Page 19

Eighteen

Reign

I’m tired of the same training.

I’m tired of Killian avoiding me like the plague.

I’m just sick of him looking at me from across the room, smirking but not actually saying anything to me.

It’s almost like he’s daring me to make a move after the stunt he pulled during dinner a few days ago.

I tried to keep in a gasp so many times, especially when he would slide his hand a little too high and rub his thumb on the inside of my thigh. I couldn’t stop squirming in my seat, and it felt unbearable to sit next to him.

After dinner was done, I jumped out of my chair and ran upstairs to my room. This time I’ve been the one avoiding him because every time I think about him, I think about that moment during dinner and then how we were almost about to kiss in the garden.

I hope he thinks this much about me, and I drive him out of his mind, it’s only fair.

During meals he gives me looks and sometimes would try to slip his hand on my thigh, but I don’t let him. We haven’t spoken much because we are both playing the game of who will cave first.

And it won’t be me.

But I do need his help with something.

I knock on the front door of the guest house. It’s not long before Killian opens the door, wearing nothing but black sweatpants.

His hair is a little wet and water droplets fall from the ends onto his skin making him look godly.

“Done staring?”

I meet Killian’s eyes and force a smile on my face. “I’m not here to stare at you. You should really learn to put a shirt on.”

“You staring at me makes my dick nice and hard. Why would I want to do that?” Killian raises an eyebrow at me while my face turns tomato red, and the smile wipes off my face.

Good thing everyone in the house is sleeping. So, we don’t have to worry about anyone possibly waking up.

I clear my throat and try to calm down my rapidly beating heart. “You can’t say things like that.”

“What do you need, Reign?” Killian crosses his arms over his chest.

“Can I come in?” I ask, looking past the front door in the house.

He opens the door wider to let me in. I walk in slowly as I feel Killian’s eyes watching my every move. I feel the gun in my waistband burn against my skin.

Killian closes the door behind us and heads to the couch. On the TV, there’s a football match between Romania and Germany.

“I didn’t know you liked football.”

“I was a striker in high school.” Killian sits on the couch. “So, what do you want?” Killian looks at the clock on his phone. “It’s one in the morning and you decide to come knocking on my door for...?”

I grab the gun out of my waistband and rest it on the table.

Killian’s eyes follow the gun and then look up to meet my eyes.

“I want you to teach me how to use a gun.”

Killian licks the inside of his cheek, staring at the gun. He rubs his chin and looks up at me. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you need to know how to shoot a gun? Don’t you already know how to shoot one?”

I lick my bottom lips before saying. “I only know how to shoot a Glock. Not a pistol.” I shrug.

“You aren’t afraid of guns?”

“No, I’ve grown up around guns.” Killian reaches towards the table and grabs the gun. He inspects it and then checks the cylinder. Killian then turns the gun upside down and dumps all of the bullets on the coffee table. “What are you doing?”

“You should be scared of a gun, especially if you don’t trust the person behind it.” He grabs one bullet from the table and puts it back inside the cylinder. He clicks it in place and turns off the safety. “Come here.” I look at him then the gun. I don’t know a thing about Killian, I have no clue what kind of person he is with a gun but for some reason that doesn’t stop me from walking towards him.

I stand in front of him and wait for the next demand he says but instead he grabs me by my thighs and sits me on top of his lap. My hands automatically drop to his chest to steady myself. Killian’s hands rest on my hips, making me feel chills rush down my body.

My body feels so warm against his. He almost feels like a blanket protecting me from anything and everything.

How could an enemy feel this good?

“What are you doing?” I ask, adjusting myself on his lap. When the spot between my thighs meets his erection, I squirm and take a deep breath in.

I can feel his bulge pressing against me even though I try to ignore it.

Killian’s hands flex on my hips, running his thumb up and down as if it calms him. “A game my dad told me to never play. Russian Roulette.” My heart rate speeds up, and I try to stay calm.

I know how Russian Roulette works and I know how the game ends.

Someone dies.