Page 44 of Cruel Deception
Two sharp bangs rang out in quick succession. I flinched both times, the kick of the recoil jolting through my arms. The pistol smoked slightly at the barrel. My heartbeat drowned out everything else.
Cassian stepped around me, checked the target, and raised a brow. “You missed.”
I grimaced. “I told you I was bad at this.”
“You’re not bad,” he said. “You’re untrained. There’s a difference.” He walked to the wall and retrieved another pistol, handed it to me. “Try again. Every day.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He was already walking toward the exit when he asked, “Do you gym?”
I blinked. “Yeah. A bit.”
“Good,” he said. Then he vanished through the door.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.
I lowered the gun and let myself fall back into the leather chair, exhaling hard.
My hands still tingled from the shots. But more than that, I could still feel the outline of his grip on mine. Still feel the way he had steadied me from behind. Still hear the low, careful weight of his voice against my ear. He knew exactly what his proximity did to me.
And I hated that he knew.
Still... it made me want to shoot again.
I picked up another pistol, heavier this time, aimed at the red dot, and fired.
Click.
Empty.
I tried two more. Each only had two bullets. It was intentional, I realized—he was forcing me to learn restraint.
I was still testing out one of the guns when my phone rang. I set the weapon aside quickly, wiped my hands on my jeans, and checked the screen.
Vincent.
My heart leapt.
I snatched the phone and answered, barely breathing. “Hello?”
“I’m at the front gate,” he said calmly, like it hadn’t been ten years since I’d last heard his voice. “Can you call them to let me in?”
“Yes. Yes—hold on.”
I scrambled to find the card the guards had given me earlier. My hands were shaking as I dialed the estate number.
“This is Mrs. Moretti,” I said when they picked up. “Please allow Vincent Grayson in. He’s my brother.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied. “Would you like to come pick him up, or shall we drive him to the main house?”
“Drive him.” I said.
I ended the call, heart pounding.
Then I walked outside and stood by the steps, staring down the long driveway. My arms folded across my chest, but only to stop them from trembling.
After ten goddamn years.
After our father tore us apart—ripping my brother from my life like we were criminals for loving each other too much.
