “You’re going to be giving Boris lessons at this rate,” he exclaims.
My mouth is as dry as the Sahara desert at the realization that it’s now or never.
Do it, Georgia, it’s your life or his.
My knees shake as I turn slowly towards him, gun gripped in both hands.
His eyes meet mine, surprised and wary. Confusion turns to understanding in moments. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My throat is so thick, I can barely swallow. But the thought of my father, the thought of me at Oleg’s mercy, hardens my resolve.