Page 102 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

“Okay.” All the hesitation vanished. “I’m not doing this because I want to kill anyone.” She seemed to need to tell herself this, so I stood back and waited with my arms crossed. Staring down the alley at the new target, her jaw firmed. “I’m learning how to protect my life. And Luka’s life. No one is going to hurt us if I have anything to say about it.”

I smiled as her arm lifted.

She held the gun the way I’d shown her, using her weaker hand to support the weapon.

Turning slightly to the side, she braced and pulled the trigger.

Again. And again.

She squeezed off shot after shot until she’d emptied the mag and smoke curled from the barrel in a lazy spiral.

The target no longer had a head, and my smile grew wider. “You’re a natural.”

“I’m a mother.” But pride lit her face up, making her glow. “Don’t expect that to translate into hand-to-hand combat. My coordination is shit.”

I burst out laughing, and Peyton grinned. Seconds later, she bent double, putting the gun on the shelf and holding her ribs as she chuckled.

“This isn’t remotely funny.”

“I know.” I wiped tears from my eyes. “Stress laughter.” I motioned at the remaining weapons. “Pretty sure you’ve already found your favorite, but try a few more so you’ll know how they feel in your hand in case you need them.”

We spent another hour at the range before heading home.

Peyton remained quiet for most of the drive, her thoughts clear on her beautiful face.

Our connection was as strong as ever.

She was different now, more serious, with the weight of motherhood on her shoulders and a more worldly outlook.

But she was all the more beautiful for it. Her quiet ferocity, that innate instinct to protect her son no matter the cost, caused a swell of pride.

I also hated that this had bled over into her life.

She deserved for her darkest thought to be about what food we might eat off her body tonight, not whether she’d have to shoot someone in the head to protect herself.

“I will not let this be your life forever, Peyton. I respect your ability to protect yourself and Luka, but I will still do my damnedest to ensure you never have to use any of the skills we’re teaching you.”

“Thank you.” She stared straight ahead, but her lips twitched into a smile. “I appreciate that, Leo. And I’m glad you’re all willing to teach me.”

I loved her all the more for the incredible mother she’d become. We would not lose her again. Over my dead fucking body.

Misha and Luka met us in the foyer, both sitting in front of the kitchen island with their knees drawn to their chests.

Luka held up a finger to his lips when they entered, then looked up at Misha, who held up five fingers.

He lowered each one slowly, and when he closed his fist, Luka sprang up and ran for Peyton. “I did it! I found the best hiding spot EVER! Misha couldn’t find me at all. And I even stayed quiet the whole time. Misha said he’d get me ice cream. Any flavor I want.”

“Good job.” Peyton ruffled Luka’s hair. “What flavor are you getting?”

“Mocha.” Luka leaped into the air and spun in a circle.

Man, I loved this boy.

I barely knew him, but I loved him. Every second I spent in his company was a gift.

It didn’t matter which of us was his father by blood. “Are you allowed to tell your hiding spot, or are you keeping it a secret?” I lowered myself to a knee. “Was it hard to stay quiet?”

“It was at first, but Misha taught me a neat trick about singing to myself in my head, and that helped.” The quiet boy we’d first encountered bloomed overnight into this chatty boy who smiled at everyone and everything. He was Peyton’s son, our son. How could we not love him?