Page 100 of Sinful Promise

“You asked, I’m delivering.”

“Is Francesca coming?”

I go to my phone and look at the screen. “Yes, she’s downstairs, so hurry the fuck up.” I sit on the end of the bed, tug on my military-style boots, and tie them. Then I walk to the closet. Opening a gun safe, I pull out a bag and load three handguns in it and three boxes of bullets. The ear protection remains in the bag, but I count them and toss in a third set. I close the safe and set the heavy bag on the bench at the end of the bed.

Dasha is soon dressed in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. She pulls her hair through the back of the ballcap. Smart, actually—it’s a sunny day, and the cap will keep hot, ejected bullets from landing on her forehead.

“So, isn’t it illegal to have firearms?” she asks.

“You wanted it, so here we are.” I grab the bag as she slips into the sneakers sitting on the off-white carpet.

“Are you pissed at me?”

“No.” I’m pissed that I haven’t figured out a legitimate way to keep her bound to me after tonight. Without a price on her head, she’s a free woman. And it pisses me off.

“Great, let’s go.” She scampers out of the room and down the steps. “Francesca,” she says, beaming when she sees her friend.

It’s only normal that the women have bonded. I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet I am. Dasha was shy and timid over a week ago. She was thrown into my world, a world nothing like hers, and she’s grown from it. She’s no blushing virgin, and I have no clue what she’ll want to learn next. A woman like her will keep me on my toes.

“Dasha.” Francesca smiles and hands us both coffees to go.

“You’re a lifesaver. I can’t function without coffee,” Dasha says.

“I figured. So, we’ll go over the rules of the range on our way to the field.”

It takes thirty minutes to reach the land I own. There’s no one here to report unseasonal gunfire, another reason our meeting tonight has to be fast, and we need to be out of the warehouse. I chuckle because Monaco will spin this crime scene to serve their purposes. Not that I’m worried, but the crime scene will realistically pose a public relations nightmare.

Our driver pulls to a stop, and I get out. Dasha follows me, and Francesca gets out on the other side, a bag in her hand. The driver staples shoot-and-see targets on trees directly down range from us, approximately one hundred meters away.

“What’s in there, Francesca?” I’m curious to know what she’s brought to the party.

“I’m good with knives. And it’s legal to have one on you almost anywhere, so you know, why not?”

Knowing her, she has one or more handguns in there as well.

“Interesting. I don’t know if the thought of Dasha with a knife in her hands makes my cock hard or scares the shit out of me.”

“It you’re a smart man, it’s a bit of both,” she replies with a wink.

These women are out of control, for sure. I thought I’d had some wild nights. However, Francesca’s demeanor makes me think I’ve only scratched the surface. “Point taken.”

We move to the field, where my driver sets up a small table. I hand ear protection to Dasha and Francesca, then put plugs in my ears and slip on earmuffs as well.

“This is a Beretta, a 9mm,” I explain to Dasha. “It’s a good gun if you’re carrying a concealed weapon. It doesn’t have much kick, which means your hand won’t jerk when you fire.” I hold the weapon and show her how to use the sight, then fire a round while she watches. “Your turn.”

“What are you aiming at?” she asks.

“The target the driver put up on that tree, the middle one. Range is hot,” I yell.

Dasha takes the gun confidently. She holds it correctly. I make sure her stance is solid and tell her to fire at will.

She fires and hits the target.

“Damn, that’s impressive.”

“It is?”

“Hell, yeah.”

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