Page 36 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Regardless of how I know diving into his world is dangerous, I grit my teeth and allow him to guide me through the warehouse.
I don’t know why I entertain it.
Maybe I’m attempting to keep things from escalating.
Or maybe I really am curious.
Chapter 12 - Mikhail
She lingers in the doorway like she’s debating if merely stepping into the warehouse might kill her.
If she does something foolish, it could. But fingers crossed, that won’t be an issue.
Not giving her a choice but to follow, I keep moving through the warehouse, heading for the back portion of the building.
Her short heels click behind me, letting me know that despite everything, she’s still trailing. I doubt she’d want to linger at the front with the guys still around, so keeping up with me is in her best interest.
She’s still in that black dress, and while it isn’t exactly the optimal attire for what I have in mind, I’m not opposed to mixing a bit of elegance with danger.
Whether she knows it or not, she looks like living, breathing temptation, and I have half a mind to glance back at her.
She’s a contradiction walking through my place of work, and yet, I can’t help but feel like she belongs there.
Reaching the metal door, I push it open, letting her in first.
Lily’s eyes rove over the room, taking it all in with a healthy mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Then she glances back at me with her brows slightly furrowed.
“What is this?”
Guiding her a bit farther, I close the door behind me, well aware that the walls lined with locked cabinets and steel cages have caught her attention. More so, their contents have.
“The armory, of course,” I say simply, heading over to one of the cages full of handguns. Unlocking it, I pop the door open and reach for one—black and sleek, just like the others.
While I can only imagine how intimidating the space must look to her, it’s been cleared like I asked, showing nothing too intense for someone as inexperienced with firearms as her.
Even so, she looks at the guns like they’re capable of biting.
“Plus, it’s a firing range,” I add, motioning for her to follow me over to the back wall set up with targets on the far side. “I thought I’d give you a crash course, just in case you need to know how to shoot.”
She looks less than enthused, with her gaze narrowed at me. “And this is supposed to make me feel better about everything?”
“No,” I murmur, grabbing a pair of nearby earmuffs and lifting a brow at her. “But it might help you stop flinching every time you hear a whisper about what I do.”
“You said we weren’t doing anything dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous if you’re smart and know what you’re doing, hence why I’m teaching you now,” I tell her, not willing to skimp on safety when it comes to her. “I told you I’d protect you, but if there’s ever a time that calls for you to take control of a situation, you need to know how to do that.”
Her eyes narrow further with her arms crossed. “So, this is some kind of exposure therapy?”
“Sure…whatever you want to call it.”
Despite her irritation, I carefully slide the earmuffs over her ears, allowing myself the chance to take in her features, regardless of how tight they seem. My lips pull slightly, amused by her hesitation.
I can see it in her eyes how she wants to turn around and walk out. To tell me I’m insane and demand to go back to the penthouse until I can’t stand listening to her complaints, and give in.
Maybe she should, knowing what my life entails.
But she doesn’t.
