Page 101 of Sinful Promise

“I’m going for the high one.” Francesca fires and hits the bullseye on her target. I see the green splat.

“You’re awesome,” Dasha murmurs.

“Practice. Shoot more, so you’re comfortable with it. Then I’ll show you how to throw a knife.”

35

DASHA

Once we’re home, I shower the gunshot residue off my body. The little flecks of black stick to my skin. I assume it’s in my hair. Thankfully, my shirt protected my skin from the hot brass that went flying when I fired the gun.

Once shooting practice was over, Roman nailed a board to another tree, and Francesca showed me some moves with the knives. I had fun throwing them. I got lucky a few times and hit the board. I don’t want to use these skills unless it’s necessary. However, I’m relieved I learned how to shoot today. The fact that Roman had his chest pressed to my back while I practiced turned me on, the warm day turning into a cloud of steam when he had his arms around me and we held the gun together. He helped me aim, correcting me when I fired too far to the right. I’m sure he didn’t need to get so physical. But I enjoyed it, and the practice session boosted my confidence. I don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t know how to fire a weapon.

I exit the shower as Roman enters the bathroom. He has the gun bag in his hand.

“How did you like it?” he asks.

“Great. I want to know how to defend myself.” After years of mistreatment, I don’t have to live to win the approval of others. If I have something to say, I’m going to speak my mind. I’m not going to be less of a person for anyone ever again.

“Good. I thought you’d say that. You did great out there. I’m impressed.” He reaches into his bag and hands me the Beretta. “It’s for you. I want you to have it. There are no serial numbers on it, so it won’t be traced back to you. Not like it’s legal to have guns for our purposes here, anyway.” He gives me a knowing smirk. “Keep it close to you tonight, just in case. I’m sorry I can’t be here.”

“Thank you.” I take the gun from him. “I love it.” I look at it for a second, relishing my new ownership, before placing it on the bathroom counter. He lays a box of bullets next to it.

“I’m sure Francesca will keep me safe.”

“Me, too. It makes sense with my brothers there, division of the manpower and all that…”

“Yeah.” Is he trying to say something to me? If so, he’s not being clear.

“Right, well. I’m going to shower.” He dips into his closet; I hear the gun safe open and close. He returns as I finish braiding my hair so it will be wavy tonight. “I’ll meet you downstairs for lunch.”

I don’t understand why he’s being so cold. We were fine up until things changed last night. I’m sure he has larger problems to deal with, and worrying over me is the least of them. For all I know, he’s sexting Nadia.

Nadia. I can’t believe he never mentioned her. Irina knew they were an item. Sure, she and Roman are friends. Roman knows more about me than I know about him.

I have no way to look Nadia up on the internet. Not having a phone is a pain in my ass. I thought Roman would trust me by now. I console myself with the fact that this entire affair will all be over tonight.

I pull clothes from my drawers without even thinking about it. I’ve never had more than two pairs of jeans; now I have twenty. To hell with the posh lifestyle, I’m going barefoot today. I return to the bathroom and apply lotion to my skin. I can’t resist the urge to look into the mirror to catch a peek at Roman in the shower, but the door is foggy. I doubt I’ll ever forget the curves of his shoulders or his hips.

Or his dick, for that matter.

I groan quietly.

Fuck.

I’m addicted to him, the way he smells of the evening air mixed with musk. It’s the scent I smell on his pillow after he’s left the bed. His magnetic smile draws me in and turns my legs to gelatin. I love the incredible sex that has me moaning and ahhing for hours.

The fact that I scream his name when I come.

I beg him to fuck me.

I crave his touch. I want his fingernails dragging down my hips as he groans with pleasure.

I love him.

And I’ll never see him after tonight if he doesn’t make it home.

I shake my head to clear the turmoil in my head and my heart and go downstairs to join the others on the terrace. Staff members set the table and move about silently. Water pitchers clink with ice, and plates rattle in the background. I resist the urge to observe them as they work. That used to be me.

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