Page 39 of Savage Warrior

On that compelling piece of advice, I switch off the shower and reach for a towel.

Arina is seated at the table with a mug of coffee in front of her when I emerge from the shower room. There’s a second cup beside the stove. I assume that’s mine and take a sip. I flash her what I hope is a reassuring smile and grab my jeans. I get dressed while I’m imbibing my morning hit of caffeine.

She watches me in silence. There’s a tension in the air I don’t much care for, but I’m not about to compromise our safety, such as it is, for the sake of a quiet life.

“I’ll go out and bring in more firewood,” I announce. There’s plenty in the pile beside the grate, but I need the break and I can call Jack while I’m out there. I reach for my Parka.

“No.” Arina gets to her feet. “We’re going to Inverness.”

“Arina, I explained…”

I swing around to repeat my earlier warning, but my words die in my throat when I find myself staring down the barrel of my own handgun. A glance at my holdall, the side pocket open, confirms what is already obvious. Shit!

“Arina, you need to put that down…”

She shakes her head, defiance and determination writ large across her delicate features. “I said, I want to go to Inverness. Now.”

“You could have an accident. Hurt someone. Put it down.”

She’s undeterred. “You’re going to drive me to Inverness for the passport, then to the closest airport.”

“Am I? What makes you think that?”

“I… I’ll shoot you unless you do as I say.” Her voice wavers, but she waggles the gun by way of encouragement. She’s gripping the weapon with both hands, and they are shaking.

I dart to the side on instinct. She already told me she has never fired a gun in her life. She looks decidedly unsure of herself, and that weapon could go off at any time. I prefer not to be right in front of her if and when that happens.

I keep my voice low and calm, though inside I’m shit scared. This could all go horribly wrong in a heartbeat. “You’re not going to shoot me. You won’t shoot anyone. You’re not a killer, Arina.”

“I… I’ll do what I have to.”

“I know, and I’m glad, but you don’t have to do this. You really don’t want to do this.”

“I want to go home. This is the only way. I…I’m sorry.”

I take a careful step forward. “Just think about what you’re doing. This will never work.”

“It will. It has to…”

Another cautious step brings me almost within reach of the barrel of the Glock.

She notices and takes a pace backwards, which brings her up against the wall. She has nowhere else to go. Cornered, she tightens her two-handed grip on the gun. “Stay back.”

I reach out my hand. “Give it to me, Arina. Before someone gets hurt.”

“No, I—”

Her gaze wavers, just for a moment. It’s enough. I dart forward and grab her wrists, hurling her aim upwards. There’s an ear-shattering roar as the gun goes off, and Arina crumples to the floor.

The weapon clatters to the floor as well. I kick it away, then drop to my knees beside Arina.

“Are you hurt? Christ, Arina…”

I roll her over, expecting to see blood. But there’s nothing. She lies there, staring up at me, trembling.

“Are you hit? Where did it…?” I check again, but still no sign of a bullet wound. “Christ…” Relief washes over me, closely followed by a blaze of anger. “For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking? You could have killed me. Or yourself.”

“I’m sorry…”

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