Page 23 of His Black Onyx

Surprised at her sudden change in demeanor, I don't know how to respond. For a moment, I just stand there, my eyes locked with hers, while I try to figure out whether she's close to a breakdown of some sort.

"I'll learn," she repeats, narrowing her eyes. "But you'll have to tell me why."

That little minx.

I huff, shaking my head before I turn to the guys, catching Daveed's annoyed gaze first.

"Because we tell you to," he barks irritated at her.

My fists clench when I hear him talk to her that way. That's my job. He's just a henchman serving under my command. Yet here he is, greedily reaching for a pinch of power as soon as it reveals itself.

What a fucking loser.

Even Malia seems to agree with that assessment. She doesn't appear to be intimidated by his attempt at supremacy at all. Her expression remains stern and unyielding as she faces him.

"Yes, but why?" she demands to know. "Will I have to shoot anybody? I thought I was supposed to play some girl who's going to be married off to some mafia guy in Rhode Island."

Some girl. I don't like the dismissive way in which she speaks about Lailah, but I'll let it pass for now. She will have enough to answer to once our training starts.

"So?" She's looking back at me now, overstepping with the way she arches her eyebrows.

I sigh, squeezing her shoulder as I bow down to her.

"No, you won't have to shoot anybody," I say, choosing my words deliberately. "That's not part of the mission. But still, it's best if you know how to handle a gun, should the situation present itself–"

"Present itself?" she repeats my words, interrupting me. "What do you mean b–"

"Listen, girl!" Daveed cuts her off, making her flinch and causing my chest to tighten with fury. "We can't have you being this jumpy, scared-like little kid when you're around weaponry," he adds, gesturing across the table. "When we say you need to know how to handle these, then you better listen."

She looks at him, then back at me, bewilderment coloring the expression on her face.

I shrug. "He's right about that."

She frowns at me, visibly unhappy about the outcome of this exchange. But it only takes a few moments before understanding replaces her short-lived anger.

"Okay, I understand," she whispers, a tremor running through her lower lip. "When do we start?"

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