Page 80 of Bought By Santa

My heart slams against my ribs, the air thickening as the gravity of his words sinks in. I’ve never held a gun, never even touched one. And now I’m supposed to aim it at three faceless men, knowing that one of them could be Nick? My Nick? The idea of pulling the trigger, of possibly killing him by mistake, makes my knees weak.

Arthur steps aside, revealing three men standing in a line, their faces obscured by dark hoods. They’re dressed identically, black suits blending into the shadows of the warehouse. My breath catches, panic clawing at my chest. I can’t do this. How can I possibly know which one is him?

But I have to. There’s no choice. This isn’t just about passing a test—it’s about proving that I belong in this world, beside Nick. That I’m strong enough, ruthless enough, to be his partner in every way.

Arthur doesn’t wait for me to gather my thoughts. He gestures to Marco, who steps forward, holding a gun. My hands shake as he places it in my grasp, the cold metal foreign and terrifying. His eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the calm, steady demeanor of a man used to violence.

“You’ll need some practice,” Arthur says, his voice like ice. “We won’t throw you in completely unprepared.”

Caspian and Arthur leave me alone with Marco, taking the hooded men with them. It’s a small mercy, one that makes it easier to breathe and to think without their demanding presence scaring me.

Marco stands beside me, his presence grounding but not comforting. “Hold it like this,” he instructs, adjusting my grip on the gun. His voice is patient but firm, his hands guiding mine. “Your stance needs to be firm. Feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t let your emotions control your aim. Focus on the target, nothing else.”

I nod, swallowing hard as I try to focus. The weight of the gun feels wrong in my hands, too heavy, too powerful. The idea that I could kill someone with a single pull of the trigger is terrifying, but I push the fear down, forcing myself to listen to Marco’s instructions. This is my only chance. I can’t afford to fail.

He guides me through a few practice shots, the sound of the gunfire jarring in the empty warehouse, each shot echoing off the walls and reverberating through my entire being. My hands tremble, the recoil of the gun sending shockwaves up my arms, but I grit my teeth and try again. I have to get this right. Nick’s life depends on it.

I completely lose track of time as we go again and again. With each shot I miss, Marco tries his best to guide me, but the more times I pull the trigger, the more my hands shake and my resolve wavers.

“S-sorry,” I stutter when I empty an entire round without hitting my imaginary mark even once. “Fuck! I don’t know how to do this.”

Marco sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. “You need to stop anticipating the recoil. You’re working against yourself and the gun. Try again.”

He reloads it for me, and while he does so, I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants. Then I take the gun back, squaring myshoulders and adjusting my stance. I use both hands to clutch the handle, telling myself to stop trembling like a leaf.

As I pull the trigger, I feel what Marco’s saying; I’m tensing so much I ruin my aim. I grit my teeth and try again.

“You’re getting closer,” Marco says, his deep voice a rumble. “Keep going.”

The air shifts as Arthur and Caspian join us again. I don’t look their way, doing my best to tune them out. But I can feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on me. I tell myself that they don’t matter, which, right now, they don’t.

I’m here to prove myself to Nick, not them.

When Arthur clears his throat, I know the practice is over. The real test begins now.

The three hooded men are brought back in, and Marco lines them up in front of me.

I approach the three hooded men, the gun heavy in my hand. My heart races, my mind whirling with fear and doubt. I scan them, trying to feel that connection, that pull that should tell me which one is Nick. But the fear of being wrong, of killing him, clouds my judgment. Every instinct is screaming at me to stop, to run, but I force myself to stay. I can’t back down. I have to do this.

The silence is deafening as I lift the gun, my breath hitching, my hand steady but my mind spinning. I study each man, searching for something—anything—that will give Nick away. The way he stands, the tension in his muscles, the tilt of his head. But they’re all so still, so quiet, and the hoods make them faceless, stripping away the familiar cues I would normally rely on.

I focus on the first man, my eyes narrowing as I try to see past the hood, past the anonymity. His stance is solid, his posture confident, but there’s something off—a slight hesitation in the way he holds himself, a subtle tremor in his hand. My breathcatches. It could be him, but it could also be someone imitating him, knowing that I’d look for that calm confidence.

I shift my focus to the second man. He’s more rigid, his posture almost too perfect, too controlled. It’s as if he’s trying too hard, forcing himself to mimic Nick’s natural confidence. But the way he stands, the way his shoulders are squared, it doesn’t feel right. It’s too stiff, too deliberate.

That leaves the third man. My heart pounds as I look at him. His stance is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his shoulders, a subtle shift in his weight that reminds me of Nick. It’s a barely there hint of anxiety, masked by a calm exterior. Something about it feels right, feels like Nick. But the fear of being wrong gnaws at me, paralyzing my hand.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to drown out the noise in my head, the fear and doubt. I have to trust my instincts. I have to trust that I know him well enough to see through this. When I open my eyes again, my gaze locks onto the third man. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. This is it.

With a surge of determination, I lift the gun and aim it at the first man. My finger trembles on the trigger, but I force myself to pull it. The shot echoes through the warehouse, and the man crumples to the ground. My heart clenches, but I don’t allow myself to think, to dwell on what I’ve just done. I have to keep going.

I shift my aim to the second man, my breath catching in my throat. He stands still, not moving an inch, and for a split second, doubt creeps in. But I can’t hesitate. I can’t let fear control me. I pull the trigger again. Another shot, another body falls.

The third man remains standing, his hood still hiding his face. My entire body shakes, adrenaline and terror coursing through my veins. This is the moment of truth. My heart pounds so hardit feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. The hood is pulled back, and I’m staring into Nick’s eyes.

“Nick!” I cry out.

Relief floods through me, a tidal wave that leaves me weak, my knees nearly buckling. I did it. I found him. But the relief is tainted by the cold, dark reality of what I’ve just done, what I’ve just proven I’m capable of.

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