Page 146 of Bratva's Vow
But beneath that fear, something else stirred. A fierce, reluctant pride.
Because even if it twisted my gut to imagine him holding a weapon, there was no denying it. He looked strong. Grounded. Ready.
The tectonic plates of our relationship shifted in that moment, subtle but seismic. And I knew we were no longer just me shielding him from the world. We were partners.
I met his gaze, those maddeningly calm hazel eyes, and gave a sharp exhale.
“Fine,” I said quietly. “Show me.”
The shooting range was tucked into the basement of an old industrial building, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless someone pointed it out or unless you needed somewhere discreet to learn how to kill someone legally. The exterior was unremarkable: faded brick, a flickering security light, and a nondescript black door with a keypad entry.
Inside, it was all hard edges and LED panels. Concrete floors, steel beams, thick glass observation windows overlooking the lanes. The air was stale with gunpowder and oil, and something colder underneath—discipline, maybe. Or danger. Every sound echoed. The sharp cracks of firing rounds, the distant hum of the ventilation system, the occasional bark of a range officer correcting someone’s stance.
A few other shooters were scattered across the range, most of them men. One had the thick forearms and military buzz cut of someone who didn’t need training. Another wasclearly a newbie, probably early twenties, flinching every time his pistol discharged, his coach shaking his head beside him. At the far end, a woman in sleek tactical gear was emptying a mag into a target with such speed and precision it felt surgical. I noted Sergei nodding once in appreciation before returning his attention to Wren.
Wren didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need guidance or reassurance. He moved like he belonged there. Confidence in the way he laid out his gear on the steel bench. Respect in the way he checked the weapon’s chamber and aligned his stance like Nik must’ve taught him.
Sergei leaned on the plexiglass behind him, arms crossed. “You sure you want to watch this?” he asked me, voice low.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I was too focused on the man in front of me. My man.
Wren adjusted his grip. The Sig Sauer looked too large in his hands, but then he lifted it, lined up his sight, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked through the air like a whip.
Missed—just off-center.
He cursed under his breath, reset his stance. I saw it then: the flush in his cheeks, the flicker of frustration that passed through his jaw. But he didn’t let it rattle him. Instead, he inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly, and fired again.
This time, he hit.
And then he hit again. And again.
Maybe it was the way his shoulders rolled, loose and sure. Maybe it was the sweat on his throat, glinting beneath the range lights. Or maybe it was just the sheer audacity of this soft-mouthed boy I loved, standing firm, wielding steel like it belonged in his hands.
Whatever it was, I wanted him.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Fierce. Determined. Reckless.
“Let me.” I warned him of my presence and moved behind him to help him line up for his next shot. My chest brushed his back. My hips met the curve of his ass, and I made no effort to hide how hard I was.
He stiffened—just for a second—then hummed low in his throat, like he felt it too.
“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” He chuckled, wriggling his ass.
“Focus.” I tapped his thigh for him to fix his stance.
I guided his hands, adjusting them on the gun grip, reintroducing myself to those familiar contours and creases. His fingers were strong, steady, and I covered his hands with mine, his pulse beat slow but forceful.
“You expect me to focus when I can feel you against me?” he murmured. “Babe, I think what’s in your pants is more dangerous than the gun in my hands.”
I chuckled low in his ear. “Come on, stay focused, or I’ll forbid Nik from bringing you back here. It’s easy to shoot when the target is still and the conditions are right. But you also need to learn how to shoot against all distractions. Even me.”
I dropped my hands to minimize the distraction but didn’t step back. Not even an inch. Let him feel what he did to me. Let him feel the consequences of being this bold, this brave, this fucking irresistible.
He pulled the trigger.
