His eyes meet mine. “She’ll be seven soon.”
“Oh.” I look back at the photo. Seven years ago would have been just before he came to work for my father. “Who is she?—?”
“We’ve rested long enough. Let’s go again.” He puts the glass he’s finished down on the side heavily. The bang makes me jump.
My muscles are already screaming at me that they’ve had enough, but there’s no way I’m admitting that to him. If he tells my father, then I’ll be lucky to make it out of here this year, let alone in time for my show next week.
“Sure. Bring it,” I say as I walk toward the gym ahead of him. “I was going easy on you before, just so you know. I won’t this time.”
“I know,” he clips. “Time for you to get serious with me.”
Something about the deep promise in his words makes warm tingles shoot up my spine as I walk onto the matted area where we’ve been training. I spin to face him, but he’s not there.
“You can’t give your opponent any weakness they can exploit,” he scolds as he kneels at my feet and does up the lace on my sneaker that has worked its way loose.
He finishes tying it and then stands, his eyes fixing on mine. “You ready?”
But I’m already lunging for him.
The room spins as he takes me off my feet for the sixth time today and brings his full body weight down on top of me as my back hits the mat.
“Sinclair,” he tuts like he’s annoyed.
I shove at his face, pushing my palm over it and forcing his head back, my nails resting against his forehead where I could scratch his eyes if this were real.
“That’s better,” he praises. “Fight me.”
I push with all my might, my body thrashing beneath his as he presses down onto me harder, pinning me beneath him with his hips. No matter how much I buck and push at his face, he doesn’t move. It’s like having a stone wall against me.
“You need to find a weakness,” he says calmly, completely unaffected by my attack. “You were on the right track going for my groin earlier. Eyes are another target. Dig your fingers in, gouge them, ignore the blood.”
“Eww.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Sinclair,” he growls, his eyes intent on mine as he flexes his hips, pushing me harder into the mat to make his point. “If they’re on you like this, do whatever you can to get back onto your feet where you’re less vulnerable. Got it?”
I ball my hands into fists and pummel at his solid chest, but all it does is leave me panting.
“God! I hate you!” I squeal in frustration.
His eyes burn into mine. “Quit throwing pathetic punches at my chest and think,” he grits. “On size alone, I have the advantage. What else can you?—”
The hiss that leaves his lips as I grab the hair at the back of his head and yank it is an impressed one.
“That’s better. Good girl.”
“Ugh. Don’t be so fucking patronizing!”
I swear his lips curl into the ghost of a smirk. And something about it coupled with his words spurs me on. I wrench my arm so hard that I’m surprised I don’t pull the soft strands straight out of his skull.
“That’s my girl,” he grits, his eyes flashing darkly as his head is yanked back.
“I’m not your girl!” I scream.
“No, you’re not. But someone attacking you might force you to be. They could try and do whatever the hell they wanted to you.”
My eyes widen and my grip on his hair loosens as what he means sinks in.
“Don’t stop,” he instructs, so infuriatingly calm, knowing he has me at his mercy.
