I could see the crevice between her breasts with the way she leaned, her lower lip tucked in her teeth.
My jeans became my worst enemy. I shifted, trying to fit my erection somewhere less in the realm of pointy, metallic zipper teeth. My throat was dry and I wanted a drink.
That, or to let Marina's arrogant mouth quench me.
“You need to click that in,” I said, reaching out to show her.
I touched the gun, grazed her fingers. As if I'd pricked her, Marina sat up stiffly. Those round eyes, their slightly angled edges, were stuck on me.
Do you understand the fucking struggle I was dealing with? She was so close I could smell the spaghetti on her breath. If I stared hard enough, I could see my face in her shiny depths.
I was a picture of furious, bone deep ache. Marina was... distracting. Intoxicating?
Fuck. I don't know.
The woman was driving me mad. She smelled like sin, and she had a way of smiling that made me want to crush my lips onto hers so I could steal her joy.
I wasn't sure what to do. If I shoved her to the ground—or the nearest wall—like I longed to, it'd fill me with guilt.
The goal was to get the location of the damn letter from her. Getting wrapped up in a warm body that I knew would soon turn cold? Possibly by my own hand?
This was torture.
Letting her go, I dug my nails into my thighs. “You did that very well.”
Her expression was sly; knowing. Did Marina understand how much I wanted to press her beautiful cheek into the couch and lick her from throat to cunt? No. Surely she'd be blushing more, if she did.
“Thanks,” she said. Balancing the Ruger, she stared down the sight. “It was my first time.”
“You're kidding.” Laughing uneasily, I rubbed my neck. “Maybe you're a natural.”
Marina lowered the tip of the gun. “You think so?”
“Sure. How else could you be so good?”
“Then take me out and let me shoot it.”
Sliding my foot back to me, and away from her, I blinked. “What, right now?”
Color danced in her eyes and energy flowed from her grin. The idea of firing my gun had Marina bouncing, barely containing herself. Holy shit, she was infectious. “It's not that late. Somewhere has to be open.”
I was burnt out from not sleeping, on edge from being so close to a woman whose existence screamed 'fuck me until I scream.' I wanted nothing more than to kiss her, or to kill something.
It's not great, having two extreme feelings warring inside of you. I didn't want to know what my heart rate was.
Snatching the Ruger, I loaded the clip, clicked the safety on, and grabbed my keys from the counter so fast they dug into my palm.
“Come on,” I said, already moving. “Where we're going is a bit of a drive.”
****
New York is pretty spacious, once you get out of the city.
The night air was clean and crisp, tickling my hair with the windows down. In the trunk was a bag full of items—including my gun.
And next to me was the rest of the package needed for the evening.
Marina had dressed in a black jacket, stark beside my grey one. Her wild hair was knotted back, the tail fluttering in the strong currents.
The chill weather had put apples in her cheeks, but what we were about to do had turned her whole body into a furnace of excitement.
Honestly, I was excited too.
It had been eight months since I'd last shot my gun.
Upstate was mostly forest. I knew the area, I'd grown up here. Jacob and I both had. If you went down the right—or the wrong—roads, it was quiet and empty. People left you alone.
No one gave a shit what happened up here.
This was often a problem when I was a kid... but now, it was to my advantage.
Pulling my car down a dirt path, I parked it beside a large cement building. It was run down, thorny bushes trying to eat the walls.
Stepping out of the car, gravel crunched under my heel, and so did busted beer bottles.
“Where are we?” Marina asked, staring at me over the top of the car.
Popping the trunk, I snatched out my bag. “It's where I practice with Jacob.”
“Practice?” Her nose tucked upwards. “You mean you guys trained your hitmen skills... here?”
Grinning, I turned on my flashlight. “I know, it's not exactly a secret lair.” Sliding my gun free, I held it at my hip. Climbing the steps, I leaned on the door and peered inside. It was possible homeless people or gangs had set up here. A cursory shining of my light revealed no one.
I felt her hovering behind me. Leading the way into the building, I hooked my gun in my belt and reached inside my bag.
“What's that?” Marina asked, her face doused in sharp shadows from my flashlight.
Carrying the heavy, box-shaped item to the far wall, I fiddled with the wires there. “A battery.” Seconds later, the white bulbs flickered to life on the ceiling.