Page 72 of Honorable Sins

"Be safe," I order him.

For a second the emotion Mick only shows me and our children glows in his eyes. "Always. I have too much to lose if I'm not."

"You got that right."

With a brief but intense kiss, he's gone and I'm being ushered into the family saferoom with the littles, my sister, Zoey and Mamo.

Chapter seventeen

Keeping a Promise

FITZ

Uncle Brice blocks my kick. "Come on, Fitz boyo. You can do better than that."

I feint right and go for a strike to his kidneys on the left side, this time with a jab of my left fist. It connects for all the good it does to me.

Uncle Brice is solid muscle. Hitting him is like hitting one of the cement walls in the bunker.

"Nice." Uncle Brice smiles like a shark, if sharks were brown, big and scary as heck.

Okay, so the only difference is the color of their skin. Like my da, my pseudo uncle is an apex predator, which is why da and mom trust him with my safety.

I learned that term in advanced biology last month. When my teacher asked for examples, I almost raised my hand and said my da, but we don't advertise who and what we are. Even if most of the kids in my grade know about me, not all of my teachers do.

Adults who think they know so much don't know what really matters.

I keep moving, not answering my uncle. I've ended up tripped and flat on my back too many times to get caught talking instead of planning my next strike.

It hasn't happened in the last three months. Not even with da. I'm not breaking that streak now.

I block a kick with my forearm, spin and duck, shooting forward to jab Uncle Brice in the solar plexus. If I wasn't wearing fingerless leather fight gloves, I'd have broken bones in my hand from that hit.

If I didn't wear pads, my forearm would be bruised.

They make it harder to fight, but da says that's part of the training, learning to fight even in less than ideal circumstances.

There's no better fighter than my da.

Those idjits that attacked Sadie had no chance against me. I've been training with my da and uncles since I was seven years old. They are the best. Sadie's new stepdad, Wraith, might be in the same category, but I've never trained with him. So, I don't know.

A light tap on the side of my head makes anger surge through me. At myself.

"Pay attention." Uncle Brice shifts and I know what's coming.

I pivot and jump avoiding the foot that would have swept mine out from under me.

Hyper focusing on the here and now like da taught me, I empty my head of everything else.

Smack. Oof. Bump. I catalogue and then dismiss the sounds of the other men training around us.

Uncle Brice's breathing, steady and even. Mine a little faster, but not panting. Not yet.

Uncle Brice's weight is on his left foot, positioned slightly back, his muscles in his right bicep are bunched. His eyes are fixed on my face but I don't need that tell to know what he plans.

Instead of spinning away and lunging back in like I've been doing, I attack the same time he does, using my shorter height to my advantage and get a knee to his groin before dropping and rolling just out of the reach of his hands.

Uncle Brice grunts. He even staggers a little.