King of Envy: Chapter 40

I waited on pins and needles all week to see Vuk again.

During that time, I shopped, knitted, watched TV, and declined a booking for next month. I’d expected Emmanuelle to retaliate in some way after I told her off, but she’d been quiet since our phone call. Hank was the one who’d sent me the campaign opportunity, but I wasn’t mentally prepared to go back to work yet.

He’d been upset, but he was the last thing on my mind when I arrived at the Valhalla Club’s indoor shooting range on Friday.

The facility looked like something out of a high-stakes spy thriller. Light gray stone floors, Kevlar-covered walls, fourteen state-of-the-art target lanes separated by custom-designed dividers that funneled firearm sounds down range, thereby reducing the decibel level in the stalls. According to the crisp black info sheet at the entrance, the range also boasted a gun-smoke-removing air filtration system and a virtual reality bay, whatever that meant.

Despite its high-end, high-tech trappings, it was completely empty save for Vuk and me. I was ten minutes early, but he was already waiting for me when I arrived.

Black shirt, black pants, black buzz cut. He looked the same as always, but my stomach cartwheeled like this was our first meeting ever.

I hadn’t seen him since D.C.

Six days. It felt like a lifetime.

A smile teased his lips when he saw me. “That’s your idea of a comfortable outfit?”

I’d opted for an ultra-soft cashmere dress and knee-high Christian Louboutin stiletto boots. I’d slicked my hair back into a bun and accessorized with a pair of simple gold studs. I didn’t want my jewelry to get caught on anything.

I shrugged, not seeing the problem. “I’m comfortable in heels and dresses.”

I’d been wearing stilettos since I was a teenager. At this point, I could run a marathon in them.

Vuk shook his head, but his grin widened a fraction of an inch.

“Did you take care of business?” I asked.

“Yes.” His eyes tracked me as I walked toward him, my hips swaying in a more casual rendition of my runway strut. A flare of heat swallowed the humor in his gaze.

“Did it go the way you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I came to a stop inches from him. The scent of vanilla, soft woods, and a hint of rum swirled in my lungs. He was wearing the cologne I’d bought him for his birthday. I breathed it in and suppressed a schoolgirl-giddy smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Good to know.” Amusement leaked into his eyes again, tempered by apology. “I’m sorry again for sneaking out in the middle of the night. The issue was…urgent.”

“It’s okay.” I stepped closer. My chest brushed his, and his breath hitched. “I know a way you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah?” His eyes grew hooded. “How?”

I leaned forward, my lips tickling his ear. “By teaching me how to shoot.”

His laugh followed me all the way to the shooting stall.

I grinned. I liked messing with him, and I liked hearing him laugh even more.

Since it was my first time at a shooting range, Vuk started by explaining safety procedures and giving me a rundown of how things worked—how to hang targets, when to take breaks, what to do when something went wrong, so on and so forth. Once he walked me through the full process, we put on our safety gear and got started.

Vuk stood behind me and adjusted my form. “Hold it half an inch higher. Bend your left elbow and turn your left side toward the target.” His hand was rough and warm, his instructions cool and precise. “Just like that. Good.”

The soft breath of his praise ghosted the back of my neck.

My belly clenched. This shouldn’t be so hot, but his proximity and the confident, capable way he manipulated my body into the exact position he wanted it in made desire pulse between my thighs.

I forced the lusty thought aside. The last thing I wanted was to be distracted while I held a literal gun in my hands.

Once Vuk was satisfied with my form, he stepped aside. I pulled the trigger, and…missed my target. I also missed the next one, and the one after that. Between the kickback and my nerves, shooting was a lot harder than Nate Reynolds made it look in his action thrillers.

To be fair, I hit some parts of the target, just not the parts I wanted to hit. Its knee and forearm were peppered with holes when I was aiming for the heart.

I was so embarrassed I almost called it quits halfway, but quitting was worse than failing. So I stuck it out until my last shot came within several inches of the heart. It wasn’t great, but it was preferable to shooting the knee again.

“Better.” Vuk had been surprisingly patient throughout my many misses, and he smiled now at my pout. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“I hope so. Otherwise, I’m as liable to shoot myself as I am anyone else,” I grumbled.

Despite my dismal performance, I felt a small flutter of pride. I wasn’t planning on actually shooting anyone—guns still made me nervous, and there was a difference between firing at an inanimate object versus a flesh-and-blood person—but the simple act of learning how made me feel safer. More in control.

In a world where organizations like the Brotherhood existed, every advantage counted.

After our lesson ended, I freshened up in the bathroom and met up with Vuk again in the waiting area. We left the range together, our steps falling easily into sync.

“I told you I could shoot in heels,” I quipped.

“Maybe you would’ve hit the target if you were in something else,” Vuk said.

I gasped and swatted his arm as we stopped in front of a gilded elevator. He smirked, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Despite his absolute disrespect toward my beloved footwear, I loved this teasing, light-hearted side of him. Whatever he’d accomplished at work had wiped away some of the stress lines around his mouth. They weren’t gone completely, but they were noticeably softer.

I wondered if his “work” had anything to do with the Brotherhood. I didn’t want to ruin the mood by asking, so I kept my curiosity to myself for now. If he wasn’t worried, I wasn’t worried.

The elevator had a biometric pad in place of a button. Vuk pressed his thumb against the pad. There was a beeping sound accompanied by flashing yellow lights. Two seconds later, the lights blinked a solid green, and the doors slid open.

See? Spy thriller shit.

“Fancy,” I said, taking in the elevator’s shiny mirrors and plush red carpet. I wasn’t sure where he was taking me, but I was happy to follow along for now.

“The managing director title has its perks,” Vuk said. “This is the private elevator to my office. No one can access it without my fingerprint.”

The doors closed, and he pressed the button for the fourth floor.

“So this is completely private,” I said. “No one can accidentally walk in?”

He shook his head.

I was still riding an adrenaline high from the range, and I remembered the heat of his body when he’d stood behind me. His control, his precision, his commanding tone when he told me what to do and how to do it.

My skin buzzed. I reached forward and pressed the emergency stop button before modesty could talk me out of it. The elevator shuddered to a halt.

Vuk’s brows rose.

“I realized we never properly greeted each other.” I licked my lips. My throat was drier than parchment. “Today’s our first time seeing each other since Jordan and I broke things off. I’m not engaged anymore.”

It was like I’d tossed a lit match into a pool of gasoline. Sparks flared to life in the tiny elevator, and Vuk’s gaze darkened at the edges.

“No. You’re not.” If he were anyone else, the softness of his words would’ve sent me running. As it was, they only fanned the flame flickering in my core.

Nevertheless, I took an instinctive step back when he closed the distance between us. I hit the wooden rail, and Vuk placed his hands on either side of me, caging me in.

“There are no cameras in here,” he murmured, his lips skimming along my jaw. “I can do whatever I want to you…” He nipped my earlobe hard enough to make me whimper. “And no one will know a thing.”

My nipples hardened, and I didn’t bother to hold back a moan when his hand slid under my dress.

“Good,” I panted.

Vuk groaned. He pulled me in for a rough kiss and I returned it eagerly, my fingers digging into his shoulders while he picked me up and set me on the rail.

It wasn’t wide enough to hold me without support, so I wrapped my legs around his waist and deliberately arched against him. The thick, hard press of his erection against my clit elicited another, needier moan.

There was no engagement hanging over our heads anymore. Nothing to prevent us from giving and taking as much as we wanted, and God, I wanted him. So much so that I could barely breathe.

Vuk’s kiss grew more insistent as he pushed my dress up around my waist. Cool air grazed my inner thighs. The contrast between that and his body heat made my head swim.

He trailed his fingers along the seam of my underwear and slipped them past the flimsy silk.

“Soaked already.” He tsked like he was disappointed at my shamelessness. “You’ve been dreaming about getting fucked all week, haven’t you?”

I was growing wetter by the minute, but I couldn’t resist a little cheek. “Not all week. You fucked me on Saturday.”

It was only Friday, six days later.

Vuk laughed, the sound edged with dark amusement. “No, srce. That wasn’t fucking.” He withdrew his fingers and, before I could register what was happening, slapped my pussy with his hand. The shocking sting of his palm against my clit made me squeal. My vision hazed; arousal gushed and ruined my already drenched underwear. “This is.”