Page 22 of Emerald Malice

I am literally holding a gun. A gun. Not only that, but it’s pointed right at a human being.

Forget the part about this particular human being more than deserving of being held at gunpoint. It’s still not something I can condone.

Ever since the night of my parents’ carjacking, I’ve seen guns as nothing but ugly, black, metal instruments of death. The tiniest bit of pressure and bam, someone loses a father, a mother…

Yet here I am, threatening to use it.

“Threatening” being the operative word, because Lord knows there is nothing in this world that will compel me to actually pull the trigger.

Still, he doesn’t know that.

“Back up now or I’ll shoot.”

Andrey’s lips twitch, fighting a smile. “First rule of the Bratva: never make a threat you don’t intend to keep.”

Scratch that. He knows.

In my desperation, though, I double down. “I’m serious. I will shoot.”

“Ever heard of Newton’s First Law?” he asks conversationally. “‘Objects in motion stay in motion.’ Shoot me now and it won’t stop there. You could hit a neighbor across the hall. An innocent person in the building next door. One stray bullet can do more damage than you know.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on me. Not the gun—me.

“Or maybe you do know…?” he ponders idly. His gaze flickers to the cabinet where I stowed away the photograph of my parents after tearing it out of his hands. “They must have died suddenly. When you were young enough to be forced to rely on… Aunt Annie, perhaps?”

My stomach roils. How the hell has he deduced so much about me so fast? Maybe it’s all smoke and mirrors, part of the illusion of power and control. Maybe he’s had a full background search done. Although why on earth he’d even care about my past is beyond me.

“You don’t know me.”

He turns and walks away from me. How the hell do you turn your back on a freaking gun? I follow him into the living room with my arms still raised. They’re starting to shake.

“I know enough.” He looks over my collection of romance novels stacked high next to the couch. “I know that your life is small.”

I grimace. I’d be insulted if he wasn’t so on the nose. Katya accused me of the exact same thing a few hours ago, and he’s as spot on as she was.

“I know that you like your adventures confined to the pages of saccharine love stories or caged safely behind a television screen.” He walks towards me again, completely unconcerned by the gun, even when the nuzzle is scarcely an inch from his chest.

Each word pierces me right in the chest. His mouth is doing more damage than this gun ever could.

“I know that you picked a best friend who’s completely different from you so that you can live vicariously through her.”

Please be done. Please be done. Please be done. But I know instinctively that he’s saving the final blow for last.

“Probably because you’re too scared to live for yourself.”

And there it is. If I was ever gonna pull this trigger, it’d be now.

“How dare you?” I breathe.

He laughs—laughs—right in my face, the bastard. “Am I wrong?”

He’s not. That’s the problem.

“It’s okay, lastochka. Just put down the gun and no one needs to get hurt.”

Easy for him to say after he’s done all the hurting.

“You’re not going to shoot,” he adds quietly. “We both know that.”

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