Chapter 44 The Recoil
The wind on the roof was strong, whipping my hair into my face. The sky was dark, promising rain later in the night.
Dante was waiting for me near the watchtower. He had set up a wooden table on the stone walkway. On top of it lay a black handgun, taken apart into pieces.
"You said you could fight," Dante shouted over the sound of the ocean. "Now you prove it."
I wrapped my cardigan tighter around myself. "I've held a gun," I said carefully. "A long time ago."
It was a lie. My hands remembered the weight of steel perfectly.
"Holding a gun and using a gun are different things," Dante said.
He moved quickly. Even with one good arm, his hands were steady and sure as he snapped the pieces of the gun back together. Click-snap.
"Come here," he ordered.
I walked over. The gun looked cold and ugly on the table. It was a Beretta, standard issue. I knew exactly how much pressure the trigger needed. I knew how it would kick.
"Pick it up."
I reached out and took it. I forced my hand to tremble, just a little. I held it awkwardly, too loose, letting the barrel dip toward the ground.
"No," Dante growled immediately. "You hold it like that, you'll break your wrist."
He moved.
Suddenly, he was behind me. His chest pressed against my back, blocking the wind. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body through my clothes.
"Spread your feet," he said, his mouth right next to my ear. His voice was low and deep. "You are standing too stiffly."
I knew my stance was stiff. I was doing it on purpose. But having him this close made it hard to think.
I moved my feet apart, playing the part of the novice.
He reached around, his large hands covering mine on the handle of the gun. His injured arm came around my waist to steady me.
I felt him flinch slightly, and I realized he was ignoring his own pain just to teach me this.
"Relax your shoulders," he told me. "Let the weapon be part of you."
I forced myself to relax into him. The smell of him, soap and sea salt, was everywhere. It was distracting. It made me want to lean back against him for real.
"Breathe," he said. "In and out."
I took a deep breath. The gun was pointed at the empty green bottle on the wall twenty yards away.
In my mind, I could see the line of the shot perfectly. I didn't need his help. I could have closed my eyes and hit that bottle.
But I needed him to trust me. I needed him to think I was weak so he wouldn't see the threat coming.
"Focus, Lilith," Dante whispered. He pressed his hips against mine to steady my aim. "Nothing else exists right now. Just you, me, and the target."
Just you and me.
The words hung in the air.
"I can't," I whispered, faking fear. "It's shaking."
"You can," he said. His voice was rough against my ear. "Use the fear. Use the hate you have for me. Put it all into the bullet."
He knew I hated him. And he was telling me to use it.
I narrowed my eyes. I thought of the cage he put me in. I thought of the ring on his finger. I thought of the secret numbers burning in my mind.
I decided to stop shaking. I tightened my grip, just enough. I aligned the sights, pretending it was an accident.
I squeezed the trigger.
CRACK.
The gun kicked back, but I absorbed it easily. I let my arm fly up a little more than necessary, acting surprised by the force.
Down the wall, the green bottle shattered into dust. A perfect shot.
"Good," Dante said against my hair. He sounded surprised. Impressed.
We stayed like that for a moment too long. The echo of the shot faded, leaving only the sound of our breathing. He didn't let go.
His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer against him.
I lowered the gun.
"Dante," I whispered.
He turned me around so I was facing him. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me in until our bodies were touching. He looked down at me, his grey eyes wide and dark.
"You are dangerous, Lilith," he murmured.
"It was just luck," I lied, breathless.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "That wasn't luck. You are the only thing in this world that scares me."
"Why?"
"Because," he said, looking at my lips, "you are the only one who can get close enough to really hurt me."
He wasn't talking about the gun.
The air between us felt electric. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to forget the war and the codes and just feel him. He leaned in, and I tilted my head back.
Tell him, my heart screamed. Tell him you found the Key. Tell him you aren't helpless.
But then I remembered the ring. If I gave up my secrets now, I would lose my only advantage.
I stiffened in his arms.
Dante felt it. He stopped inches from my lips. He searched my eyes, looking for the reason I pulled back.
He sighed, sounding frustrated but controlled. He stepped back, leaving me cold in the wind.
"Keep the gun," he said, his voice flat again.
I looked at him, acting surprised. "What?"
"Keep it. On you. At all times."
"You trust me with this?" I asked, weighing the weapon in my hand.
"I trust you to survive," Dante said. "And right now, that is all that matters."
He turned and walked away toward the guard tower, his stride long and purposeful.
I stood alone on the roof, the gun heavy in my hand. He had given me the weapon to kill him, and he trusted me to watch his back.
He had no idea I didn't need the lesson.
I slid the gun into the waistband of my jeans with a smooth, practiced motion that he didn't see.
04-21-88-12.
I had the code. I had the gun. I had his trust.
I had everything I needed to destroy him.
So why did I feel like I was the one who was about to break?