“And you complain about my design choices,” I mutter.
His mouth ticks up in a flash of amusement before he continues. “I declined. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t earn it. But the next year… the next year was mine. I tracked a herd of elk for hours. And when my father warned me against taking my shot, telling me it was too risky, I pulled the trigger. And I went home with the biggest kill anyone in our family had bagged in decades.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Mikhail’s eyes flare for a second. Then I’m snatched off the floor and thrown flat against the wall. His hand is banded around my throat so tightly I can’t breathe. Black dots form on the edges of my vision.
“I don’t need you to be impressed,” he growls. “I don’t need anyone to shoot you in the leg and cripple you for me, Cor
