I hug his neck. “I missed you.”
He licks my cheek next, eliciting another giggle from me.
I feel Mika long before he makes his appearance known. His presence casts a spell around my being, binding my senses so that all I perceive is him.
Crouching by my side, he glares at Kill. “If he ever hurts you...”
I roll my eyes at the silent threat, even though he can’t see me as I continue patting Kill. “He never would.”
“Hope for that. But one scratch and not even you can hold me back.”
I kiss his muzzle. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
Kill cocks his beautiful black and brown head, barking his response.
“I know. It’s the big grump who trusts no one with me but himself, right?”
I catch Mika’s smirk from the corner of my eye, not apologetic at all. “I thought you wanted to train your aim.”
I whip my head toward him. “Really?”
He looks at me as if I should already know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me, melting me on the spot.
I stand on legs made of jelly. Clasping my hands together, I rock on my feet, barely containing my excitement.
He asks Lorenzo to bring a golf cart, and we hop in the front. Smiling the entire way to the shooting range, I hum quietly.
I don’t have the code or the key card to the hangar, but he has them—they trust each other implicitly, and I am threatening the very foundation. That thought swiftly pricks its sharp needles into my conscience, making me feel like the worst sister.
Inhaling deeply, I ignore the voice of reason telling me I am walking on explosive ground but hope to come unscathed to the other side. A hopeless lunatic. That’s what I am.
Inside, an entire arsenal of weapons appears, neatly arranged along the walls, from rifles to Glocks and Berettas, and even knives and machetes.
I find the one rifle I’ve trained with and glance at him. “What are we betting on?”
“Are you sure?” he asks, his deep voice ending on a seductive rasp that sends my hormones all over the place.
I bat my eyelashes at him. “Afraid I’m better?”
He pins me with a serious stare that only makes me giddy. It’s not about winning or losing, but about having fun. He’s competitive, and I might have lied about how bad my aim is. When a master assassin slash sniper trains you, you can only become good.
He approaches me. “Name your stakes.”
“A kiss,” I say breathlessly.
“A kiss?” he asks, sounding incredulous as he brushes his thumb along my jaw, his eyes fixed on my lips that tingle automatically.
I gulp, trapped in a daze. “Anything else, I would just ask to get it.”
He cocks his head, chuckling. “Also true.”
“Do we have a deal?” I ask before I forget all about the bet and jump him.
He arches a brow. “I didn’t tell you my stakes.”
I wave him off. “It won’t come to that.”
He bursts into laughter, the sound so wholehearted it brightens up my insides into a colorful rainbow. That’s all I wish to do, bring some joy into his life. I think I am doing a terrific job so far.
