She stepped closer to me then, not submissive, not uncertain. Stronger.
“Good,” she said quietly. “I’m done being the only one in the room without power.”
Something in my chest tightened.
I reached forward and brushed my thumb gently along her jaw, not possessive this time. Proud.
“You will learn to shoot. To disarm. To anticipate,” I said. “And you will never stand defenseless again.”
Behind us, Ronan entered silently.
He gave her a nod, respectful, not condescending.
“Range is ready,” he said.
She didn’t look at me when she spoke next.
“Let’s begin.” And for the first time, I saw it clearly. She wasn’t just mine. She was becoming dangerous.
CHAPTER 42
The training range behind the estate stretched farther than most people expected. From the outside it looked like little more than a reinforced building surrounded by tall fencing and security lights. But inside, the space opened into a series of carefully designed lanes built for precision shooting and tactical drills. It smelled faintly of metal, gunpowder, and oil, the unmistakable scent of weapons maintained with obsessive care.
Sera stood near the entrance for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the harsher lights overhead. The room echoed slightly with each step she took across the concrete floor. Targets hung at various distances downrange, some fresh and untouched, others riddled with tight clusters of bullet holes. Evidence of hours spent training. She had never imagined herself standing in a place like this.
Months ago, the idea would have felt absurd. Yet now the weight of the pistol in her hand felt strangely natural. Not comfortable exactly, but familiar in a way she hadn’t expected.
The truth was simple. This world didn’t allow people to remain naive for long. If you lived inside it, you either learned to protect yourself or you became someone else’s vulnerability.
Sera tightened her grip slightly, exhaling slowly as Ronan’s voice echoed instructions from behind her. Her stance adjusted automatically, the lessons becoming easier each time. The first shot rang out sharply, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls before fading into silence again.
The bullet struck the target slightly left of center. Not perfect, but close enough to remind her that she was learning faster than anyone had expected.
CHAPTER 43
The hunt began long before the first bullet was fired. Lucien moved through the abandoned industrial district like a shadow carved from steel, Ronan two steps behind him. The night air smelled of rain and rust, the flicker of broken streetlights casting thin blades of yellow across cracked asphalt. Somewhere inside the crumbling warehouse ahead, one of Virelli’s men was hiding, one of the last who had been seen near Lucien’s territory earlier that evening. Lucien rolled the sleeve of his black shirt slightly, exposing the elegant watch on his wrist as if he had allthe time in the world. His expression remained calm, almost bored, but Ronan knew better. That quiet look in Lucien’s eyes meant someone was about to die. The door creaked when Lucien pushed it open, and three men inside turned too slowly. The first shot echoed like thunder in the hollow building. One man dropped instantly, the second barely had time to reach for his weapon before Ronan buried a knife beneath his ribs. The third tried to run. Lucien caught him by the collar and slammed him into a steel table so hard the metal screamed. “Running,” Lucien said softly, tilting his head as if studying an insect, “is a very poor life choice when I’m already annoyed.” The man trembled violently, staring up into Lucien’s cold silver eyes. Ronan leaned casually against a crate nearby, arms crossed, watching as if it were a routine performance. For Lucien, it practically was.
They dragged the surviving man into a chair in the center of the warehouse and tied his wrists with brutal efficiency. The man’s lip was split, blood running down his chin as he struggled to breathe. Lucien crouched in front of him slowly, almost elegantly, resting his forearms on his knees. Up close, the calm cruelty in his expression became even more terrifying. “You work for Virelli,” Lucien said, voice low and smooth, the words rolling off his tongue like velvet wrapped around a blade. The man tried to deny it, but Ronan chuckled darkly and pressed the barrel of his pistol against the man’s temple just enough to make him flinch. Lucien watched the fear grow, then smiled faintly, the kind of smile that dark romance readers lived for, dangerous and devastating all at once.
“Listen carefully,” Lucien murmured, tilting the man’s chin upward with two fingers, “You have exactly thirty seconds to decide whether you want to die quickly or very creatively.” The man swallowed hard, panic cracking through his stubborn silence. Lucien leaned closer, his voice lowering further until it almost sounded intimate, “I’m not asking nicely. I’m asking once.” When the man hesitated again, Lucien sighed softly as if disappointed. Ronan stepped forward and drove a knife through the man’s hand, pinning it to the wooden armrest. The scream tore through the warehouse.
The information spilled out soon after. Between gasps and curses, the man confessed that Virelli had sent scouts into Lucien’s territory to track movements around the estate. Someone had been watching the house. Someone had been looking for weaknesses. Lucien’s jaw tightened slightly, the only visible crack in his composure. “And who gave the order?” he asked quietly. The man hesitated again, shaking violently now. Ronan crouched beside him, wiping the knife slowly on the man’s shirt before sliding it beneath his jawline. “I’d answer him,” Ronan advised calmly. “Lucien’s patience is thinner than it looks.” Finally, the name came out in a broken whisper. A Virelli lieutenant, someone Lucien had suspected for months. Lucien nodded once, absorbing the information with eerie calm. Then he stood, smoothing down the front of his shirt as if concluding a simple business meeting. The captive man looked up at him with desperate hope. “You said if I talked…” Lucien tilted his head slightly, considering him for a moment, then his lips curved into that same devastating half smile, “I said you’d get to choose how you die.” He pulled his pistol from his holster in one smooth motion, pressing the barrel against the man’sforehead. “Congratulations,” Lucien said softly. “You picked the faster option.” The gunshot rang out sharp and final.
By the time they stepped back outside, the night had grown colder. Ronan lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the damp air while glancing toward Lucien. “You think that’s all of them?” he asked. Lucien looked out across the empty street, expression thoughtful now, calculating. “No,” he said after a moment. “Virelli never sends just one set of eyes.” Ronan flicked ash onto the pavement. “Then where are the rest?” Lucien slid his gun back into its holster and began walking toward the waiting car. “If they were watching the estate,” he said quietly, “they’re either already dead… or they’re still there.” Something in his voice shifted then, something darker. The calm mask sharpened into something lethal. Ronan noticed it immediately and crushed the cigarette beneath his boot. Neither man spoke for the rest of the drive back. When the gates of the estate finally came into view, Lucien felt the tension coil tighter in his chest, an instinct screaming that something had gone wrong. The car hadn’t even fully stopped before Lucien stepped out. Then he saw them. Three security guards lay motionless near the entrance, blood staining the stone beneath them. Ronan swore under his breath. Lucien didn’t say a word. He was already moving, running toward the house.
He hadn’t come to threaten. He had come for her.
They moved fast, controlled and lethal.
Up the stairs. Down the corridor. Straight to her door.
Lucien didn’t knock. He kicked it open.
