His faint smile tells me I made the right move, stroking his ego.
Rune, Fallon, every man with power they gained by stealing it, are just the same.
“From what Striker tells me, your aim needs work,” Fallon says, still gripping my hand as he leads me to the table. He gives me a sideways glance and a smirk. “Then again, he’s the best marksman I’ve ever seen, so I doubt he was fair in his assessment.”
Laid out on the table are the different guns I’ve been training with all week, and Fallon picks up the small Sig.
“Is this the weapon you have been training with?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m better with this one than the others.”
“Good choice,” Fallon hands me the weapon, and I automatically check to make sure it’s not loaded with a round, then snap a clip into place. He nods slightly, then handsme earmuffs. “It’s perfect for your size, and small enough to conceal.”
Fallon gestures at the target, indicating I should begin. He picks up a pair of earmuffs for himself and takes a step back.
Part of me is amazed at his confidence. Either of his strong, powerful sons, whom he’s abused for god knows how long, could pick one of these weapons up and end him. I could right now, but I don’t. Not only have I never pointed a gun at someone, much less killed anyone, Fallon is the only way to stop Rune.
I glance over my shoulder, checking with the men yet again, before placing the earmuffs on my head. After they are secure, I adjust my stance slightly, then aim. The target ripples as I unload, then remove the empty clip and set them both down on the table once I’m done. I shove the earmuffs to my neck at the same time Fallon does.
He cocks his head to the side, like he’s impressed or shocked. “Striker made it sound as if your aim was extremely poor, yet you’ve hit the mark every time.”
My teeth grind, and I shoot Striker a narrow-eyed glare over my shoulder. They are far away, so I know he can’t hear us, and I wonder if that’s the point. If Fallon had them stand so far back that they weren’t able to eavesdrop on our conversation.
From their tense posture, whatever game their father is playing is working.
Reaper and Striker are pissed. Whether it’s from the fact they are excluded from our conversation or from him just being here in general, I’m not sure, but the fact Fallon is asserting his control over them stirs up that new anger that refuses to leave me. He humiliated them in front of me and his soldiers. And even though there is a hierarchy that places my men higher in ranking, he’s using these soldiers to control them.
And Fallon keeps kicking them at the knee.
“You’ve done well, which gives me hope that you’ll improve quickly with more training,” Fallon says, and steps back. “Continue with this one.”
I pick up the gun and reload, my jaw clenched tightly, replacing my earmuffs over my head with jerky movements. When I aim, I picture Fallon’s face, and I hit the target with every bullet.
Chapter 19
Striker
We’vebeenstandingoutsidein the cold for hours, and my patience is waning. Across the stretch of road, Fallon stands next to our girl, instructing her. Each time his hands brush her shoulder, a coil winds up tighter in my chest, and I have to force myself to remain still.
“Fuck this.”
Beside me, Reaper’s struggle is as palpable as my own, a dark, angry energy emanating from him in thick waves. Just like me, he’s all too aware of the deliberate touches and praising smiles. And as one hour bleeds into the next, each lingering touch is pushing him dangerously close to the edge. One he can’t fall over.
Neither of us can afford to lose control.
Not again.
We made the mistake of letting it slip, and now Father is using it against us. Our affection for Princess makes us vulnerable, makes her vulnerable. Fallon has proven time andtime again he won’t hesitate to manipulate us with threats to those we love.
Love.
The coil that’s near breaking unravels, and my chest expands with a slow, steady inhale. I glance at Reaper, like he can sense my thoughts. Are we even capable of loving something so delicate? How dare I even think that any of us has a right to feel so deeply for her? For Cora? We’ve done nothing but inflict fear and pain.
“She’s cold, and he doesn’t care,” he says loudly, and I’m glad the words get carried away with the wind so Fallon doesn’t hear.
Reaper’s right. Fallon doesn’t care. Not about her comfort or her fear. It’s all part of the training. Keeping her on edge. Uncomfortable. Mixing in gentle praises with harsh criticism designed to wear her down.
Dragging her out into the cold, forcing her to practice, forcing his nearness on her as bitter winds whip off the water will ensure by the time he’s done with her, she’ll be exhausted, cold, and grateful to be locked inside her room again. Grateful to be away from him but still terrified of what he’ll do next.
