Chapter Twenty Seven
Nina's POV
Sand was in my hair. In my mouth. In my bra.
Dante's body was pressed under mine, hard muscle and heat and gun oil. His hands were locked around my waist. My top had ridden up, my bare stomach against his chest.
For one wild second, his face was almost buried between my boobs.
We just stared at each other. Both breathing hard.
Nothing happened. No kiss. No cute moment.
Just shock. Heat. And a gun still in his hand.
"Get off me, kitten," he said, voice rough.
My face burned. "Then let me go."
He released me and I scrambled away, pulling my top down, brushing sand off my skin with shaking hands. My heart hammered in my chest.
"What is wrong with you?" I snapped. "You could have broken my neck!"
"What is wrong with me?" He stood, limping a little, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. His eyes were dark. Angry. "You are the one who said you wanted a gun so you could put a bullet in my head."
"I was angry!"
He snorted. "Welcome to my world. Angry people with guns. Come."
He grabbed my wrist and dragged me back toward the shooting line. The sun was too bright. The air felt too sharp. The targets stood in a row facing us. Human shapes. Heads. Chests. Little painted circles where hearts should be.
One of the mannequins had dark hair. Broad shoulders. For a second, my throat closed. It looked like my father from far away.
I shook my head. No. It was just plastic.
Dante shoved a smaller gun into my hands. "You want to 'man up'?" he said, mocking my words. "Then hold it. Stop shaking."
"I am not—"
My fingers trembled so much the barrel dipped.
He stepped close behind me. His chest pressed to my back. His hand covered mine on the grip, hot and rough. He lifted my arms, aimed the gun at the middle target.
"Feet apart," he said. "Shoulders down. Breathe out. Don't close your eyes."
"I hate this," I muttered.
"Good. You should hate it." His mouth was near my ear. "But hate won't save you. Skill will. Focus, kitten."
He squeezed my hand around the trigger.
The gun went off.
The bang slammed into my skull. My whole body jumped. The smell of smoke burned my nose. My ears rang hard.
I screamed and tried to wrench away. "Stop! I can't—"
He held me steady. "Look."
A small hole had appeared in the chest of the target. Right in the circle.
"That was you," he said. "You hit it."
"I didn't want to hit it!" My voice cracked. "It looks like a person."
"It is a person," he said quietly. "Every bullet goes into someone's son. Someone's brother. Someone's father. Or into you."
My stomach twisted.
"Why is this place like this?" I whispered. "Why is your whole life guns and blood?"
He gave a short hard laugh. "You think this is bad? Kitten, this beach, these targets, this is nothing. This isn't even half of what we deal with."
Before I could answer, the air changed.
A sharp whistle.
Something hissed past my face. The sand beside my foot jumped in a tiny puff.
Dante moved faster than I'd ever seen.
He knocked me down, his weight slamming me into the sand, arms wrapping around my head. Another crack tore through the air. A piece of rock at the edge of the range shattered.
Gunshots. Not ours.
Real bullets. Real danger.
"What was that?" I gasped.
"Sniper," he said. His voice was calm now. Dead calm. The kind of calm that meant someone was about to die. "Stay down. Don't move."
I pressed my face into the sand. My heart tried to break out of my chest. I could taste grit and salt and fear.
Dante rolled off me to the side, keeping low. He pulled a small radio from his belt. "East beach under fire," he said. "Sniper, high ground. Lock down the house. Move to my signal."
Static answered him.
Then another shot. Closer this time. The sound cracked over us and I felt the wind of it against my hair.
"Dante!"
"I said stay down." His jaw clenched. He scanned the rocks and trees at the edge of the property. "He's good. Too good."
"How do you even know it's a he?"
"Because women don't usually work this sloppy." His eyes narrowed. "There. Cliff line. See the light?"
I followed his gaze. At first there was nothing. Then I saw it. A small flash, like sunlight on glass, up on the dark rock.
Scope.
"He's got a rifle with a scope on us," Dante said. "No cover. No time to move you."
He looked at me. Really looked at me. My hair messy. Sand on my cheek. His shirt hanging open where he'd ripped the buttons. Gun still in my hand.
"This is your world now," he said. "You wanted to understand? Congratulations. You're in it."
I shook my head. "No. No, I don't—"
"Listen to me." His tone snapped like a whip. "He wants you. He wants me. If we wait, he will get a clean shot. So we don't wait."
He crawled closer, keeping his body between me and the rocks. His fingers closed over my hand again, over the gun.
"I'm going to give you an angle he doesn't expect," he said. "You see that old boat?"
There was an old wooden fishing boat turned on its side near the far edge of the sand, leaning like a crooked tooth.
"Yes," I whispered.
"I'm going to drag you behind it. When I say now, you sit up just enough to aim where you saw the light. Not higher. Not lower. Just there. You squeeze the trigger once. Only once. Do you hear me?"
"I can't shoot him," I said. "Dante, I can't—"
"You already did," he snapped. "Down there, with the mannequin. This time the mannequin shoots back. You kill him, or he kills you. Those are the only choices, kitten."
Tears stung my eyes.
"I don't want to be a killer," I choked. "I don't want to be like the men who killed my mom."
His eyes softened for half a second. Then they went hard again. "You want to live?"
I swallowed. "Yes."
"Then do exactly what I say."
He grabbed my waist and we started to crawl. Sand scratched my knees. Another bullet hit near us, spraying bits of shell and stone. I bit back a scream.
We reached the shadow of the old boat. He pressed me flat behind it, then shifted his body.
"I'm going to draw his fire," he said.
"What? No—"
"On my go, Nina." His voice dropped low. "I trust you more than I trust that bastard's aim. Don't let him prove me wrong."
Before I could answer, he moved.
He lunged out from behind the boat, low and fast, firing two shots toward the cliff. The reply was instant. Another crack. Wood splintered inches from his shoulder.
"Now!" he shouted.
I sat up.
The world narrowed to the cliff. The dark rock. The little ledge. The tiny glint of glass.
My hands shook so hard the sight blurred. I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. Dante's voice echoed in my head. Feet apart. Shoulders down. Don't close your eyes.
I aimed at the flash.
Please miss. Please hit. I didn't even know what I was begging for.
My finger pulled the trigger.
The gun roared. My wrist jolted back.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then the flash on the cliff… dropped.
A small dark shape tumbled down the rock face like a broken doll. Rolled. Hit the lower ledge. Stopped moving.
My breath stopped.
"I hit him," I whispered. "Oh my God. I hit him."
Guards were shouting now, running from the house. Some of them rushed toward the cliff. Others formed a ring around us. I barely saw them.
Dante was there again, grabbing the gun from my limp fingers. He checked the clip, cursed under his breath, called something on the radio.
I couldn't hear the words.
All I could hear was the shot. Over and over. The moment the shape fell. The way the body bounced once and then lay still.
My stomach lurched. I rolled to my side and threw up in the sand. My whole body shook. My hands would not stop.
"I killed him," I sobbed. "I killed him, Dante. I killed a real person."
He crouched beside me. His hand went to my back. Not soft. Not cruel. Just there. Heavy and warm.
"He came here to kill you," he said. "To kill me. To kill the others. You did what you had to do."
"I don't want this," I cried. "I don't want to be like you. I don't want to be like the men who shot my mother and drove away. I don't want blood on my hands."
"You already had blood on your hands," he said quietly. "When you were born into your father's mess. This?" He nodded toward the rocks. "This is survival. This is the price."
The guards shouted from the cliff that the sniper was dead. That he was alone. No team. Just one man sent to take a clean shot and run.
The words made it worse, not better.
One man. One son. Maybe one father. Lying broken on the rocks because my bullet found him.
My vision blurred again. I pressed my palms into my eyes but it didn't stop the tears.
"Why is this place so dangerous?" I whispered. "Why is everything guns and death and targets that look like my father?"
Dante gave that same hard laugh from before. "This isn't even half of it, kitten," he said. "You've seen a beach and a sniper. That's a slow Tuesday for us."
His words broke something in me.
I started to sob. Ugly, loud sobs that ripped out of my chest. My hands shook so much I couldn't control them. My legs felt like water.
"I don't want to be a murderer," I cried. "I don't want to become the same kind of monster who killed my mom. I don't want to turn into you."
"Nina—"
A shadow moved at the edge of my vision.
Enzo.
He came running across the sand, chest heaving, eyes wild. Sweat darkened his shirt. There was a gun still in his hand.
"What happened?" he shouted. "We heard shots, what the hell—"
He saw my face. The tears. The shaking. The way Dante still held the gun. The falling sniper on the cliffs behind us.
He didn't think. He didn't ask.
He punched Dante.
His fist hit Dante's jaw with a sick crack. Dante's head snapped to the side. He staggered, sand kicking up under his boots.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Enzo yelled. "She is not your soldier, Dante! She is not ready for this!"
"Enzo—"
Enzo dropped the gun and grabbed me instead. He pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me tight. I clung to him, fingers digging into his back, sobs shaking my whole body.
"It's okay, princess," he murmured against my hair. "Breathe. I've got you. You're okay. You're safe."
"I killed him," I sobbed into his chest. "I killed someone, Enzo."
"I know," he said softly. "I know. You had no choice."
Behind us, the guards pretended not to look. The waves crashed on the shore like nothing had happened. The body lay somewhere on the rocks, small and far away.
Dante stood a few feet off, one hand on his jaw where Enzo had hit him. A thin line of blood showed at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were locked on us. On me in Enzo's arms.
He looked more shocked than angry.
"You have never hit me, Enzo," he said quietly.