Chapter 7: 5| Bitter

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓ Bitter ┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛ : Bitter (Amara's POV) "Locked and loaded as always, aren't you?" Aurora asked, standing behind me, leaning against the wall with her arms folded "God, Tristan Harper really does rile you up, doesn't he?" My grip tightened on the pistol as I took my aim, fixing my stance. "Seriously, what the fuck were the odds? You landed one of the biggest clients at the party last night and your opponent ends up being Tristan again." I closed my eyes and took in a frustrated breath, taking aim again. "Are you imagining him as that target?" Aurora asked after a hesitant pause. Instead of answering, I pulled the trigger repeatedly, my entire body growing taut and rigid each time the sharp ring of the bullet echoed within the empty shooting range and, each shell clattering to the ground beneath my feet for each bullet that hit the target. After finishing up all seventeen rounds and punching several holes through the target, all of them in lethal parts of the body. I sighed loudly as I finished up, my shoulders caving in as I dropped my arm, putting the empty gun on the table. Tugging the earmuffs and protective glasses off, I spun around to face Aurora and leaned against the table. "Sorry. You were saying?" Her gaze was scrutinizing yet knowing as she watched me. "You definitely imagine him as the target when you do that." "No comment," I replied. Spinning back around, I reached up to the button on the right-hand side divider that kept my station separated and pressed the big red button. Triggering the target machine, I brought it closer to myself so I could get a good look at my aim and scores. "Oh yeah," Aurora mumbled, "you definitely imagined him." I sent the machine back and walked over to where Aurora stood at the counter. "Another round of bullets please, Mr. Eliot," I exhaled. His brows shot up in surprise as he fetched the bullets from the back and loaded up the gun for me. "Qui vous a énervé?" he mused in French, asking who had pissed me off. "You haven't tested my French in a long time," I chuckled softly, taking the gun, "le seul homme qui peut faire bouillir mon sang," I answered his question in French, simply with the truth. 'The only man who can piss me off.' Mr. Eliot's gaze slowly shifted behind me and I knew it in a heartbeat. I felt his presence without him having to utter a single word. Tristan often proved to me that his presence alone was enough to heighten my senses, even with the silence. But of course, being the man he was, he just had to say something anyway. "Tu parles de moi, chérie?" he asked, French rolling off his tongue as smoothly as everything did. A low breath escaped me as he stepped up beside me and faced the counter. I watched him silently, pure rage burning in my veins. Last night at the party, Tristan hardly showed his face. It wasn't until I spoke to Mrs. Benoit and agreed to take on her case that I found out her husband's attorney was none other than Tristan Harper. The case was huge with the couple being one of the wealthiest and richest couples known in our circle but it ran deeper beyond their surface-level divorce because my client stole twenty-five million dollars from her own husband. Hence, the divorce. Having handled similar cases before, I thought it would be easy enough to get her off the hook, considering that her husband wasn't exactly a saint or the best husband. But if anyone knew how to work with such assholes, it was Tristan. "Can I get a gun please, Mr. Eliot?" Tristan's eyes shifted to mine. "Or will Ms. Milano not allow that considering I'm not a member? Don't worry, Malyshka, I paid my dues this time. Ask the front desk." The shrill ring of Aurora's phone did nothing to deter either one of us and excusing herself, she left the room to take that call. Resting my elbow on the counter, I turned my body inward to face his. "You do realize that you don't have to pay me a visit every time we work against each other, right Mr. Harper?" He released a slow breath and mirrored me. "You do realize how amusing it is to watch you get so frustrated, right Ms. Milano?" he asked mockingly. He made my blood boil and he relished in it. Tristan was the worst kind of enemy to have but now that I'd made that gamble, I was left with no choice. He was hard to beat, even harder to challenge fearlessly. He spoke to his clients with such ease and finesse, it didn't surprise me that the world believed he was capable of anything. It was the reason nobody dared to test him. Tristan was so confident in himself, in his words, and especially in his warnings, that nobody could challenge him, too afraid that he might actually do as he promised. I knew that Tristan didn't hesitate to resort to violence, he'd done it in the past and still would whenever he deemed it necessary. Tristan was capable of anything because he didn't care who or what stood in his way, he'd tear them down regardless. I beat him at the last case and occasionally, before that too. Why wouldn't I be able to do it again? I could, of course, I could. Fuck it, I will. "Losing to me last week wasn't enough for you?" I asked, lifting a brow at him sharply. "I'm afraid it wasn't," he replied, taking in every inch of my face as he tried reading me. "Scared, Solnyshko? Fear looks good on you." My eyes dipped down to his abdomen as I brought my gun forward, pinning it to his side. An amused chuckle escaped him as he looked down at the gun before meeting my gaze again. "It seems like you're not much better than me when it comes to separating feelings from work. It doesn't seem like you're doing a very good job of leaving this case in the courtroom." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I don't like competing with you, Harper." I prefer to keep my distance from a man like him. "I can imagine why," he replied, "once you've tasted victory, a loss like this can only taste bitter." "You keep underestimating me," I said, withdrawing my gun and moving to the station, releasing a huff as I lifted my arm up and aimed. "I think you overestimate yourself, Malyshka," he said, taking a few steps to cover up the distance between us. It took everything in me not to go completely rigid under his scrutinizing gaze or to crack under it. The way Tristan always seemed to test me with his eyes following my every move like a predator, left me on edge. I always tensed up under his gaze when we were left alone, no matter how much confidence I exuded in a crowd and no matter how fearless I acted around Tristan. He always threatened to make it crumble when the room was empty and it was just us two. Tristan Harper made me nervous and I fucking hated it. "I think your ego is too big for your own good," I retorted, "and your head is so far up your own ass that you don't see what's coming at you until it's right in front of you." Focusing on the target ahead of me, I took the first shot and landed it straight on the cutout's head, between the eyes. The softest shaky breath escaped me as I lowered my arm and glanced at him, readjusting my stance. He leaned against the wall keeping two stations apart with his legs crossed and arms folded. It irked me, the way he looked at me as if he could see right through me. Tristan may have left me unnerved and unsettled but he also triggered that blazing fire within me to beat him at his own game. Conversations with him always left me with a bitter taste on my tongue. I considered Tristan nothing but competition. Despite that, I saw what the rest of this world saw in him, I saw just how heartless and deadly he could be. "Are you afraid of me, Amara?" he asked, stepping forward as he let his arms drop and stood behind me, lifting a hand to my waist and tweaking my stance before lightly dragging his fingers up my arm until he reached my elbow and straightened it out. "Because I think you are," he whispered softly beneath my ear, "and while I know just how much you hate it. You should know how much I love it." My ticked as his hand clasped mine, his finger covering mine over the trigger. "I like knowing that you're afraid of me," he chuckled wickedly before pulling the trigger, landing a shot right in the middle, and leaving a clean bullet hole through the cutout's bullseye. "I like having that power over you," he added before pulling away from me and stepping away, slowly retreating as he walked backward to the exit with his eyes still on me. "You can admit it, mi bella," he smirked, the Italian nickname rolling off his tongue with such arrogance that it sounded like a taunt. His eyes raked over me one last time, going over the camo green cargo pants and the simple black tank I wore, all the way up to the ponytail my black hair was sleeked into. "It's nice to know I can do that to someone as lethal as you," he said with a sweet wink before spinning around and walking out. I closed my eyes and took a breath to calm myself before turning to look at Mr. Eliot, realizing that he witnessed everything. "Il est beau, n'est-ce pas?" he asked, an amused smile dancing on his lips. A light scoff escaped me as I turned to the target once again. "C'est l'homme le plus laid que j'ai jamais vu," I replied, wishing desperately that it wasn't a lie. . . . . . Chapter 5