Chapter 22 #2
Sweat trickles down my back. My oversized t-shirt sticks to my skin. The t-shirts appeared after a day of fighting practice when I just wore my old tank top I used to wear with Viper, and Reaper dragged me to my room and ordered me to put on a sweater.
I pull the shirt away from my body, fanning myself as Reaper adjusts my stance, his large hands gripping my hips. On any other day, his tight grip and stern eyes would have me breathless.
Right now, I’m just annoyed.
He takes a step back, angling his body and bringing his knife up, blade out, thumb on the hilt.
He’s so big. So imposing with his tight black clothes and the melting skull mask.
Scarily erotic with large hands and the tattoos on his fingers.
My belly flips, remembering those hands on me, those long fingers inside me just last week.
Okay, obviously not annoyed enough.
Focus, Delilah.
Grinding my teeth in irritation, I mimic him. We’ve sparred on and off during the week, but today has been intense. Like a clock is ticking, and I’m running out of time to learn how to murder and maim.
The images I saw of Rune’s hunts flash through my head.
I’m also learning how to defend myself.
Reaper uses his knife to point toward my feet. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart. Stay vigilant. You’re small, but remember what we taught you. Use your enemies’ size and weight against them.”
“In case you forgot, Rune isn’t a large man like you.”
“Your father isn’t the only threat,” Fallon says from behind me. “You will be with a hunting party.”
My stomach churns, and I drop my arms as I face him. “I saw the pictures,” I remind him. “I saw what they can do. But my task is to get into the safe the day they begin”—I gesture to Reaper—“and give him access to the weapons.”
Fallon smiles. “Correct. But what if someone—an enemy—were to find you before Reaper?”
I swallow at the thought.
“How many people will there be?” I ask. No one has told me anything beyond my task. Get into Rune’s private quarters, get access to the safe, and kill my father.
Fallon clasps his hands behind his back, gaze flickering to Reaper. “According to the last report from Clyde, there will be five staff on site and seven members. Two wives will join, but will not partake in the hunt, yet will be present for the release.”
“The release,” I say, but my voice fades. Hunting party. Release. I can put two and two together, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“57,” Fallon barks. “Take Reaper’s place.”
“No,” Reaper growls.
57 saunters forward, and I swear he’s smirking at Reaper under that all-black mask as he moves up next to me.
“She needs experience with different techniques and styles,” Fallon says. “I’ve been watching you for a week, and you’re too careful with her.”
Despite the fact that he’s talking about knife fighting, my cheeks flame, because Reaper is anything but careful with me.
Except for the afternoon in the kitchen, the men have been very deliberate in the way they’ve touched me all week. The only time they show me they are still in there and didn’t morph back into the hard, cold soldiers who took us is the slight graze of fingers as I’m fed each night.
Fallon gives Reaper a pointed look that makes him step back. Reaper’s aggressive and violent possessiveness seeps from his pores as he crosses his arms, onyx eyes laser-focused on us.
57 tosses the training knife from hand to hand, eyes moving from my oversized black shirt to my boots.
Malice oozes from him, dark and almost tangible.
Assessing him, I take note of his slightly jumpy energy, like a boxer.
Everything about him reeks of predatory malice, making me glad Reaper is just feet away.
I’d hate to be alone in a room with this man.
“Remember your training,” Fallon says to me. “Your enemy knows your weakness. Rune will use it against you.”
Like you do, I think, but keep my focus on 57 as he shifts from one foot to the other, waiting for him to pounce. Because I know he will. He’s the type of man who would attack relentlessly. Keep me on the defensive until he can make the killing blow.
Exactly what Reaper’s trying to teach me.
I keep my sole focus on him, letting him circle me, my gaze moving from his feet to his shoulders.
Behind me, I hear the creak of the door opening, and my head snaps in that direction.
Striker appears, and before he has completely entered the room, a hand grips my neck and my feet sweep out from under me.
My back hits the hardwood floor, my head hitting it with a sharp smack.
I blink at the sudden impact, meeting 57’s eyes as he straddles my chest, one hand still at my throat.
I swing, aiming the knife for his neck, but he grips my wrist and slams my arm down to the floor.
Pain shoots through my elbow, and I hiss in response.
Reaper’s angry growl grates through the room.
“Let her be!” Fallon shouts. “It’s her fault she took her eyes off him.”
“Gotcha, pretty thing,” 57 says. “Now what should I do with you?”
“Fuck you,” I snarl.
“Gladly, pretty girl,” he says. “Spread those legs and I’ll fuck you too.”
Fire sears through my veins. With my free hand, I aim for his eyes, but he releases my neck and catches it before I can reach him, smacking my hand to the floor by my head.
Now that my head isn’t pinned, I twist and sink my teeth into his forearm. The fabric slips under my bite, so I latch on harder.
“Fucking bitch!” 57 rears his hand back, and I wince, bracing for the hit to my face, as I try to roll. A feral grating sound roars through the room, and 57 is ripped off me.
Clutching my knife, I bolt up from the floor as Striker slams him down, fist making impact with his nose seconds later. I stumble backward, the sick crunching sound of his nose breaking, cutting through Striker’s guttural snarl.
“Enough!” Fallon barks.
Striker freezes, fist mid-air, then stands and flexes his bare hand.
A hand braces the back of my neck, and I jump, adrenaline coursing through me, and swing my arm as I turn. My training knife hits hard ribs.
“Ah, fuck,” Reaper grates, grabbing my forearm.
I drop the knife, my heart hammering, and place my hand where I stabbed him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper in horror.
He covers his hand with mine. “I’m taking her to her room,” Reaper says. “She’s done for today.”
“She needs more practice,” Fallon says. “The girl is going to get herself killed and, in turn, my sons.”
“I’m okay,” I say, stepping back and picking up my knife. I turn to face 57. He staggers as he stands, cupping his face, blood seeping out from under his mask into his palm.
“Take his place,” Fallon tells Striker. “And you”—he points to 57—“set your nose and meet me in the study.”
Fallon leaves, leaving the door open, and the room grows quiet. 57 glares at Striker, and then marches from the room, the door slamming behind him.
“Are you okay?” Striker asks, stalking toward me. When he reaches for me, I slap his hand away.
“Your father is right,” I snap. “You coddle me. That asshole just proved I need more practice.”
“She’s right,” Reaper says to Striker. “She needs to be prepared for…” His voice trails off. “If she’s not ready for Rune, he won’t hesitate to kill her, or worse, capture her.”
Striker curses and runs a hand over his mask, looking down at his feet.
“Capture?” I ask, my stomach dropping to my toes.
Neither man responds, but they don’t have to. Capture. As in, take me, hold me, possibly torture me for information or worse. Like Reaper said, he may be so insanely angry at my betrayal, I could be used in his hunt.
Would he really do that? I hate the answer, so I shove it away and stalk toward the center of the room.
“Come on,” I say. “I will not die at the lodge because I didn’t train hard enough.”
“Are you sure?” Striker asks.
“I’m sure,” I say, squaring my shoulders, ignoring the throbbing pain in my head, and placing my feet shoulder-width apart.
“Then, we continue,” Reaper says, and I swear he’s smirking under that mask. “You think you can handle us both?”
“I have before.”
Striker’s soft chuckle makes me grin.
“Then we continue, Kitten,” Reaper says. “No holding back. We won’t be gentle.”
I give him a smirk of my own. “You never are.”