Mikhail

7

My finger held the trigger, ready to fire as the four were sat down together.

As if on queue a gun cocked behind me and everything froze.

"You need to start being more prepared, Natalia."

My blood ran cold at the all too familiar and amused low voice, and I slowly removed myself from the rifle and the unbeatable aim I had had.

I lifted myself up to sit and peer up at the man who stood perfectly between myself and the bright sun, the barrel of his gun aimed at my forehead.

I tilted my head up at him with a sarcastic smile, "I should've known you'd be here. Of course it's you who ruins my plan."

"Your plan being?" Mikhail inquired with a nonchalant grin, the surprisingly casual tee shirt and jeans combo he sported clinging onto each and every delicious and bulging muscle on his body.

"It's none of your concern," I decided with finality as he crouched down to squat right in front of me.

I rested my elbows on my raised knees, unbothered by his gun, but bothered by how close he now was and how intently he was drinking me in.

"Mogilevich doesn't trust Gold's security," he informed me lowly, "I was sent to secure the perimeter. Finding you here is my concern."

If this had been anyone other than Mikhail who found me, I would've been dead in an instant. Vinnie hadn't informed me of anyone making it past the driveway to this estate, and I wondered what could have happened.

"I'm not here for Mogilevich," I explained, keeping my voice low as to not draw in any attention from the estate, "I'm after Gold."

His brows raised with interest, but his tone remained annoyingly demeaning, as if speaking to a child, "are you, now?"

I sent him a glare, desperately grasping onto my dignity and pride as he shifted closer, cornering me between him and the bushes with his towering and impressive frame.

"Yes. Either you continue on your way and forget you ever saw me, or I'll have to shoot you first."

"I can't do that," he cooed demeaningly, dark eyes burning into mine very distractingly and a hot ball of tension pooled in my lower stomach. My glare only roughened, but it failed to affect him in the slightest.

"The next person to catch you here might not be as nice."

"I-"

His gun lowered and hand reached to brush gently over my cheek, silencing me completely while the grin on his lips grew knowingly. "I can't risk your shot missing and hitting Mogilevich."

"I'm a great shot," I hissed defiantly, fighting not only against him but the feelings he summoned within my treacherous body.

Still, I let his hand remain on my cheek, from where it moved to hold my jaw in a firm grip to tilt my face up toward his.

His eyes darkened, then focusing on my lips, and in that instant breathing grew increasingly harder. My heart raced and each nerve lit up from the small action. This only caused my glare to harshen.

"Lay back down and I'll teach you how to aim, sweetheart," he grinned suggestively, surely noting the heat that travelled up my neck at his idea.

"Stop calling me that," I gritted out threateningly.

"Or what, kukolka?" he challenged, so close now that I could hardly string together a coherent thought. I burned with fury, him unknowingly having used a term of endearment my mother used to refer to me with.