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"Anything. As long as I don't have to sit there and have your mutts make googly eyes at me," she said, waving me off.

I barked out a hearty laugh. "That's what you get for dousing yourself in pheromones and making them treats."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time." She muttered.

"Yeah, well, suck it up, buttercup. You're pretty much their favorite person now. Maybe you could teach me to make them sometime. Then they might like me again." I said, bumping her shoulder with mine.

"Sure thing. I need rabbit livers and duck fat."

"Seriously?" I asked, arching a brow. "Who the fuck uses either of those ingredients?"

She shrugged, offering me a shy smile that, while beautiful, didn't fit with the tough as nails assassin I knew lived beneath the surface.

"I read somewhere that the gamy quality of the rabbit connects to something primal in the dog. It's probably bullshit, but it worked. The duck fat, well, it just seemed intuitive to me. Rabbit is very lean, and I thought the richness of duck fat would balance it. But what the fuck do I know?" she laughed.

"You know how to make treats that sway my dogs' fucking loyalty. " I replied, meeting her gaze. I needed her to know once again, I wasn't just giving her empty complements—I meant every fucking word.

"I can have those delivered tomorrow, if you'd like."

She nodded, rising from the floor. "Sounds good. Today, though, I'd like to run through a few sets with the throwing knives," she said, jutting her chin toward the wall of practice weapons. Her fingers danced against her thighs for a moment before a wicked smile curved her lips and she added, "and maybe a few shots with my scout."

"Fair enough." I added, quickly gaining my feet. I took the bolts from her and lifted the crossbow from the floor, taking each to their proper mounts while she selected the knives she wanted to use.

"Why hasn't anyone come for us?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Good fucking question. One I asked myself every day. I sighed heavily. "I don't know. I talked to a hitter I know, and he said there's definitely an order. Every day is another step you get to being strong again. It's their fucking mistake."

Her head bobbed shakily, still not convinced. "Yeah. I guess so."

"Show me what you got." I said, leaning against the wall.

I wondered if she knew how fucking sexy it was to watch her work? An intoxicating combination of lethal grace and deadly accuracy that made my bones ache. Not to mention her trigger discipline. Fuck.

One girl I hooked up with saw my gun and wanted to touch it. I blame the fact I hadn't been laid in months at that point for my lapse in judgment, but I let her hold it. Despite several warnings, her finger kept curling around the trigger. She had nice tits, but her lack of awareness almost wasn't worth the blowjob.

Tierney was another story altogether. Every night and half my waking moments were spent dreaming of fucking her on every hard surface in my house. Some deep, primal part of me wanted to possess her, to make her mine so that even for just a moment, I could own some of her raw beauty and power for myself.

But not like this. The Tierney in my dreams wasn't shy or anxious, but instead full of the fire and fierce determination I saw in her eyes in that grove. That is the spirit I fucking longed to dominate and own. First, I had to help her find it again.

She pinched the diamond-shaped blade of the knife, running her finger along the handle until she was happy with her grip. After a quick survey of the targets, she raised her arm, her muscles coiling tightly. She loosed a breath, releasing the tension in her body, then all three knivesshe held in rapid succession. Each finding their mark in a different target.

Another heavy breath as her eyes swept across the targets, taking in the results, before she stepped forward retrieving the knives.

Moving a little farther down the room, she chose a new position. Once again, she took only seconds to aim before twirling her lithe body like a lethal ballerina as she released the blades; the knives burying themselves to the hilt in the soft targets.

"Good girl."

Color stained her cheeks, flushing to the tips of her ears as her eyes met mine.

"I think I'm done for the day." She murmured, replacing the knives in their mounts.

"What about shooting the scout?"

Fucking hell, I hadn't intended to scare her off. It had been a little over a week since I gave her what she called her tiny death machine. She hadn't gone a day without shooting it.

"Maybe later. I—I need some rest and a shower; I stink," she said, moving her arms dramatically as she spoke.

With all the twirling and flinging her body around today, strands of hair had fallen out of her fishtail braid. My fists clenched at my side, aching to brush them from her face, if only for an excuse to touch her.