Chapter 46
**Torin POV**
I adjust the precision lens again, eyeing the target through the scope.
The first target is at the base of the gradient, the others are peppered all the way through the leafy terrain with wisps of foliage obstructing my view. Comprehensive calculations flit through my mind, considering various ballistic factors, especially regarding the deviating effects of gravity and wind whilst performing long-range shooting. I do a quick wind estimation: Gentle breeze; leaves and small twigs in constant motion.
I align my sight with the target, holding my aim and controlling my breathing. I squeeze the trigger. The bullet fires out and hits the metal frame, centre mass. Maintaining concentration, I discharge a round that hits four other targets at the same location with deadly precision.
"Not bad," Hadassah comments. She tilts her head to the side, closing one eye to look into the scope, evaluating my marks. "Not bad at all."
Both rifles are mounted on bipods with two legs to lend support. Semi-automatic rifles with self-load during the conclusion of the gas-driven bolt cycle. She and I are secured in a stable firing position, lying prone on the ground with our legs spread to absorb the recoil.
"Your turn, and keep in mind that assembling a rifle, is one thing. Shooting with it is another."
She takes a moment to determine the different ranges, deciding the wind speed for the different zones. Hadassah dials the elevation on her optic, and she holds for the wind.
"Don't worry," I provoke. "It's not a competition."
"That's a good thing. For you."
She aims and unleashes a barrage. Each shot blasts through the metal men's forehead, repeating the feat with fatal exactitude. Holes blazed right through the sequence of steel targets.
Dumbstruck, I check her marks through the scope. Again. And I check three more times.
"Damn, remind me to never piss you off." I lift my head, gawking back at her. "I thought you ran with gang bangers, not gang banging with them. Those targets are like over five hundred meters away. That's expert shooting."
A haunted look veils over her face. "Son, I've been fighting ever since my dad died. And it only intensified after my ordeal with Sidorov." She frees a humourless laugh, smiling without sincerity. "It's funny. With all my training, I failed to protect myself when I needed it the most."
A ghost-chilling realization befalls me. I understood it before, but I didn't recognize the devastating magnitude of trauma that Orian had put her through. Until now. For most of her life, she honed herself from being someone to be pitied to being someone to be, arguably, respected. She trained herself to be strong. And my brother nearly squandered that. Nearly. She's not someone who's easily broken. Damaged but never broken. An unfaltering strength.
"Did you ever think of... talking to someone?"
Her face carved into an unnatural scowl. "I'm talking to you."
"I mean professionally. After Sidorov?"
Her face contorts into an expression of pure confusion. "You mean like a... therapist? Baby, I'm black." She snorts wryly. "Like I need another white person in my business."
I bring myself up to my knees, rising to stand over her. "Come. Let's go."
She hangs her head with exasperation, blaring a loud groan. "Just when I was getting used to this villa." She looks up at me, squinting from the sunlight. "You know it's a complete gamble if he shows or not."
"Since he bought the club, he's been sited every time, around this quarter. Gambling is a risk, but I've learnt to take the right ones."
She hauls herself up to standing.
"Leave all this. I'll have someone pack it up."
I turn and trudge down the slope with her in tow.
"So, where will we be staying?"
"Bought a penthouse in the city. Close to the club."
She emerges in my periphery. "You bought a penthouse just to wait at?"
I nod. "Obviously, we need to make a quick and easy exfil when he's spotted on site. We're too far out here."
"You bought it without a viewing? How do you know if it's actually what you paid for?"
I shrug. "I have people to do that for me."
***
By the time we arrive, twilight fades into night. Strong black silhouettes that are rooted to ground, stretch into the mottled-metal sky. Two of my men come up with us, transporting our scant luggage. Since, hopefully, we won't be here for long. The rest of them move out, diverging as some go to establish a perimeter, and others do a clean sweep.
Using my access codes, we take a private elevator to the top floor, where the penthouse occupies the entire level. All four of us gather inside, ascending to the epitome of opulence. After a short while, the elevator dings open and we enter.
I take a quick scan. "You can put them up there, boys." Directing them to the upper tier exclusive for the master suite with a glass gallery, reachable by the curved cast-iron staircase in the corner.
The boys obey. Hadassah swivels around to arch her brow at me cheekily.
"Relax, there are other rooms."
She turns back round, mesmerized by the palatial architecture. The vast breath outfits ultra-luxury white fixtures and finishes with a soaring vaulted ceiling, equipped with luxurious amenities such as high-end appliances, the finest material fitting, sophisticated smart-house technology and security system. All surpassed by the two towering levels of tall windows that showcase an all-around scenery of the city below, met with the same gaze as the gods.
"This is insane."
She twirls around, casting her gaze heavenward, ogling at the panorama view. But my eyes are only her.
Well after my men left, Hadassah took her things and vanished, taking the room far-flung from mine. I didn't object. We are way past the obsessive-control thing. She knows better than to try anything. And I know better than to think that she would. Because she can't.
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