Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

After hanging up the call, Max strode out of the room with a sense of determination.

Jaired rose from his seat, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. “Kenzo, fancy a trip down to my old boxing gym? Remember how we used to spar there all the time?”

Upon hearing this, Kenzo had already stood up, but as Jaired continued, “Max says he’ll be waiting for me there. It’s been ages since we’ve had a good session.”

Kenzo settled back into his chair, shaking his head. “Nah, you better layer up, though.”

Jaired stretched out his long legs and waved a dismissive hand. A scar trailed from his brow to the edge of his ear – a memento from a knife fight with some dangerous thugs – adding to his rugged charm. “You ever heard of someone training in a winter coat? Suit yourself. I’m off,” Jaired quipped.

Kenzo looked up slowly, eyes dark and mysterious, and offered a gentle smile. “Sure.”

Jaired frowned, feeling an eerie chill from that smile.

When he arrived at his place, the door to the sparring room was ajar. Excitement bubbled within Jaired. This was the spot where they’d all sparred as kids, but since his grandfather had shipped him off to the military, his visits had become rare.

He strolled in, slipping off his jacket and tossing it aside.

The room was spacious, a good two hundred square meters, with its walls decorated with an arsenal of cold steel. Jaired approached one of the guns, quickly loading it. “Max, check this out. The AK–107 assault rifle, effective up to five hundred meters. A relic from the ‘70s, took me ages to find all its parts.”

He continued, polishing the barrel of a Remington sniper rifle. “This beauty, a product of the ‘80s, has an eight hundred meter range and a muzzle velocity of 853 meters per second. I don’t even use this one on missions anymore. I’ve switched to the 110. Last time I used this, I blew a terrorist’s head clean off.”

As he spoke, he glanced over to Max, who was elegantly loading a Glock 17. The contrast between his fingers and the bullets was striking.

Jaired was about to say those bullets were live, only to see Max fill the magazine and aim it right at him. Max’s expression was calm, too calm for a joke.

Jaired stood still.

“Bang!” The bullet whizzed past his ear, mirroring the curve of the scar. Smoke wafted from the gun’s barrel as Max wiped it away without a flicker of emotion.

“The latest Glock 17, with its dual recoil spring, has less kickback, safer too. I checked, and it has got three reliable safety features. It might even suit a woman. Shrink it down a bit, and I’ll gift it to Brielle,” Max said, his tone even.

15:28

If not for the black mark on the wall behind him, nobody would have known he’d fired.

Jaired, still rooted to the spot, took a few seconds before replying. “That model’s in use everywhere but Austria. You sure you want to gift Brielle something so dangerous?”

Max ejected the magazine and tossed it aside casually. “Yeah, that way, If someone’s foolish enough to trouble her, she can handle it herself. I’ll handle the aftermath.”

He weighed the unloaded gun, frowning. “The fourth gen’s still over six hundred grams. I need you to cut it down to four hundred. It shouldn’t tire her out.”

Jaired’s temper flared. His custom work was worth a fortune. How was Brielle, with no official status, deemed worthy of it? Belongs to © n0velDrama.Org.

“I won’t do it. What if she turns the gun on you one day?”

Max’s reply was almost too casual. “How do you not realize she might be aiming at you?” Max, in his rolled–up shirt sleeves revealing his toned forearms, spoke as if it was a passing thought.

Jaired rubbed his ear, still feeling the sting where the bullet had grazed. Damn, if that shot had hit him, he doubted Max would have felt a shred of guilt.

So this was it: the sparring was a pretext; the real agenda was modifying a gun for Brielle.

Max grabbed his jacket and handed the gun to Jaired. “Four hundred grams, fifteen–round mag, silver finish. I want it after the holidays.”

Jaired weighed the bullets in his hand, no fool to Max’s intentions, but, as neither of them called the other out, the pretense continued.

“Deal.”

Max wasn’t truly here to cause trouble over Brielle, which meant she wasn’t all that important to him. Perhaps it was time to push the boundaries a little further.