Page 35 of Ruthless Reign

“What did you paint, Vixen?”

She swallowed. “Myself. What I’ll look like if things don’t go our way.”

I felt myself go rigid, my brows pinch.

She fucking painted herself what?

Wounded?

Bloody?

Dead?

Jesus H. Christ.

I wouldn’t be doing so hot if I had that image seared into my brain, either.

“Whatever you painted, Vixen, it’s not going to happen, okay? Hey, look at me. It’s not.”

She nodded tensely, but I could see the doubt in her eyes and wished I could pluck it out and burn it. I reached back and took her hand, holding it tight, needing her to see that I meant it.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

Her chin quivered and she squeezed my hands back, her next words thick and watery. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Hardin stood near the end of the indoor range in only a loose black t-shirt, his tattooed arms flexing as he aimed his weapon down his lane at the target. He fired two shots, and I followed their trajectory, squinting to see two perfect bullet holes in the chest of the paper practice target.

I wished he didn’t have to see that painting. Even ruined, I had no doubt the death in my eyes would’ve still been visible. Maybe the blood on my cheeks. And I know for a fact I didn’t ruin the moth eating away at my mouth.

I wanted to go to him. Explain. But I didn’t know what to say.

It was all compounded by the fact that I really needed to figure out how to tell them about Aodhán. Part of me didn’t want to at all. As much as I knew I couldn’t trust him, I knew he was being honest when he said he didn’t want to see me hurt. What good would telling them even do? Make them even more stressed out?

Eliminate the tiny bit of freedom I did have?

It would change nothing.

Fuck.

Regardless, I knew if it were me, I’d want to know.

Soon. I’d figure out how to tell them soon.

As soon as I knew how to fire a gun properly and they didn’t feel like I was some helpless kitten in need of rescuing every goddamned second.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Damien asked, and I realized we weren’t here alone. Damien and Zade were in the first and second lane with an array of weapons spread across each of their tables.

Kaleb hefted a black duffel bag onto the table next to the third laneway and the heavy metallic rattle and thud of its contents could only be one thing. Guns. Lots and lots of guns.

“Becca’s learning to shoot,” he explained as he unzipped the bag and began to set out its contents on the scuffed stainless steel tabletop. Each knock of weapon hitting steel felt like another nail in my coffin. I had no idea what any of them were. What kind of bullets they took. How to load them. Unload them. Where the safety thingies were.

I felt like a fucking fish out of water, drowning in the air.

Damien’s burning blue eyes slid to me, a question in them. “Is that right?”

“You got a problem with that?”

Damien lifted his hands. “None. As long as that’s what she wants.”

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