Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I nod.
His gaze travels down to my shoulder. “Did you hurt yourself on the kickback?”
I forgot about the pain until he mentioned it just now. Ouch. Tears sting my eyes, and not just from physical pain.
“Yes.”
With a scowl that would freeze hell, he reaches for my collar and gently tries to tug down my T-shirt so he can inspect my shoulder. The collar’s unyielding, though, and he can’t see anything.
Frowning, he steps back and folds his arms across his chest like he’s surveying me. “Off with the shirt.”
I try to play this off. Lighten the mood, you could say, to take his focus away from my trembling hands and the way I’m flushing like I’m sunburnt.
“My, my, Mr. Master, so early in the morning and you’re—”
“Not. Playing.”
The flirtation dies on my lips as I reach for the bottom of my shirt. I try to tug it up so he can only see my shoulder, a really futile attempt at holding onto some semblance of control through this, but it’s no use. With a sigh, I take it off. My shoulder burns.
“Of all the guns you could’ve shot, you chose the one with the quietest sound but meanest kickback.”
“Right. Good one, Vi.” I swallow my need to cry and wince when his fingers graze my shoulder.
I remember the way he kissed my bruised shins when he bandaged me yesterday. I remember the way he cradled my head and comforted me. While still obviously angry, he’s no less gentle this time than he was the day before.
Sliding one hand along the small of my back, he braces me as he inspects my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be bruised,” he whispers. “These all happened on my watch. Never again.”
Not all, I want to remind him. The car accident wasn’t his fault. Hell, none of it is. Why does he blame himself?
“You don’t need to see a doctor for this, but we should wait on any more practice for today.”
I shake my head. “No. No, please, Cain. I’m fine.” I move my arm around just to show him I’m okay, but I can’t hide the wince when pain explodes along my arm and shoulder.
“The hell you are.”
I watch his gaze rove hungrily over my barely clad breasts and flat belly before I yank my shirt back on.
“I need to learn how to shoot! I need you to teach me.”
“You do not make demands around here, Miss Price.”
Fuck him with the Miss Price bullshit.
“I’m not Miss Price!” I yell in a fit of frustration. “My name is Violet!”
Something snaps in him. I see it in his eyes. One minute, he’s staring at me angrily, prepared to argue with me. The next, there’s cold decision in his gaze.
“You want me to teach you?” he asks, his voice an alarming purr. “Fine. I’ll teach you.”
His words ring in my memory.
I’ll punish her for that.
“The gun on your left is the perfect gun for beginner’s practice. Lift it with two hands and point it away from you and repeat the first rule I told you.”
I nod. “Always assume a gun is loaded.”
“Always. Do what I said and place it on the table in front of you.” Ahead of us are the targets, a few bullseyes, but most covered in thick paper in the shape of a human body.
My hand shakes a little, but I will the trembling to stop. I pick up the gun, point it away from me, and lay it on the velvet table in my cubicle. My hands hang by my sides awkwardly.
“Good. Now lean over the table on your forearms.”
I blink. “Lean over the table?” What the hell does that have to do with holding a gun?
His icy blue stare pins me in place. “Lean. Over. The. Table.”
I turn away from him, shaking, as I do what he tells me. I hear him walk up to me right before I feel his heat at my back. I still when he leans over me, pushing me against the table while he reaches for something I didn’t see before–small leather loops on the table, no doubt meant to secure weapons when they’re not in use. Only it isn’t the gun he’s securing.
“Cain! What are you doing?” I hate that my voice shakes. Hate that he’s scaring me.
Without a word, he slips my wrist in the first leather harness, then the next.
Click. I can’t move my arms. I’m bent over the velvet table, my wrists secured in front of me.
“The target range is soundproof, Violet. No one will hear you if you scream. So go ahead. Scream to your little heart’s content. I’ll enjoy this more if you do.”
If he didn’t have his hand on my lower back just now, I’d be terrified. As it is, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly at ease…
I hear the click of metal, a swish. Is he… unfastening his jeans? What?