Lev keeps going, “So, you like our little playground?”
“It’s…” She looks around, takes in the weapons, the bloodstains on the mats that never quite wash out. “Intense.”
“We like intense.” Lev grins. “Tell me, have you ever worked out before? Hit a gym?”
She shakes her head, quick. “I couldn’t afford a membership. I tried running a couple of times, but…” She shrugs, embarrassed. “I’m not very good at it. Made it maybe three blocks before I thought my lungs were going to explode.”
Lev chuckles. Dima drops his guard, left standing there with no one to hit, sweat dripping from his hair.
And there it is. The reason she couldn’t even get Evan off her. No strength, no training. Just soft curves and wide eyes and zero fight in her.
She doesn’t fit here. Should be standing in line at a market, arguing over peaches. Or curled up in bed with that cat. Not in a fucking training hall with guns staring her down.
But she’s here. And keeping her alive is on me.
I reach for a compact Glock 19 from the rack. “Start with this.” I check the chamber, make sure it’s empty, then hold it out to her. “Basic rule: never point it at anything you don’t want to destroy.”
Her fingers brush mine when she takes it. She holds it like it might bite her. Her hands shake.
“It’s heavier than I thought.”
“Good. Means it’s real.” I step closer. “Your grandmother’s life depends on you knowing how to use this. Yours, too.”
Something shifts in her face. The fear doesn’t go away, but something else settles underneath it. Determination, maybe.
“I want to learn.” Her voice is stronger now. “I want to learn how to protect myself.”
Dima wipes sweat from his face with his sleeve, walks over.
“We start slow.” Dima’s voice drops soft. Softer than I’ve ever heard it outside a funeral. Not for me. For her.
Chyort.Even he’s adjusting for her.
Lev nods, that cocky grin replaced with something serious.
“Feet apart. Like this.” He shows her the stance, patient as a teacher.
And I watch my men—killers, both of them—treat her like she’s made of glass. Gentle corrections. Quiet encouragement. Like they’ve done this before.
Like they give a shit whether she makes it out of this alive.
Maybe they do.
Something in my chest tightens. I move forward before I can think about it, my hand closing around Mary’s wrist.
“Come on,” I say, pulling her toward me. “Real practice happens in the soundproof range.”
Her eyes widen at the sudden contact, but she doesn’t pull away. Just lets me guide her across the floor. My hand slides lower, settling at the small of her back. Warm. Soft. Fits too fucking well under my palm.
Lev and Dima go completely still.
I catch the look that passes between them. Quick. Knowing. Like they’re seeing something they’ve never seen before.
Their boss giving a shit about keeping someone alive who isn’t blood.
Dima’s mouth quirks. “Boss usually just tells people to figure it out themselves.”
“Or shoots them,” Lev adds helpfully.
