—NEW AMERICAN ORDER, A HANDBOOK
Every Thursday, Lucas beat the shit out of me. Or, he would have if he hadn’t pulled his punches. Each move I made, he was twelve moves ahead. If any of the bouts were real, I’d have been dead or captured within minutes. He offered advice about areas I could improve, but I suspected he enjoyed watching me struggle. He chuckled a few times, fueling my frustration.
I missed his fury. Furious Lucas was scary, but predictable. The sarcastic self-defense instructor he’d transformed into had me second-guessing my entire life. After a full evening of battering me, he crossed his lean arms and frowned. “I hope you’re at least remembering everything I tell you since you’re incapable of doing anything I say.”
I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance. “Every time I try, you throw some new move at me and it fucks up my concentration.”
He cracked his neck. “Do you think an attacker will allow you to concentrate before he attacks?”
“Of course not.”
“Then—”
I threw up a finger, and his mouth snapped shut. “I’d expect mytrainerto allow it.”
A small laugh escaped through his nose. “You need me to hold your hand through it?”
“How wereyoutaught? It couldn’t have been like this.”
“See one, do one, teach one.” His casual one-shoulder shrug had my hands itching to strangle him. “That’s how I learned everything.”
Sweating in the stuffy room, I resisted the temptation to growl. As spring melted into summer, sparring became a venture in heat endurance, and my hair defied gravity. “Can’t we at least open a window?”
“Not if you’re going to yell at me.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “You might wake the neighbors.”
The growl rumbled deep in my chest, and I exploded. “What neighbors? No one lives in this neighborhood.”
He dropped his head. I glared at his hair before he glanced up,laughingat me. “Is that atemper?”
“I’m hot and hungry.”And maybe I’m also on my period.
“Want to stop early today?”
“Early? You’ve been battering me for two hours.”
“Batteringis a bit strong.” He gestured toward me. “You don’t even have bruises.”
I threw out my arm and showed him a tiny bruise near my wrist.
He perked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“When I arrived, my arm was pristine, and now…”
“Now you’re deeply and irrevocably flawed.”
He was unmoved by my flat stare. “Have I mentioned that I hate you?”
“Once or twice.”
“Can wepleaseopen a window?”
With a toss of his hand, he motioned behind me. “Go for it.”
Pane up, I sat on the floor beneath to catch the breeze. He took a seat against the wall three feet away, and we peered at each other through the dark. When he leaned his head back, my gaze traced the outline of his throat. Such a vulnerable place, the throat. If I had a knife, I could kill him instantly.
I shook myself.
Why hadthatthought popped into my head?
