She turns to me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You think you can just buy me off? You think if you give me paint, I’ll forget that I’m a prisoner?"
"No," I say. "I think if I give you paint, you won't go insane. I need you sane, Ivy. I need you sharp."
I walk over to her. I pick up a stick of charcoal and hold it out.
"Paint the storm," I suggest. "Paint the anger. Paint me. I don't care. Just get it out of your system. Because if you keep bottling it up, you’re going to break. And as I told you... I don't break my toys."
She stares at the charcoal. Slowly, her hand reaches out. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it. The contact is electric.
"Thank you," she says, the words stiff, reluctant.
"Don't thank me yet," I say, my voice dropping. "This is the carrot."
"The carrot?" She frowns. "Then what’s the stick?"
I smile. It’s not a nice smile.
"Come with me."
I lead her away from the conservatory, deeper into the woods. The path narrows, the pines pressing in closer. The sound of the ocean fades, replaced by the eerie silence of the forest.
We reach a clearing.
It’s a natural amphitheater, dug into the side of a hill. At the far end, there are hay bales with paper targets pinned to them.
Silhouettes of men.
Ivy stops dead. "A shooting range?"
"The world is not safe, Ivy," I say, walking to a metal table set up at the firing line. On it sits a black case. "I can protect you from most things. But I can't be everywhere at once. And if Nikolai Sokolov sends men here... I need to know you aren't helpless."
I open the case.
Inside lies a Sig Sauer P226 Legion. It’s a beautiful weapon. Heavy, reliable, deadly.
"Have you ever fired a gun?" I ask.
She shakes her head, eyeing the weapon with distaste. "No. I hate guns."
"That’s a luxury for people who aren't hunted," I say. "Pick it up."
"I don't want to."
"Pick. It. Up."
She steps forward, her jaw set. She reaches for the gun. She holds it like it’s a venomous snake—limp-wristed, terrified.
"It’s heavy," she murmurs.
"It’s loaded," I correct. "Treat it with respect."
I step behind her. I press my chest against her back. I can feel the heat of her body through her coat. I wrap my arms around hers, engulfing her.
"Spread your legs," I command softly, my mouth right at her ear.
She stiffens. "What?"
"Your stance," I say, kicking the inside of her boots gently with mine. "Widen your stance. You need a solid base. If you standlike a stiff breeze will blow you over, the recoil will knock you on your ass."
