For the second night in a row, I lie on a bed next to Isabelle, watching as she falls fast asleep. Tonight, I’m restrained, mindful that she’s been through a lot and a wrong move could jeopardise any potential relationship.
Tomorrow, though. That’s another story. No matter how busy I get, I swear I’ll make time enough to test a few boundaries. See if we fit together as perfectly as I think we will. If the spikes and hollows of her rough edges match to mine.
CHAPTERELEVEN
ISABELLE
I’m late for breakfast the next morning. Not only did I wake late, but after showering and dressing, I found the door unlocked. With no guard arriving to tell me what to do, I had to find my own way to the dining room. A feat I managed… eventually.
Luckily, Nora is still serving but Baxter is nowhere to be seen. Not that I was dying to see him or anything. I certainly don’t want to discuss what happened last night.
Being weak is for… well, the weak. Who wants to be one of them?
Yuri is missing, too. Probably taking a well-earned break from escorting me around the house. Not that he needs to do that any longer if this morning is any indication. Being nobody important appears to have earnt my freedom.
Freedom to get lost wandering along a corridor that I felt sure would lead me straight back to my room but led me… not there. I try a door at random, hoping to gain some clues as to where I’ve ended. A sterile room half filled with boxes tells me precisely nothing.
The next room along doesn’t even have the boxes. I leave a trail of opened doors to show me where I’ve been and eventually find my way home.
I have the idea to draw a map, and rummage in my belongings for something to do that with, but there’s nothing suitable. Sorting through every drawer in the room instead, I find paper and a box of charcoal. Not ideal but it’ll do.
A knock comes on the door when I’m a step away from it and I jump and give a little shriek at the unexpected sound. My heart rate speeds into the stratosphere. As much as I’d like to pretend that everything is back to normal, my erratic reactions are enough to deny the claim.
Once my pulse settles, I open it to find Yuri standing there. He passes me a rifle and I discard the paper and charcoal. This is a level of one-upmanship I can appreciate.
“Wow. Is this a dare to see if I shoot you in the chest?”
“It’s not loaded. The boss says we can practice target shooting today.”
“Really?” A smile lights up my face and I’d clap my hands except one of them is now holding a big-arse firearm. “You’re on.” My face twists with suspicion. “I get ammunition on the target range, right?”
“So long as you promise not to shoot me.”
I point the barrel at him. “Hm. That depends on whether or not you’re nice to me.”
He shoves it away. “I’m always nice to you. We’ll start you with blanks just to be sure.”
“Pfft. How’m I meant to know if I hit the target or not if I’m firing blanks?”
“Because I’ll tell you.” Yuri’s eyes drift down to my sweatshirt and jeggings. “Don’t you have a change of clothes?”
“This is a change and I’m getting sick of people insulting my clothes, all right. What d’you expect prisoners to wear? The latest fashion?”
In usual Yuri style, he doesn’t respond as he leads me outdoors.
The walk to the shooting range is so impossibly long that I’d struggle to make it, even without the addition of my wounded ankle. Luckily, Yuri summons a souped-up golf cart out of thin air and the ride to the site is as much fun as I expect the main attraction to be.
There’s a safety demonstration that I barely listen to, and Yuri fits a bulletproof jacket to my slight frame. “What’s this for? Are you that bad an aim?”
His characteristic grunt seems happier than normal. Guess I’ve found the way to Yuri’s heart is through his weapon.
On the range, there’s a collection of sandbags, armed with wooden sticks painted black. “Wow. Take cover,” I joke, eliciting only a raised eyebrow.
“Hold it here,” Yuri instructs, positioning the straps over my body and adjusting my hands on the rifle. “Never aim the barrel anywhere near a person, unless your intention is to kill them.”
His rough voice is serious enough that I don’t immediately aim it at him. Instead, I follow the direction of his fingers as he points out at the range.
“We’ll start with still targets.”
