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“Not for the purposes of this conversation. I’m trying to prove a point.”

Which is?

“You don’t like people.”

People in general, no.His gaze dipped for a moment before meeting mine again.But there are exceptions.

A haze thickened in the air. It smoldered with every inhale.

Vuk wasn’t talking about me. He couldn’t be, not based on the way he’d treated me in the past.

But he’d joined me on this trip.

He’d held me when there was turbulence.

And when he looked at me, I felt like a living, breathing person. Not a mannequin. Not a cash cow. Not a role model for girls I’d never asked to be a role model for.

Just a regular human with interests and a life outside the one my agency constructed for me.

I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.

The haze crisped at the edges and burned away my previous notions of Vuk’s feelings toward me. Did he?—

The seat belt sign dinged. The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “We’ve begun our descent into New York City. If you need to use the restroom or other facilities, please do so now. We’ll be landing shortly.”

The haze cleared. Oxygen rushed back into my lungs, and when I glanced at my phone, I was shocked to see an hour had passed since the turbulence started.

My conversation with Vuk had done more than distract me from my near-death panic; it’d made me forget it entirely.

When I looked up again to thank him, he was already gone.

CHAPTER7

Vuk

Icocked my gun and aimed.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Every shot punctured the paper target’s head and heart with clean holes until I ran out of bullets.

Afterward, Sean came up beside me and examined the target with arched brows. He held a file in his hand. “Feel better?”

Not even close. Not when my weekend with Ayana continued to weigh on my mind.

Instead of responding, I simply reloaded my gun.

We were the only people at the Valhalla Club’s shooting range. It was one of the club’s less popular facilities, which made it the perfect place for us to brush up on our skills and discuss private matters.

Truthfully, guns weren’t my favorite weapon. They were too impersonal. If you hate someone enough to kill them, have the balls to do it up close, where you can see the light die in their eyes.

Professionals and psychopaths aside, it separated those who killed for purpose and those who killed out of impulse. Only the former possessed the conviction to follow through when they could feel their victim’s last breath on their skin.

That was why I preferred knives. They were precise, versatile, and always personal.

However, when I needed to blow off steam or take my mind off a certain supermodel, guns would do.

“I have news that’ll take your mind off whatever you’re pissed about,” Sean said when I remained silent. He handed me the file. “We identified the suspect’s tattoo. Seventy-five percent match based on what was visible in the photo. It’s the most we could hope for given what we had to work with.”