Page 122 of Silver Elite

I grit my teeth. “You win.Please.I want another shot.”

“Do you now.”

“You said you don’t hand out second chances, but I’m still asking you for one. You said not to squander the opportunity you’re giving me, and I’m promising you I won’t. Not anymore.”

Glass in hand, he rounds the counter toward me. My pulse quickens, but he doesn’t linger. Instead, he walks toward the living space and leans against the side of the sofa, sipping his drink.

His gaze locks with mine, but he breaks the eye contact first, running a hand through his tousled hair. I try not to think about the reason his hair is messy. Or why I care.

I swallow my frustration and make another attempt to sway him. It’s impossible to know what this man is thinking or if anything I’m saying even resonates with him.

“Cross,” I say again.

Something flickers through his expression. I can’t quite decode it, but it happens every time I say his name.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I think you’re right. Maybe it’s time I let go of the past and look toward the future. Stop fighting against the current of fate and start swimming with it.”

He licks a drop of whiskey from the corner of his mouth. “That’s very poetic of you.”

“I’m not a poet. I’m a pragmatist. I know what will happen to me if I fail the Program, and I refuse to let that happen. I want a post in Silver Block. And these bullshit low scores are starting to piss me off.”

“Poor thing.”

I glare at him. “Score me correctly or I’ll file a complaint with Captain Radek.”

“You think reporting me to the admin captain is a threat?” He chuckles. “I’m the General’s son, remember? I can do no wrong.”

“You’re wrong to not evaluate me based on merit. Please. Let me prove I deserve it.”

He’s quiet for so long, I think he’s going to shoot me down. He strides back to the kitchen to refill his glass, and I try not to notice the way his biceps flex as he pours.

Finally, he shrugs and says, “All right.”

Relief floods my body. “Thank you.”

“Ifyou raise your written scores. Fieldwork and exceptional marksmanship alone aren’t enough to get you into Silver Block.”

“Exceptional, huh?” I can’t contain the burst of pleasure I receive from hearing that.

His eyes find mine, and this time he doesn’t look away. That magnet is back, trying to lure me toward him, but his next question jolts me out of it.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

Pain pierces my heart. “My uncle taught me. He started me off with a pistol, just slapped it in my hand when I was—” I catch myself before the real age slips out.Five.“I don’t know, nine? Ten?” I play it casual, hoping he believes my abrupt pause was me trying to remember how old I was. “He used to set up targets all over the ranch—”

All over our little clearing in the Blacklands.

“And we’d stay out there for hours.”

Until the light left us.

“He wanted me to be able to protect myself from the white coyotes, the wolves—”

The predators that roamed the darkness.

“—not to mention the Faithfuls that snuck onto the property and tried to steal our cattle. I took to it really well. He told me I have good instincts.”

“You do.” Cross clears his throat. “But I mean it. Start passing your source tests.”

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