She looks at me for a long time before she nods, understanding.
“Can you show me that control?” she asks in an almost guilty whisper.
I raise an eyebrow in question, and she speaks again.
“Can you show me how to shoot a gun?”
Daisy
It’s barely the break of dawn when Alexei gently nudges me awake. My eyelids flutter open and I smile into his handsome face. The first few streams of pale morning light are shining in through the window of his bedroom, illuminating the sharp angles of his cheekbones. The fire in his eyes isn’t put out yet, but it’s more of a flicker than a blaze at the moment. He looks at me with all the care and concern of a guardian angel. I wonder if he’s been watching me as I sleep. Oddly enough, the thought of him doing that doesn’t upset me. If it was anyone else, I might find it creepy or even scary. But something about having Alexei look over me while I’m vulnerable and unsuspecting just makes me feel safer than before.
Like he’s ready to kill for me.
He’s done it once already.
That realization washes over me again, but this time it feels softer. Warmer. Less like an electrical jolt and more like a splash of tepid water to the face. Waking me up. Reminding me that right now, and all night, I have been lying in the den of the beast, but I’m not his prey. I’m his ward. I’m the one he will fight for, tooth and nail and shining bullet.
Alexei has already proven himself to me, and he continues to do the same again and again, regarding me with the same awe and delicate touch one might show to a treasured relic or precious heirloom. Or a prized orchid. I’m breakable and valuable in his eyes. I don’t quite know what it is about me that drew him so close, but I’m glad to have him here with me. I’m relieved to have him on my side, because lord knows I could never survive being his enemy. Although something tells me there aren’t a lot of women on his bad side. He treats me so well that I can’t imagine him ever mistreating another woman.
He goes after the bad men, like Dean. That’s what he told me and that is what I choose to believe. It’s better this way, at least for now. I have done my digging, and now it’s time to wait and see.
“You’re beautiful when you sleep,” Alexei says softly. He raises a hand to lightly trace the shape of my lips with his finger, gazing at me with such intense attention that it almost makes me blush. I am not used to being looked at this way. Sure, men have often stared at me or rather, gawked at me, more appropriately. I have had men look me up and down, give me that filthy, appraising once-over. Dean stared at me like I was an unruly child he was trying to set straight. But Alexei watches me in a different way, even if I can’t one-hundred-percent put my finger on what that difference is.
“What time is it?” I ask, my throat scratchy from sleep. I look around for a clock. Alexei strokes my hair, not looking away for a moment.
“Just after six,” he answers. “Maybe I should let you sleep longer. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him. A slow smile spreads across my face. I sit up and place my hand over his on my cheek, leaning into it warmly. “Waking up to see your face is never a bad thing, I can promise you that.”
“I hope I didn’t frighten you last night,” he says, moving closer.
I shake my head, still smiling. I turn to gently kiss the palm of his hand, closing my eyes and letting my eyelashes brush against his fingertips. Butterfly kisses, that’s what my father called it. Alexei leans in, taking my chin in his fingers and turning me to face him again as he kisses me on the lips. There is none of the fierce desperation he showed me last night. Only softness and sweetness.
“You don’t scare me one bit,” I tell him.
A flicker of something akin to worry crosses his face. “Perhaps you should be a little afraid of me, Daisy,” he says solemnly.
I can’t help but laugh. I know he’s right. I’m sleeping with a killer, someone who has actually murdered in my name. I can’t explain my feelings. Not towards him, not towards what he did. But I don’t feel any bit afraid of him.
“You’ve saved my life, Alexei. You’ve taken care of me. You’ve showed me nothing but kindness. Do I have any reason to fear you?”
He stares at me for a few moments in silence, clearly contemplating my words.
“I would never intentionally hurt you,” he says finally.
“Exactly,” I say with a groggy smile, as if he made my point for me.
He stands up, taking my hand and giving it a little tug. “Come on.”
I tilt my head to one side. “Where are we going?”
“The forest,” he says cryptically.
I stand up beside him, squinting in confusion. “For what? Why?”
He raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “You want to learn how to shoot, yes?”
I grin, my heart leaping in my chest. “Right now?”
Alexei nods. “Early morning in the woods is the perfect time and place. Come with me.”
The two of us dress slowly and methodically, easing into the morning. To my relief, Alexei lets me borrow an almost comically oversized shirt that hangs like a short dress on me. The hem barely skims the middle of my thighs, but it’s better than wearing the same old dress and slip again. I slide on my ballet flats and scoop my hair back into a flouncy but tidy ponytail.
Alexei puts on his usual daily uniform of jeans, boots, and a white shirt.
It’s kind of funny how between the two of us, he looks pretty put-together, while I look rather like a little girl wearing her father’s t-shirt. But it doesn’t matter. I find that I don’t feel as insecure and hyper-critical of myself when I’m with Alexei.
He has seen me without makeup, my hair unwashed, my clothes slept-in and bedraggled, and he finds me sexy and desirable just as I am. That’s a new revelation to me, and one that makes me rethink my perspective on how I present myself to the world. With Alexei behind me, I could hardly bring myself to care what most other people think about me. He’s all the assurance I need, all the backup I could ask for.
With him, I feel free.
Once we’re dressed, I make us a couple of sandwiches and pack them into a little bag I find in the kitchen. Then, with Alexei leading the way, we march out of the house into the summer morning.
I take deep breaths as we walk, drinking in the light breeze, the smell of flowers and pine on the air, the hazy light casting the world in pastel colors. As we make our way to the forest, we stop at a little wooden shed with a locked door. Alexei takes out a key from his pocket and unlocks it, reaching inside to retrieve a large rifle. My eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s even bigger than the antique gun I keep at my house. I wonder if I can even hold it well enough to aim it.
Alexei gives me a silent, reassuring nod, and I set my worries aside for the moment. We keep moving, crunching over sticks and twigs, listening to the bright, cheerful singing of little birds in the trees around us. There’s dew on the grass and leaves, and I can feel the soft, wet earth muddying up my shoes, but I don’t care. I grew up running around these woods, forever frustrating my daddy who just wanted me to keep my clothes clean for at least long enough for him to catch up on laundry. But as a child, I was borderless, unstoppable. Nothing about the forest frightened me— not the birds of prey swooping through the trees, the dizzying labyrinth of paths that could confuse even the most seasoned hikers and explorers, not even the hulking bears and wolves stalking through the underbrush. I feared no poisonous plants, no buzzing insect or spinning spider. I was happy in the woods.
Today, I feel that old happiness rising up in my heart once again. This is where I belong, where I feel free and at home.
“I love these woods,” I muse aloud, smiling up into the green leafy canopy.
“It’s very peaceful,” Alexei agrees.
“Nothing like this in the Big Apple,” I comment.
He shakes his head and chuckles. “No. Definitely not.”
“Did you live in New York City all your life before you
came here or did you ever get to go hiking around the forest as a kid?” I ask curiously.
There’s a long pause, the silence punctured by our footsteps crunching over the leaves, the breeze through the branches, and the ever-present bird songs. Then he answers, “I spent my youth doing a different kind of exploring.”
“In the city?” I press him, suddenly deeply interested in the answer.
“Yes. You might be surprised at how much exploration there is to be had in the mean streets of the big city,” Alexei remarks.
I pick up the pace, jogging to catch up to him. Looking up at Alexei with a big, dopey smile, I push him for more. “Like what? How?”
He glances down at me with his brow furrowed, but a smirk on his lips. “You ask a lot of questions, Daisy.”
I shrug. “I’m a curious person. Besides, it seems only natural to want to know more about the man I’ve been shacking up with for the past couple of days. We may have skipped a few of the usual steps in regards to a first date, but that won’t stop me from playing twenty-questions with you to catch up on it.”
He seems to chew on the question for a moment as we trek deeper and deeper into the forest, the rifle still propped against his broad shoulder. Then he says, “I did not have very much guidance as a young boy. Not a lot of boundaries to keep me close.”
“You mean you were like a latchkey kid?” I suggest.
“Yes. I suppose you could call it that,” he agrees a little hesitantly. “My guardians were… rather far removed from my upbringing. I was provided for in all the usual required ways: food, shelter, clothing. Nothing elaborate, but they kept me alive.”
“That doesn’t sound like a particularly nurturing environment,” I say sadly.
He gives a solemn, slow shake of his head. “No.”
“Who were they? The people who raised you, I mean,” I ask.
“What?” he retorts, frowning.
My face flushes and I hurry to explain myself, hoping I haven’t stepped over the line with my questioning. “You said ‘guardians’ rather than parents, so I just assumed…”
“Oh,” he interrupts placidly. “Yes. My parents were not involved. I was raised by someone else. In New York.”
“What about your parents, then?” I pipe up. It hits me a half-second later that I might actually be treading into touchy territory. I have lots of great memories of my childhood, of being raised by my father, despite the fact that somewhere deep in my heart, I did always long for a mother figure in my life. But I know that not everyone was so lucky as I was.
“Sorry if that’s too personal for me to ask,” I add hastily. “I’m just wondering.”
“It’s alright,” he says in a soft voice.
“I forget that some people might not have the same happy feelings about their parents that I do. I apologize,” I tell him.
He reaches over to put a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle pat. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t mind the questions. I’m just not fully accustomed to having to think about these things. Not for a very long time, at least.”
“Did you ever know your parents?” I ask cautiously.
“Yes. Well, not that I can remember now,” he says. I tilt my head to the side, confused.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean,” I reply with a shrug.
Alexei heaves a sigh, looking up into the canopy of vibrant green above us. Then he slowly answers, “They sent me away when I was very young.”
“Sent you away? But why? I don’t understand,” I counter. “You mean like they put you up for adoption or something?”
“Not quite. It was more… specific. More intentional than the situation you are probably envisioning right now,” he says.
“Specific? How?” I press him. Lord, getting him to give me the full story is like pulling teeth. I know I should probably back off and let him remain swathed in mystery like he seems to prefer, but I just can’t stop. For some reason, it’s like the more he withholds from me, the harder I want to push to get to the bottom of it all.
“My parents lived in a very poor, very isolated village in Sibir,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue in a surprisingly thick accent. It’s jarring to hear, because normally his accent is fairly faint. Of course, his manner of speech still singles him out somewhat from the crowd here. His accent certainly could never be mistaken for a Midwestern country drawl.
“Siberia?” I verify, wide-eyed with awe. He nods.
“Yes. They were very old when they had me. My mother had assumed her childbearing days were long past, and yet, there I was,” he says. His tone is both sad and slightly amused. He goes on. “They knew there was no future for me there in the village, and they were afraid that there would be no one to look after me when they passed. So, they sought out a way to get me out of the country, send me someplace better. They found what they were looking for when a man from Moscow came traveling through. When I was a few years old, they entrusted me to him and he promised to take me away to America.”
My jaw drops. “They just… handed you off to some stranger?”
Alexei smiles wryly. “Desperate times—”
“Desperate measures,” I finish the sentence, shaking my head in disbelief. “Well, what happened after that?”
He stops and looks around, holding out his arm to stop me, too. “What is it?” I ask, worried that perhaps he has heard someone approaching.
“This is a good place to practice shooting,” he decides, taking the rifle in his hands.
“Oh,” I reply, remembering why we’ve trekked all the way out here in the first place.
“To answer your question,” Alexei begins as he takes a cartridge of bullets out of his back pocket and starts loading up the gun. “That man did, in fact, take me to America.”
“To New York City?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes. Just as my parents asked him to.”
“So, did that man raise you? Was he your guardian?” I question.
Alexei snorts and shakes his head. “No. Not at all. He dropped me with this older woman by the name of Rada. She ran an unofficial home for young boys in the Bronx.”
“Like a foster home?”
“One might call it that, I suppose. She provided food, clothes, a place to sleep. It was crowded. I had many brothers. We slept four to a room.”
“Oh wow,” I say, letting out a low whistle. “I’m suddenly glad I was an only child.”
Alexei gives me a soft smile. “Compared to what my childhood would have been like in Siberia, it was fine. I grew up surrounded by friends who came from similar backgrounds. I spent my days roaming the streets with my band of brothers, exploring abandoned buildings, scavenging for items to sell. The city was our forest.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” I remark, although deep down it still sounds rather terrifying and bleak to me.
“You don’t have to lie, Daisy,” he says, unaffected. I blush again. He takes a pair of foam ear plugs out of his pocket and hands them to me. I look at him blankly for a moment and he nods, gesturing to his ears. I hurriedly squish the plugs into my ears as instructed.
He pulls me to him, my back against his chest, and he lowers the rifle into my hands, crouching down slightly to balance it on my shoulder. His breath tickles my ear when he says, “I learned much of what I needed to know about the world from my older brothers. Rada fed and clothed me, but it was my brothers who raised me. Taught me how to be a man.”
Placing his hands over mine on the trigger, he cocks the gun. I swallow hard, my heart already pounding.
“What happened to them?” I ask meekly, my voice barely above a whisper. I can’t even hear my own voice through the ear plugs, and Alexei’s words are muffled when he speaks.
“They were recruited. And it was only natural for me to follow,” he says simply.
With Alexei guiding my hands and fingers, he points the gun at a thick, knobby oak about twenty yards away. We fire the gun and I let out a yelp of surprise as the reco
il snaps me back against Alexei, who somehow seems to have kept his stance perfectly. Even with the plugs in my ears, the resounding bang of the gunfire sends my ears ringing. My chest is heaving, my jaw dropped, and my eyes round as saucers. And yet, even with the fear coursing through my veins, the adrenaline fills me with a feeling almost like euphoria.
We spend the next few hours or so going over the ins and outs of gun ownership and use, Alexei showing me how it all works, the mechanics of the gun itself, how to aim, how best to position it to reduce recoil. My ears are ringing and my heart racing, but even I have to admit it feels kind of good.
I didn’t grow up with guns, even though most our friends and neighbors hunted and went shooting for leisure. It simply was not part of my life, personally. Apparently, my mother despised guns, and as a result, Daddy maintained a mostly gun-free household even after her death. Well, with the exception of the antique gun I still have for show.
When we’re finished, I feel much more comfortable with the weapon than before, and much more knowledgeable about Alexei’s background, where he comes from, who he is.
He never ceases to somehow enthrall me and comfort me at the same time. I don’t know how he does it, but I hope he never stops. We find a relatively clean clearing to sit down in and eat our sandwiches, just chatting breezily and enjoying the beautiful surroundings. It just feels right, somehow, despite the undeniable strangeness of the moment. I can’t believe I’m out here in the woods with a real, genuine murderer.
I look at him in the soft dappled sunlight, the faint wind ruffling his hair, and it’s hard for me to reconcile the two sides of him I know exist. He’s a dangerous man. A true bad boy. I thought Dean was bad, but Alexei makes him look like tame by comparison.
Then I think about what Alexei had told me, about Dean torturing animals. About him being sadistic and enjoying the pain of a living creature. The way Alexei talked about it, I could hear his disgust. Alexei might be a killer, but he still has a compass. A moral code.
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