by James, Tate
I swear, the deer is looking right at us now, its brown eyes delving into my soul.
He's looking this way because you're fucking talking, not because of some deep mystical forest spirit that's guilt-tripping you for murdering one of its children.
I swallow hard.
"Do it," Arsen purrs in my ear. "Prove you belong here." He pauses a moment, and I can hear the grin in his whispered words, even if I'm not looking at him. "Prove Hawke wrong."
Hawke. Hawke. Fucking Hawke. Ugh, I hate that bastard.
Hot, angry energy surges through me, and I exhale, lining up the shot, and pulling the trigger.
Birds scatter into the sky and the buck drops like a sack of flour, crumbling to the forest floor with clean shot right through his forehead. Rising to my feet, I push loose strands of chocolate hair from my face and push my way through the bushes, staring down at the deer's warm body.
"Nice shot," Arsen says, leaning down and slicking a finger through the deer's blood. He paints two stripes of red on his face and grins sharply at me. "Almost too good. For an animal, it's fine. Just make sure you miss a little when you're shooting that bastard father of yours. I want to see pain written into every line of his face."
"You're assuming I'll be the one doing the shooting?" I suggest, but neither man answers me. Instead, Mace just leans down and starts to truss up the body with rope. Arsen watches me carefully, smiling in that way of his.
"How did it feel?" he asks, studying me with eyes like chips of ice. "To kill something? To know that your hands are the reason breath no longer fills the lungs of a living being?"
I stare back at him, completely blank in the face, and I don't admit that shooting the deer made me feel sick. That the thought of shooting a human being makes me feel sicker still. He can see it, I bet, in the way I'm standing, in the tense set of my shoulders.
"It was a necessary evil," I say, lifting my chin as Arsen smirks and helps Mace haul the deer up off the ground. It's a huge buck with massive antlers. I just hope nobody asks me to have them mounted and hung on the wall. The last thing I need is a reminder of death. My fingers twitch as my mind strays—against my own will, mind you—back to Kisten.
He wasn't the greatest guy in the world, but he didn't deserve what happened to him.
"Question is," Mace asks, looking down at me, "can you do it again?"
I look him dead in the eye.
"I'll do it a hundred times over, if it means getting rid of my father and securing my freedom and my future."
"Aww, how noble," Arsen says, putting one of his inked hands over his chest. "But let's see how that strong disposition of yours holds up when you have to butcher this thing." He and Mace take off through the woods, leaving me to lag behind, following a trail of blood.
* * *
"You puked, huh?" Colt asks, leaning back in his chair, looking at least a little better than he did this morning. "I don't blame you. Butchering an animal takes an iron gut."
I glance Arsen's way, wearing an apron and cooking up a fresh stew that admittedly smells pretty amazing. I'm tense—I think we all are—just waiting for Hawke to come home. Or back. Back, I should say. This isn't home. In fact, now that I'm looking at the world without rose-colored glasses on, I'm pretty sure I've never had a place that truly felt like home.
"He did it while, I think, trying to hold back laughter," I whisper, and I can sense Arsen glancing back to look at me. But whatever he's about to say is cut short when the front door opens and Hawke's heavy footfalls precede his entrance into the kitchen.
He pauses in the entryway and looks around, frowning so deeply that I wouldn't be surprised to find the expression etched into his face.
"Where's my fucking dinner?" he asks, and I can see Arsen bristling. Hawke better be careful. I'm pretty sure there's some hidden limit to what Arsen will take before he snaps. He opens the oven, pulls out the freshly baked bread, and carries it over to the table, dropping the pan in just such a way that the sound makes me flinch.
"Dinner's just about ready, honey. Have a seat and I'll get you a martini." Arsen gives his boss a dark look as Hawke moves over to the table and pulls out a chair. He doesn't look at me, but I know he's laser-focused on my presence.
"Did you have fun, fucking away your troubles?" I ask. I know I shouldn't. I know I'm revealing my hand, but I can't seem to help myself. I meet Hawke's gray eyes as Colt whistles under his breath and sits up straight, folding his arms on the tabletop. "Or did you lose your nerve and end up spending the day alone? You're clearly off your game. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty easy, and yet you couldn't manage to get me into bed the other day."
"That's enough of that, recruit," Hawke snaps, gritting his teeth. I can see his hands balling into fists on the surface of the table. "Keep pushing me, and you'll regret it during our next training session."
"I'm not afraid of you," I snap, and I realize then that the statement is true. I'm not afraid of Hawke, or any of these mercenary assholes. The only thing I'm scared of now is being confined. I just want to be ... free. "Do your worst, Hawke. If that makes you feel better, then fine."
He slams his fist down on the table, and then leans in close to me, so close that our mouths might touch if I were to take a breath.
"I fucked a pretty little blonde today. Is that what you wanted to hear? Tell me, are you jealous, Natalia?"
I stare right back at him, but I don't believe it. He's lying. The question is: why? Does he want me to be jealous? Am I?
The burning anger pooling in my belly tells me the answer to that question. Yes. Fuck yes, I am.
“Why would I be jealous of some random townie, Hawke? I could have you any time I wanted, and we both know it. Difference is, I turned you down.” I keep my face carefully neutral, a trick I’ve been working on for weeks after studying each of them. It's one thing to admit my jealousy to myself, but Hawke’s ego does not need the boost.
He scoffs at me, but anger and frustration are causing cracks in his mask. Shit yeah, I’m definitely holding the upper hand now.
Hawke clears his throat, and right when I'm feeling all too smug, his expression shifts.
Oh shit.
Crap.
Ugh, how do I keep underestimating him?
"Oh, pet," he damn near purrs in a tone dripping with sex and authority. My favourite kind of voice from him. "You don't really think you turned me down, do you?"
Wait. What?
I frown, blinking at him in confusion. "That’s exactly what happened. I was there, remember? It was my cunt that you had your dick halfway inside when I told you to screw off."
A cruel smile crosses his lips and fuck if my panties aren't soaked. "Miss Petrova, you're not actually that naive, are you? I let you tell me no, for your own inflated sense of self-worth. I think we both know if I bent you over this table right now and bared your cunt, you'd be gushing for me."
He's right. But fuck him and his arrogant fucking man-attitude.
I want to be his sub again. I want to, and yet it feels like I’d die if I admitted it aloud.
Narrowing my eyes, I lift my chin in stubborn defiance because seriously ... screw that.
"Don't flatter yourself, Hawke," I sneer back at him, folding my arms under my breasts in a way that, yeah, it draws attention there. I'm petty as shit, and I own that. "Suddenly I've lost my appetite." I shoot a quick glance over at Arsen and Mace. "Thanks for a fun day, boys."
I start heading out of the kitchen only to have Colt grab my arm, halting me.
"Wait," he says, his face full of mischief. "You want some company? I hate venison anyway."
My lips twitch with a smile, because he's so fucking obvious. From the corner of my eye, I can see Hawke fuming. His fist is clenched tight around his napkin and his eyes are hard as granite as he stares, waiting to hear my answer.
Damn I'm tempted.
How could I not be? Colt’s boyish good looks, those spring green eyes, the way his mouth twists up in a shi
t-eating grin, it’s enough to soak my panties straight through.
"Nice try," I murmur, giving Colt a small smile so he knows I appreciate his deliberate attempt to piss Hawke off further, "but when I said you all need to do better, I meant it. You all need to work harder or not at all. Until I see some serious effort"—I indicate to the general region of my vagina—"all of this is closed for business."
Colt's shoulders sag, but he gives me a small nod of understanding. Even that makes me like him more. Although, considering he stood up for me against Hawke and Arsen, maybe I could forgive him a little sooner than, well, Hawke and Arsen. Mace, West, Colt and me, we’re okay. I just want to see what’ll happen if I ask for more.
"Just that part?" Arsen quips, his leer heated as he drags his tongue across his lower lip, "I can work with that. Plenty of other parts ... holes ..."
I level him with an acidic glare. "They're all fucking closed for business, dickhead."
The crazy fuck just shrugs and turns back to the martini he was painstakingly stirring with ice—because apparently shaking a martini will bruise the gin and cause a shitty cocktail, who knew?
Rolling my eyes, I make my escape from the kitchen before anyone else can suck me into some infuriating game of sexual chicken. It’s time I take control back into my own hands, and stop letting these men lead me around by my clit. Actually, that gives me an idea …
Chapter 13
Natalia
I wake up the next day relaxed and spread out across my shitty mattress like a star. After going to bed with no dinner, I'd leisurely and loudly serviced myself until I'd fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. Who needs men, anyway? Even without my trusty Hitachi wand, I can take care of my own desires.
It was nice to remind myself of that.
"You look well rested, Tzarina," Colt says from my doorway and I startle so hard I think something pops in my spine. Damn, he's sneaky.
"Ow," I groan, rubbing at my back as I roll over to glare at him. "What are you doing sneaking in here at the crack of dawn, Colt? Wasn't I clear enough last night?"
Oh, hot damn. He’s shirtless again, and those abs, those biceps … Yep. Retracting that mental statement about not needing men.
Colt is draped all over my doorframe like a mink coat, wearing nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs and a smile. Holy shit, that body should be illegal.
"You were crystal clear, babe," he replies with a Cheshire cat grin, like he knows the effect he's having on my libido. Hell, he probably does know. Am I drooling? God knows my nipples are hard enough to cut glass.
"So ...?" My voice is all husky and needy and shit. Yeah, even just with one word.
I clear my throat, then lick my lips. It's too early for this kind of torture.
"So," Colt continues, shrugging one muscled shoulder in a way that causes his chest to ripple. "I heard you, loud and clear. You want us to make an effort and show that you mean more to us than some dumb fucking bet Hawke cooked up ‘cause he's got major issues." He lifts his hand, which I just now realize is holding a steaming mug of coffee. I'm perfectly aware that it's been there the whole time, but I was very distracted by the mostly naked Colt. "Consider this the first step in my attempt to woo you, beautiful. I brought coffee."
"You ..." I trail off, licking my lips again. Seems like I can't keep them moist enough this morning. "You brought me coffee?" Colt nods, coming further into my bedroom and holding the mug toward me. "You brought me coffee and ... what? You think I'll suck your dick now? Jesus, Colt, I only declared my pussy off-limits like eight hours ago. Are you that hard up?" Now that I'm waking up more, I'm getting pissed. I figure it’s just my natural defenses coming into play.
I don’t want to get hurt.
I so desperately don’t want to be hurt, emotionally or romantically. Physically, I can deal with that. Sometimes, I even like that. But Colt … if I let him, he’d have the power to make me bleed in ways that have nothing to do with my body.
His brow furrows and he sets the coffee down on my nightstand. "That's not even remotely what I intended. Tzarina, you said you wanted to be wooed and now you're acting all suspicious and defensive? Make up your damn mind." He sweeps a hand over his short blond hair, and it reminds me of everything he's been through. The scarring on his chest is so prominent, but he's been keeping it so hidden in the last few weeks I'd all but forgotten.
"Colt," I say, instantly regretting my attitude, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to treat you like ..."
"Like we've treated you?" He offers me a small, quarter smile to show he's not totally offended. "Maybe we just need to start over? Everything was so intense back at the church and I never really expected to feel ... you know ... stuff."
I snort a laugh. "Stuff?"
He shrugs. Again. Damn, he's toned. Was he always so toned? Or is that a result of all the extra training he's been doing to make up for his injuries?
"Yeah. Feelings and stuff. Don't make me elaborate."
As tempting as it is, I've already acted like a bitch once this morning and I haven't even sat up yet. "Okay, well, for the record I agree. I also never expected to feel ... stuff. So, starting over?"
Colt nods and sticks out his hand to me. "Hey, I'm Colton Samuel Ryan, but my friends call me Colt. You're crazy beautiful, did you know?"
I laugh. I can't help it. He's standing there in his undies, introducing himself like it’s the first time we're meeting and ... and ... a warm fuzzy feeling envelops my bitter, twisted heart. I push myself up to sitting on the side of the bed and reach out to shake his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Colt. I'm Natalia."
His warm hand holds mine with perfect pressure. Nothing worse than a guy who tries to dominate a handshake with a woman, or one who shakes like a wet fish.
"Just Natalia?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.
I pause a moment, biting my lip, then nod. "Just Natalia. I have no family name."
Or family.
Colt's green eyes hold far too much understanding, too much insight into my pain, and I squirm.
"Well, Natalia No-Last-Name, it's a serious pleasure to meet you. Do you like coffee?" He raises his brows and gives the mug on my nightstand a pointed look.
"I love coffee," I reply with a girly grin. This is such a stupid game we're playing, but it's pressing all my buttons in the best possible way. "Is that for me?"
Colt grins a boyish, charming grin. How this guy isn't already under lock and key by some lucky chick, I'll never know. He's a serious catch—if you can ignore the whole mercenary-for-hire with very low moral code thing.
Before he can reply, though, there’s a loud bang down the hall and someone shouts a curse.
"Oh, ah, before I forget," Colt hurries to say, his gaze darting to the door and back to me, "you have a briefing meeting with headquarters today. Hawke wanted you downstairs about five minutes ago."
"Recruit!" Hawke's voice hollers up to us, and I bolt out of bed. "You have thirty seconds or you'll be walking the whole way. Move it!"
Colt cringes. "Sorry, babe."
"What the fuck, Colt?" I hiss as I throw yesterday's dirty clothes on and snap my new chocolate brown locks into a high ponytail.
"I got caught up," he says apologetically and swipes up my coffee to hand to me. "Here, drink some of this."
Without waiting for my reply, he hunts my combat boots out from under the bed and retrieves a fresh pair of socks while I do as I'm told. Drink my coffee.
"Ten ... nine ... eight ..." Hawke is yelling a countdown up the stairs and fuck do I ever want to punch him in the face.
"Thanks," I tell Colt, exchanging the empty coffee mug for my boots and turning to dash out of the room. At the last second, I double back and plant a heated, coffee-laced kiss against Colt's lips. "Let's continue this later. It's fun." With a wink, I sprint down the creaking staircase and blow past Hawke's scowling form right as he hits one.
Take that, asshole.
Hawke's blacked-out Lincoln Navigato
r is idling in the driveway so by the time he slides in behind the steering wheel, I'm already seated in the passenger seat and tugging my socks onto my feet.
"I expected you downstairs half an hour ago," Hawke snaps as he guns the engine. Clearly someone still has a serious stick up his ass over our little argument.
I shrug, stuffing my feet into my boots and starting to lace them up. "Then you should have woken me up yourself. Or would that be too much torture on those blue balls of yours?" I shoot him a wicked grin. "I was sleeping naked, you know?"
Such a lie, I'd been sleeping in one of Mace's t-shirts. Still, the way Hawke's knuckles tighten on the steering wheel makes me snicker. He's slowly losing his mind.
"So, debriefing with the important people?" I change the subject because deep down I suspect I'll come off second best if I push Hawke too far. Also, I'm buzzing with anticipation. This is what I've been waiting for, right? Hang on ... "Does that mean you suddenly think I'm worthy of being on your team?"
Hawke lets out a small growl, but doesn't spare me a look. "Not even close, recruit. This briefing was called by headquarters. They're becoming impatient with our lack of progress on your father."
I bite my lip and nod silently, shifting my attention out the window. It's a sobering reminder that our stay at the Rouge Elk isn't just a vacation. It's not some reality TV dating show where the girl gets to pick out her harem and make them jump through ridiculous hoops for the honor of licking her cunt. We're training. I'm training. To kill my father. My last remaining family member since my mom disappeared off the face of the earth six years ago.
Fuck that's some heavy shit.
* * *
The drive to ... wherever it is we're going ... is quiet, tense and uncomfortable. I keep sneaking glances over at Hawke, but he most definitely isn't doing the same for me. Actually, his gray eyes look glazed over, like he's on auto pilot or something, like his body is here but his mind is most definitely elsewhere.