“Not funny,” I grunt.
They smirk anyway. Because they’re right. I don’t do hand-holding. Don’t do soft. Yet here I am, steering Mary like she’s spun silk.
We cross the floor, and I can feel their eyes still on me. It burns on my shoulders, but I don’t shake them off. Let them look.
I push the range door open. It groans loudly, heavy steel scraping. The air inside is colder, metallic, sharp with burned powder. Ghosts of blood and cordite cling to the padded walls. Target sheets hang in rows, pockmarked with holes, blackenedaround the edges like cigarette burns. A bucket of brass casings glints in the corner—bones of old lessons.
Mary stops dead in the doorway, clutching the Glock like it might explode.
“I, um…” She glances between me and the gun, then toward the hallway. “Could I use the restroom? Just for a minute?”
“Down the hall, second door on the left,” I tell her.
She nods quickly and practically bolts.
The second she’s gone, Lev settles against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Well,” he says. “That was fucking adorable.”
“She ran,” Dima observes.
“Can you blame her? Our boy here was practically purring.”
“I don’t purr.”
“Sure you don’t.” Lev’s grin turns wicked. “You know what she looks like? A little lamb who wandered into a pack of wolves. And instead of eating her,” he gestures at me, “we’re housebreaking her. Like she’s already part of the pack.”
My eye twitches. Just once. Enough to make Lev smirk wider, because he knows I hate the sound of that. Part of the pack. As if she belongs here.
Dima nods slowly. “She’s soft. Needs protecting.”
“From everything,” Lev agrees. “Including us.”
“Especially us,” I correct.
“But she’s not really running,” Dima points out. “Could have. Many times. But she stays.”
“She’s got nowhere else to go.”
“No,” Lev says, studying me. “She’s got somewhere to go. She just doesn’t want to anymore.”
Before I can tell him he’s full of shit, Mary reappears in the doorway.
But something’s changed.
Her hair is swept up in a high bun, secured with a hair tie. A few strands frame her face. Her sleeves are pushed up. She looks… ready.
“Sorry,” she says, walking back with more confidence than before. “I needed a moment.”
Lev and Dima exchange a look. They’re hovering now, like kids watching a show they’re not supposed to see.
“Much better,” Lev murmurs appreciatively.
“Very practical,” Dima adds.
“Out,” I tell them.
“But, boss—”
