THE CUT BENEATH
Chris
Night has already settled as the van skids through the mud, winding its way toward the cabin.
I catch myself more eager to come home than usual. It’s routine. I got used to her presence. Cash is still here. He talks big and acts bigger, but he’s the one I’d trust with my life, and I like having him around. That has to be it.
Stepping through the door, I instantly spot a hole in the wall. A clean puncture, about head level. I move closer and tilt my head. The edges are too clean for anything accidental. This was placed with intent. Nothing says successful training like a knife in the wall.
The living room still bears the mess left behind by an interruption. It looks torn apart, as if someone walked out mid-argument and didn’t care. Nothing is where it belongs.
My jaw tightens slightly. It’s been a long day.
Irritation flickers, but curiosity edges it out.
The kitchen light is on. Inside, they’re eating sandwiches at the table.
No surprise there. That’s about the only thing the guy can make.
No way he’d ask her to cook. Cash looks up first. His face is blank, giving me the usual chin jerk.
There’s a shift here I can’t quite place.
Sara looks up a beat later, greeting me with a casual “Hey.” A bright flash crosses her face, gone almost as soon as it appears.
She takes a tiny bite and chews it for way too long.
My gaze flicks to her hands, the way she adjusts the sandwich unnecessarily, focusing on that small motion to keep from getting lost in her head.
The atmosphere here is thicker than it should be. Not really uncomfortable, just loaded. Cash is watching me expectantly, as if he’s waiting for me to connect the dots. And then it clicks. That look? The little twist in her posture?
That’s guilt, but why?
Because of that damn wall? The mess in the living room? Hard to believe. I frown. Maybe she thought I was out on a job today. That running errands wasn’t simply buying supplies.
She might have spent the whole day wondering if I’d come back with someone else’s blood on my shirt. The idea settles cold in my chest. I don’t want her to picture me like that.
“Training go all right?” I ask, breaking the silence as I cross to the fridge and grab a bottle of water.
With his mouth full, Cash gives me a thumbs-up. He swallows and leans back, satisfied. “Yeah. She crushed it.”
I turn to Sara. Her eyes meet mine. A tension runs under the surface. She sits up straighter.
“Is that right?” I ask, capping the water.
She nods. “It was good.”
I take a sip, studying the shift in her expression.
“Wanna show me?” I ask.
Instead of answering, she glances at Cash as if asking for permission. He pushes up from the table without missing a beat. “C’mon.” He heads to the towel in the living room where his knives are laid out. He grabs one, flips it once, then offers it to Sara.
“Try and take it from her,” he says to me.
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s all?”
Cash grins. “You’ll see.”
Sara takes the knife from Cash without hesitation. Her fingers grip it with ease, the movement practiced and sure.
Standing across from me, she lets the blade rest low by her side. It’s not threatening, but she’s ready. Her stance holds more strength than I remember, as if her body finally knows what it’s doing.
I take a few steps in, circling slowly.
She watches me. Chin tilted slightly down, brows drawn, body loose but coiled underneath. She’s calm, present.
Cash props himself against the back of the couch, arms crossed, observing with a smug sort of satisfaction.
I begin with a light test, a lunge lacking speed or commitment, meant only to gauge her response. She reacts effortlessly, twisting, pulling the knife back, slipping out of reach, eyes never leaving mine.
Huh. Better than I expected.
I try again, faster this time. She shifts her weight and meets my move, blocking my reach with a clean, economical motion.
Her body moves with conviction now. She’s clearly using the corrections Cash drilled into her today and making them count.
The third time I grab her wrist, she twists away, the blade trailing her steps with purpose, owning every second. That pulls a real smile out of me. “Not bad,” I say.
Cash chuckles behind me. “Try to stab him.”
Sara stiffens. “What?”
Cash shrugs, all ease and no concern. “You learned the moves. Show him.”
She wavers, reading both of us. I give a single nod. “Go for it.”
At first, she’s playing it safe, then she steps in with commitment.
The change is immediate. Feet planted, blade forward, eyes locked. She’s measured. The blade leads, guided by an awareness she’s only beginning to possess. She lunges deliberately.
I block and twist, forcing her off balance. She recovers and comes again. Her movement lacks polish and precision, but it’s far better than a few hours of practice should produce.
“You’re holding back,” I tell her.
Cash steps forward, his voice ringing with encouragement. “Don’t. He’s fine. Get him.”
She breathes out and pushes harder.
Her tempo picks up, no more hesitation. Her movements are raw and driving, powered by an undercurrent I hadn’t accounted for. She’s testing the edge, not trying to win. But she remembers the strikes, the angles.
I parry, sidestep, redirect. I’m stronger and quicker, and she knows it, yet she keeps coming. Three times in a row I let her press in. With each pass she commits more.
She’s proving a point, to me and to herself.
Then it happens: the brief falter. Her breath stutters. Her shoulders drop a fraction. She’s reached her limit.
I step forward and calmly close my hand around her wrist, careful not to startle her. “Enough,” I murmur.
She releases the knife when I reach for it. Her cheeks are bright, hair plastered to her temple, sweat beading along her neck.
“You can try to kill me again tomorrow. Go get some rest.”
A quick, breathless laugh slips free, pride lacing her voice. “Deal.”
She brushes past me, exhausted and glowing. Cash’s hoodie is thrown over one shoulder as she climbs the stairs and disappears into the bathroom.
The silence hangs for a beat, then I turn to Cash. I fold my arms and lounge against the scarred wall. “All right. Start talking.”
He flops back onto the couch with a satisfied sigh.
“So?” I ask when he offers nothing.
He meets my gaze, already grinning. “Fine. First, training went well. She picks up fast. Strong instincts, good reaction time. That spin move?” He lets out a low hum of appreciation. “Not even my idea. She improvised it.”
“And the hole in the wall?” I point toward the area behind me, next to my head.
Cash winces. “Yeah, about that. Got a little enthusiastic. Sorry, man. But that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”
I raise a brow.
His grin grows wider. “Told you I’d go for it when the moment came.”
My eyes narrow. “What exactly did you go for?”
He shrugs, not even trying to downplay it. “Kissed her.”
I keep my attention on him until he gives me more.
“Completely mutual,” he adds. “Didn’t push anything. It just happened. We were close. It felt right. She didn’t pull away.”
I take that in. Let it sit for a second.
I’m not surprised. It’s Cash. Women always fall for him, sooner or later.
He’s charming without trying, makes them ache for his attention.
It isn’t some calculated thing; it’s who he is.
You put someone as stunning as Sara, eighteen, curious, strong but still figuring herself out, in a cabin with him all day without any distractions from the outside world?
Then add training, adrenaline, and physical closeness? Yeah, that was an easy setup.
This isn’t a fling for him. I know Cash. I’ve seen him mess around, flirt without emotion, entertain without investment. The way he talks about her, the way his face shifts when she enters the room, he’s in deep. And she, well, she didn’t pull away.
“How was it?” I ask, my tone even.
Cash drags a hand over his face like he needs a second to recalibrate. The reaction gives him away before he says a word. “I want to do it again,” he admits. “Touch her like that again. Find out what happens when I don’t stop.”
I don’t threaten to hold him back. There’s no point. She’s legal. She can consent. I know him too well to think he’d push her. If she allows it, if she wants it, I’m not standing in their way, as long as it doesn’t interfere with getting her home.
“You’re crushing hard,” I say, keeping my expression neutral.
“Don’t,” he warns.
“Not mocking.” I lift my hands in surrender. “I get it.”
He studies me, an eyebrow lifting. “Do you? Then tell me why I’m the one who kissed her first. You must have had a hundred opportunities, and don’t come at me with that she’s-a-job bullshit again. I may be slow at times, but I’m not blind.”
He’s not wrong, either. Every one of those moments, I felt it, thought about it, shut it down, again and again.
Somewhere along the way, the crowned chaos I’d written her off as gave way to someone resilient, intelligent, and far more vulnerable than I’d assumed.
Someone who trusts me enough to let me see it.
That changed me, and I’m only now realizing I’m done resisting.
Cash bends forward, elbows on his knees, the weight of his focus heavy on me, lit with an amused glint. “Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you at a loss for words.”
That earns a snort, but before I can fire back, a tiny tear on the side of my shirt catches my eye. It’s barely noticeable except for the drop of red right below it. I lift the hem to check.
Yep. Blood. Mine.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Cash laughs. “No way. She got you?”
“Second time,” I say, staring at the mark.
“Damn,” Cash chuckles. “She’s getting good. You keep this up, she might actually take you out next time.” He reclines, folding his arms behind his head. “Then I get to keep her all to myself.”
“Like you’d want that,” I say, letting the sarcasm shine.
Cash snaps into mock solemnity. “True.”
He pauses for a moment, then says, “She told me she wants to go home.”