Crave Me (Bonus Scene): The Gun Range
August 07, 2026
The drive is quiet, just Emelia and I in my matt black Lamborghini Revuelto. It’s the kind of quiet that buzzes with anticipation. Miles away from the estate, I turn off onto a dirt road that winds through thick trees and opens into a clearing surrounded by silence. A private gun range, isolated and secure.
Emelia steps out of the car, glancing around with a curious smile. “This is… remote.”
“That’s the point,” I wink, pulling the small duffel bag from behind the seat. “No one out here but us.”
We walk to the clearing where several large trees are rooted in tandem, each one prepped with a target. I set the bag down and pull out the case before setting it on the bench; flick open the latch and reveal a compact black handgun resting in velvet lining beside a box of ammo.
“You’re going to learn how to use this,” I say simply.
She looks down at it, brows lifting. “You want me to carry a gun?”
I nod. “I need to know that you’ll be safe baby...”
She holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. Quietly, steadily. “Okay.”
I pick up the gun, checking the chamber, then hand it to her. “It’s a Glock 43X. Light. Reliable. And easy to keep hidden.”
She takes it with both hands, feeling the weight of it - not just the metal, but the meaning.
The trust.
The responsibility.
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” I instruct, stepping beside her. “Elbows soft. Keep your grip firm but don’t lock your arms.”
I move behind her, adjusting her hands with care, I guide her fingers, my breath brushing her ear. I grin as I feel her pulse quicken.
“Now, breathe in… and on the exhale, squeeze.”
A pause. Then click. The crack of a shot.
The recoil surprises her, but the target shifts. She turns to look at me, wide-eyed.
“Not bad,” I say, smiling, proud.
We spend the next hour in rhythm, load, aim, breathe, fire. Each shot grows steadier. Each moment, more confident.
By the time we’re done, dusk has settled, and Emelia stands straighter. I can’t tell her how terrified I am that she might have to use this when I’m away from her, but I can’t smother her with my presence either. She needs to be prepared, for anything and it’s my job to make sure that she will be.
I step closer, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. “You’ll keep it on you at all times,” I murmur. “And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you don’t hesitate.”
She nods. “I won’t.”
“Good.” I lean in, my lips brush her temple.
The sun dips lower by the time we leave the range, casting long shadows across the gravel road. Emelia glances over at me as she notices the detour away from the estate.
“Where are we going?”
I don’t answer right away, I keep my eyes on the winding road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh.
Soon the trees part, revealing the small, stone chapel nestled on the hill. Beyond it, a wrought-iron gate stood open, leading to the cemetery beyond. I park without a word and Emelia doesn’t ask. She knows where we are.
Our footsteps are quiet on the stone path as we walk past the chapel and into the garden of headstones. The air is still, almost reverent. Birds sing softly in the distance as a breeze carries the scent of roses and old earth. I lead her to Victoria’s grave.
Emelia’s eyes are fixed on the headstone, her heart tightening in her chest. I can see in her eyes that she feels it, the weight, the history, the risk.
“This life… it’s dangerous Emelia.” I turn to her. “I can’t survive losing you too. I would die if…”
She steps forward, wrapping her arms around me, holding onto me like she could anchor me to her. We stand here for a long while, her cheek against my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around her.
I keep one arm wrapped around her waist as we walk back toward the car. The chapel’s-stained glass catches the last of the daylight, throwing soft colours across the path.
From the garden beside the church, Father Vitaly watches us. His lips curl into a knowing smile as he nods at me. I nod back.
Some things are best understood in silence.
