FUCK.
I yank on sweats as we race into Ivy’s room. “Ivy!”
A little head pokes out of the closet. She has a stuffed animal in each hand. “Doggie!”
Harper collapses on the edge of the toddler bed. Her whole body trembles in relief. I’d join her if I wouldn’t crush the damn thing.
“My God, we need a better monitor,” she says in a shaky breath.
“Jesus. Tell me about it.” My heart’s still racing. Parenting’s gonna fucking kill me.
My phone buzzes with a text. I run a hand through my hair.
“You have to stop distracting me,” I whisper to Harper because I love to give her shit. “I missed four calls from Mikhail and two texts from Polina.”
She snorts. “Not on your life.”
Shaking my head, I walk to the other side of the room and call Mikhail while Harper listens to Ivy chatter on about what she found in her closet.
“Do you ever have your phone on anymore?”
“I called you right back. And excuse me but I believe when you first married Aria you were unreachable too. Give me a minute.”
“No. Answer your fucking phone when I call you or I’ll move her into a separate house.”
I shake my head. “You’ll stoop to that level just to keep me from winning?”
“You have no idea.”
“Did you just call to give me shit about not answering the phone?”
“No. I called to tell you that Aria had our baby early this morning.”
“Wow, you really couldn’t stand it, could you? Congrats! That’s awesome. Just one?”
He chuckles. “Just one.”
“So we’re even?”
“For now.”
We hang up and I turn to face Harper. My heart seizes in my chest at the sight of Ivy on her lap, flipping through a board book.
“We gotta get ready to go, Harper. Let’s get her dressed and go meet Polina downstairs. She said she’ll help the first week.”
“Bear,” Ivy says with wide eyes. She points to a picture of a fluffy little bear on the cover. Then she points her tiny finger at Harper. “Mama.”
Harper smiles and her eyes water. “That’s right, baby.” She looks up at me, her voice a little husky. “She’s always called me Mama. They were good about that. What was up with Mikhail?”
“Aria had her baby.”
She drops the book so quickly Ivy’s eyes widen. “What? And you didn’t tell me? Honestly, you men!”
“What? You hardly know them.”
“But they’re family now! And they had a baby!” She looks thoughtful. “No wonder you were so into me this morning.”
I roll my eyes at her. “I’ll remind you that you were the one that initiated.”
She waves me off. “Boy? Girl? How much did the baby weigh? What did they name him or her?”
Shit. I shrug. “I have no idea.”
She stares at me as if not comprehending. I guess those are things women ask when they find out there’s a new baby. “Listen, we have to go. On second thought, go get changed, Polina will come up and help me get her ready.”
She frowns.
“What is it?”
“I want to dress her. I don’t want to leave, Aleks.”
“We’ll come back soon, I promise. You can dress her if you’re quick about getting ready yourself.”
“I can skip washing my hair! I don’t need long.” She leaps out of bed and takes Ivy by the hand as if I just told her we were going to Disney World.
I don’t know if I’ll ever really understand women.
I stand with my arms crossed, just watching them. Harper opens the dresser Polina bought yesterday and picks out two little outfits. “Which one?” she says. “Pink or purple?”
Ivy points to the pink one and Harper nods. “Smart choice. Come here, and let’s get you ready to meet your auntie.”
After we’re dressed, we go downstairs to the kitchen. Polina’s practically pacing. “Oh my God, I thought you’d never come down! I’ve been dying to meet you, Ivy!”
She crouches down and waves to Ivy. “Hey there, sweetie. My name is Auntie Polina.”
“Elsa!” Ivy says, her eyes wide.
Elsa?
Harper and Polina burst out laughing.
“Someone wanna fill me in on the joke?” I mutter.
Harper grins. “Elsa’s a Disney princess with long, long blonde hair. She’s sort of iconic with her big blue eyes and blonde hair and blue dresses.”
Okay, that’s kinda cute. “Polina, Elsa, whatever, we’re starting to interview nannies today. I want them to go through a few rounds of questioning and background checks. Will you help?”
“Of course!” Polina holds out her hand and helps Ivy up to the table. “Would you like some breakfast?”
Ivy nods. Something in me loosens, but I can’t determine what it is. It’s cozy here in the little kitchen. Domestic, even. My heart surges in my chest knowing that we have the power to make this a better life.
“Do we have to leave?” Harper says, biting her lip. “She’s so sweet and I want to eat breakfast with her.”
“We do. I had everything set up for us and we have to get this done. I promise, we’ll spend plenty of time with her later. We’ll even go to one of those little stores at the mall and get a balloon or something.”
Harper’s lips twitch. “Aleks, the look of actual pain on your face when you said mall—”
Polina slices a banana into little coins and shakes her head. “I’m impressed, brother. Very impressed. But don’t forget you promised Mom we’d have lunch.”
“Do I ever forget anything?”
Polina thinks it over and finally shakes her head. “Definitely not.”
“Great,” Harper mutters. I tug a lock of her hair.
“Let’s go.”
In the dense, shadowed forest behind my house, the air is thick with the smell of damp earth, the carpet of pine needles and leaves muffling Harper’s quick footsteps. Her whole presence seems like a contradiction, like a miracle pieced together — delicate in appearance but with an air of unspoken strength. She’s excited.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this,” she says, her eyes shining. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “I found one of my father’s guns once, and it felt so amazing in my hand, but then he caught me and he beat the shit out of me.”
Beat the shit out of me.
I’ll remember that.
Not that Kolya didn’t beat our asses if we fucked around with any weapons, but that’s different.
“You must remember safety is everything when you’re using a gun,” I tell her while I look over our pistol range. The targets are a series of concentric circles painted on steel plates — simple, but useful. The same type Kolya used with us when we were younger.
“Okay, let’s hear the rules,” she says, her hands tucked behind her back.
“Are you mocking me?” I ask, all playfulness gone. She must take this seriously.
“Mocking you?” she says with wide eyes. “I hear and obey, Master.”
She is absolutely mocking me.
I give her a serious look. “This isn’t the time or place for fucking around, Harper. There are nonnegotiable rules about firearm safety.”
“Aleks, I’m hardly going to wave a gun around for fun or brush my hair with it,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Roll your eyes at me again, woman. Go ahead, I dare you.”
That gets her attention. Swallowing, her cheeks flush pink. “Okay, I’m paying attention.”
“Good.” My voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiating. This is serious shit. “First. Always, always act like your gun is loaded. I don’t care if you personally made sure there’s no ammunition in it at all, you must train yourself to treat every single fucking weapon as if it’s loaded. Got it?”
A curt nod. “Got it.”
“Second, when handling a firearm, for example, when loading or unloading it, always make sure you point it in a safe direction.”
Another nod.
“Third. Never, ever point a gun at anything you aren’t willing to destroy. It’s not something you use as a warning. When you shoot, you shoot to kill. Only experienced shooters can do anything less.”
“Yes. Understood.”
She’s the perfect model student, so far. Her sober nod seems to mirror my own seriousness.
“Fourth. Keep your finger off the trigger until your sights are on the target and you’re ready to shoot. If you’re not careful, you could accidentally discharge a round. It happens all the time, even to experienced shooters. All it can take is a loss of focus for a second. Are you getting all of this, Harper?”
“All guns are loaded even when they’re not, point it in a safe direction, only point at what you want to obliterate, finger on the trigger when you’re going to shoot.” She nods. “Got it.”
I stifle a growl. “Finally, always be aware of what’s in front of, either side of, and especially behind a target. Depending on the type of round you’re using, bullets can travel well beyond the target. Always think one step ahead.”
“Makes sense. I won’t forget.” Her voice carries the weight of responsibility. I nod, softening a little as I step back so we can get ready to begin.
I slide the weighty handgun into her hand, expecting to guide her through this slowly. It’s my custom 1911 in .45 ACP, the one my father gave to me on my eighteenth birthday. “This gun is incredibly powerful. The bullet it fires is a larger caliber than what most people use in handguns, even those most police use. It’s designed to maim and kill. The gun is going to kick back hard when you fire it so brace yourself for the recoil.”
I expect her to hold it cautiously, like it’s an animal ready to bite. I expect she might shake a little, as she gets used to the weight of it and the responsibility of holding a gun. But that isn’t what happens at all.
When the gun hits her palm, her transformation is instantaneous.
The very air around her crackles and shifts as if the metal of the gun has a magnetic pull. The weapon seems to be an actual extension of her. Her stance shifts, and she seems to don an air of certainty. The slight widening of her eyes tells me she feels it, too, the sense of absolute rightness.
It’s as if she’s shedding a skin, revealing her true persona.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Harper was born to hold a gun.
I take a step back.
I planned on framing her from behind to show her how to hold it, how to stand. I planned on reminding her to be careful.
I don’t say anything. She knows. Somehow, she just knows how to hold it correctly, how to align her sights.
With absolute calm, Harper raises the gun. Her posture is flawless, grace married with lethal precision. There’s no hesitation, no fear, only the sound of her breath enveloped in the dense forest around us.
She fires.
The bullet sings through the air and strikes dead center of the target with a force that rings the steel plate like a church bell. Without hesitation, she fires again, and again, every fucking bullet hitting perfect center.
Her aim’s so perfect it’s almost supernatural. Her instinctual ability to control of the massive recoil is breathtaking to watch.
I stare at her in disbelief. I fired three hundred rounds through this same gun before I felt even remotely competent with it.
I blink. Stare some more. A slow grin spreads across her face.
“Wow,” she breathes, turning to me with the gun pointing down. “Oh my God. That felt amazing. It was as easy as breathing. I thought that would be a lot harder.”
I shake my head, incredulous. “There’s no fucking way that was the first time you’ve shot a gun. No one shoots like that right out of the gate. Did you lie to me?”
The snap of her brows together warns me that I pushed a button. I haven’t forgotten the slap across my cheek. She isn’t lying.
“Are you kidding me? When the hell do you think I’d have the chance to shoot a gun? I told you, I touched my father’s gun once and he nearly killed me over it.” Her brow softens. “It felt like this, though…”
“Like what?”
She swallows. “Like it’s an extension of me.” She marvels at the gun in her palm. “Like…like I was created to do this.”
I watch her with a mix of awe and newfound respect.
All my brothers are skilled with weapons, thanks to our tireless training and years of study. Only one’s a natural, though: Nikko. His skill is unparalleled. He’s the only person I ever met that talked about his weapons like he’d talk about making love.
“Are you serious?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say.
“Deadly serious. Now are we going to stand around here chatting, or can I shoot some more?”
I set up cans for her to hit, target after target. I watch, shaking my head in disbelief, as my wife shoots with the skill of an absolute master. Shot after shot pings. Her gaze never wavers, her skill perfection. I can’t help but see her for what she well and truly is: a force to be reckoned with. Her skill and prowess with weapons transcends practicality. It’s a fucking art form. She’s Mozart with a 1911.
Unparalleled. Breathtaking. I’m hard as fuck simply watching her.
“Drop the gun,” I say hoarsely.
She turns to look at me, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright and wide, as if she’s just come from a run on the beach. “What?”
“Drop it,” I repeat. “Now.”
As she walks to me, the gun discarded reluctantly, I place a call.
“Nikko?”
“Yeah?”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Fifteen minutes. I’m at Mikhail’s. You okay?”
I swallow. “Yeah. Bring your shit. Everything. I have to show you something.”
I hang up the phone and toss it next to her gun. When she reaches me, I stab my fingers into her hair and pull her head back. Her breathy groan makes me even harder. I shift my grip and lift her up, turning so the line of trees gives us privacy. We’re alone in the dense cover of the forest.
Wordlessly, I slide her down and bend her over a low-hanging limb. Holding her in place with one hand, I yank down her leggings and panties in one swoop. Spread her legs. Pull my cock free and feel for her wetness with the head of my cock. Satisfied, I thrust into her in one hard motion.
Her head flies back and she braces herself on the limb. I fuck her hard, silently, until her body shudders beneath mine and I spill inside her.
When we’re finished, panting and hot, she tips her head to the side and twists her torso, staring up at me over her shoulder. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Watching you with that gun was the sexiest fucking thing I ever saw in my life.”
Her grin lights up her whole face. “Really?”
“Really,” I say, zipping myself up. “And my brother’s coming over because he’s better at shooting than I am.”
He’s better at shooting than anyone.
Actually, we’ll see about that.
I fist her hair at the nape of her neck and lift her, giving her a hard kiss. “And when you’re with him I want you to remember exactly who you belong to.”
Her lower lips sticks out. “Why him? Why can’t you teach me?”
I bend and kiss her cheek, then her jaw, then her lips again. “Because you’re a better shot than I am, Princess.”
A smile tugs at her lips, her eyes alight with the thrill of what’s just happened. “I know.”
I slap her ass. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I lean in and whisper in her ear. “He’s here. I saw his car pull up. You remember the way my cock felt in you. You’re still wet from me. Remember you’re mine.”
When Nikko arrives, his sharp, assessing gaze sweeps over Harper with an intensity that might have intimidated someone else. Harper only smiles at him.
“What do you need?” he asks me.
“You see that target?”
He grunts.
“That was her first try.”
He scoffs. “Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, really?” he asks, clearly a skeptic. “Let’s see, then.”
Wordlessly, he goes to the remnants of the target and replaces it with a series of much smaller, far more intricate patterned plates.
“Show me.”
Harper nods, her demeanor unflustered, as Nikko explains the tasks that would challenge even the most seasoned marksman. “First, you’ll hit the smallest target at the edge.” It’s a fucking dot from here. “Then, no pausing, you’ll switch to the other targets I’ve set up. These are designed and positioned to mimic unpredictable movements. Real-life targets don’t have bullseyes painted on them.”
She rolls her eyes which makes him clench his jaw, but she’s my wife, not his. He can fuck off.
“If you manage that, I’ve placed an explosive target at the farthest distance. You hit that and you’ll be rewarded with an explosion. And,” he says with a reluctant nod, “my respect.”
It’s a daunting challenge. Fuck knows I’d fail. My heart pounds with pride when she lifts her weapon and simply nods. “Got it.”
Got it?
Without hesitation, she shifts. Once again, it’s as if her body is fused with the gun, as if they’re one. She pulls the trigger. The bullets whiz through the air with a surgeon’s precision as she hits every goddamn target.
“Fuck,” Nikko mutters under his breath. “Kak ona eto uznaла?”
How did she learn this?
“Ona ne uchilas’, ona prirozhdenyy talant.”
She didn’t learn it, she’s a natural, a savant.
I’m holding my breath when she gets to the explosive target. It’s so far away it seems like a mockery, but her determination is palpable.
She fires, the bullet a streak. There’s a moment of silence, then the clearing erupts with the sound of an explosion.
Nikko shakes his head. “Holy shit, Harper. Where did you learn to shoot?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Aleks taught me.”
I growl. “Harper,” I say, my voice tinged with amusement.
Nikko snorts.
“Can I use a different gun?” she asks. “I want to play around with them.”
Nikko gives me a sidelong glance.
I nod to her. “Yeah, baby. Pick your poison.”
She chooses another, Nikko’s custom Glock 19 with the silver slide and red-dot optic.
She licks her lips. When she takes her stance, Nikko’s eyes widen and he curses reverently. He sees what I see.
“Hit the pinecone at the very, very top,” I tell her. A lone pinecone hangs from a high branch of a distant white pine.
Nodding, she takes aim and shoots. The pinecone explodes and the pieces fall to the ground.
“Holy shit,” Nikko whispers.
“Yeah.” I start to laugh, shaking my head. “You’re the only one I’ve ever seen that can shoot like that, brother.”
“She’s too skilled for fucking target shooting,” Nikko says. “Forget that. I need to take her to The Hidden Mark.”
The Hidden Mark is a private, discreet place Kolya designed for us to practice.
Buoyed by Nikko’s acknowledgement and the thrill of mastering these challenges, it appears Harper’s ready to up the ante. Selecting a series of difficult targets, she calls them out. “Top left, purple target.”
Bang.
“Center right, target the size of my pinky toe.”
Whiz.
Each shot rings out with clarity, her laughter mingling with the sound of bullets finding their marks. She isn’t amused but buoyed by the knowledge that she’s found her personal super power.
“Look, you know you can’t teach someone this shit, right?” Nikko asks. “So don’t even entertain the thought that she pulled one over on you. Fuck. This is skill someone’s born with, brother.”
I nod. “I know.” I shake my head and laugh mirthlessly. “Her fucking father beat her for touching his gun and he didn’t even know what he had, right at his fucking fingertips.”
Nikko growls beside me. “I knew I hated the asshole.”
“Tell me about it.”
I watch as Harper continues to shoot. She doesn’t take a break. It’s gorgeous, like watching a skilled pianist’s fingers dance over the keys, or a figure skater’s seamless gliding on ice.
“Harper,” I call out, in both amusement and warning. “Remember the point is precision, not showing off. You’re still holding a fucking gun.”
But Harper only winks at me, a clear signal she has no intent of slowing down. She lines up a shot so far and so hard to reach, hitting it would be almost miraculous.
“Harper,” I say, taking a step toward her. “You’re only showing off now.”
“Oh, yeah?” she answers playfully. “Gonna do something about that?”
“Woman,” I warn. “Do you need me to remind you to be safe?”
She pauses and gives me a quick glance as if the words have finally cut through the thrill of the game. “Is that a promise, Aleks?”
She’s still wet with my come but it seems she needs my handprint on her ass to remind her. She fucking loves to defy me, the little brat.
Nikko chuckles beside me. “Oh, brother, you have your work cut out for you, don’t you?”
I groan, even as my chest swells. “You have no idea.” I give him a sharp look. “Keep this between us, Nikko. Mikhail will have to know soon, but for now, just us.”
Nikko nods. “I get it. You’ll outfit her?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
