Sweet Hatred
Chapter 115: Guns

Chapter 115: Guns

She smiled kindly. "The master is in the training hall, Miss. I’ll escort you."

The master.

God, of course he was.

The walk took longer than expected—down a corridor, through what looked like an old wine cellar turned armory, then finally down a short stone stairwell. It was colder down here. My toes curled against the chill.

Then I heard it.

Bang.

The sound of a gunshot echoed off the walls. Another bang. A pause. Then another.

The maid stepped aside, gesturing for me to go in. I hesitated for a beat, and then stepped through the door.

The moment I stepped into the open hall, the noise hit me—sharp cracks of bullets breaking through the air, followed by the scent of gunpowder and metal. It was a wide, open space behind thick glass walls that overlooked the forest. Sunlight poured in, glinting off racks of weapons and the sheen of sweat on the men inside.

And then I saw him.

Kael stood near the far end, a gun casually dangling in his hand, black shirt clinging to his body like sin itself, sleeves rolled, veins popping along his arms like they had a vendetta. He looked too damn composed for someone casually shooting holes into mannequin targets. The kind of composed that made my stomach flip.

His eyes flicked up the second he felt me near, like he always knew where I was. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"I didn’t think you’d be awake this early," he said, sauntering toward me, every step oozing confidence. "Considering the... workout we had last night."

God, his voice. I nearly combusted right there.

I squinted up at him, tugging the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt that almost swallowed my hands. "Early? Bitch, it’s day time," I snapped, planting a palm on his chest. "What time did you wake up?"

"Early enough," he murmured, his arms sliding around my waist like it was muscle memory. He dipped his head, brushing a kiss along my jaw, smug as hell.

I glared past him, at one of the poor dummy targets standing crooked with a big hole where its face used to be. "You’re sloppy," I muttered.

Kael froze, then leaned back slightly to meet my gaze, mock-offended. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I said sweetly. "There’s no precision. It’s just violence."

He chuckled, low and dangerous, his fingers digging into my waist just a little. "You’re really gonna critique me while wearing my clothes and looking like a lost kitten?"

"You know," I said, folding my arms and raising a brow at the bullet-pierced dummy, "I used to shoot better than that back in college."

Kael paused mid-sip from his water bottle. "Back in college? What, you were out there playing assassin between classes?"

"I had a life, Roman. We used to go to ranges for fun."

He stared at me, unblinking, and then—of course—he laughed. That low, arrogant chuckle that rumbled in his chest like he already knew I’d be eating my words.

"No way," he said, stepping closer. "You? Miss book club and bottled rage? You probably held the gun upside down."

I gasped. "Excuse you."

"You heard me," he smirked, plucking a smaller pistol from the table behind him and twirling it once. "You’ve got the mouth. But can you shoot?"

"Wanna bet?"

"Oh, baby, I’m dying to."

He handed me the gun and then turned, walking to a locked drawer nearby and pulling out some protective gear—earmuffs, eye protection, the works. When he came back, he was already grinning.

"Come on then, sniper girl," he teased, setting the gear on me slowly, deliberately. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

His fingers brushed my jaw as he adjusted the earpiece. Then the strap slid behind my neck. His hands lingered. Sinful. Slow. And those goddamn eyes never left mine.

He moved behind me, the hard length of his body practically molding into my back, one hand sliding around to adjust my grip. I nearly dropped the damn gun.

"Are you sure you don’t want help?" he whispered into my ear, lips brushing skin. "You’re trembling already."

"I’m trembling because you’re breathing down my neck like a sex demon," I snapped, elbowing him lightly. "Shoo. Shoo. You’re distracting me."

Kael chuckled against my hair, then backed away with a devilish smile. "Fine. Show me what you’ve got, baby."

I narrowed my eyes at the target, taking a breath. This was personal now. I took my stance, ignoring the fact that I could feel Kael’s gaze burning a hole through my body like a damn laser beam. Lined up the sight. Controlled my breath.

Bang.

The bullet ripped through the air, slicing into the dummy’s chest—just left of center.

I huffed, lowering the gun. "Damn it."

Kael whistled low, walking toward the target with that cocky little smile. "Not bad," he said, inspecting the hit. "Very close."

"Close enough to kill." I added, blowing off the steam from the bullet hole.

"Sure," he said, turning back to me. "But you said you were better. Which means I win the bet."

I rolled my eyes so hard my skull ached. "I’m just rusty, okay?"

"Rusty, huh?" he smirked, stepping behind me again, that familiar warmth pressing against my back. "Or maybe you were just distracted by your very handsome instructor."

"You wish," I muttered, elbowing him as he slid his hands over mine again, correcting my grip even though I knew damn well I had it right.

"I used to do this every single day back in college," I added, squinting at the dummy again.

He chuckled. "Daily rage therapy?"

"Basically. I couldn’t shoot my economics professor, so the next best thing was a paper target."

"Economics Professor?"

"Evil man. Thinks ’extensions’ are a sin and once told me that sleep was optional during midterms. I was five seconds away from throwing a stapler at his head."

Kael laughed—a deep, real one that rumbled through his chest and against my back.

"God, I wish I knew you then."

"You wouldn’t have survived me."

"I’m not sure I’m surviving you now," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear again as he helped me aim. "But I’ve never wanted to more."

I pulled the trigger.

Missed.

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