Page 102 of Sinful Bride

“Elbows up! C’mon!” She pulls her punches because I’m failing at blocking my own face. “Suck that core in!”

I try to mimic her as best as I can. “This is new. I?—”

“This is new, yes. Your enemies are not.”

I level my stare at her, but she taps her knuckles together to remind me to keep my fists up over the bottom half of my face. “Is this because of recent events?”

“That. And you have an audience.”

I glance to my left. Sure enough, several of the men I recognize from Pasha’s office are taking breaks at their machines and weight benches. And watching us.

Watching me.

Sofi doesn’t give me any warning for the jab she thrusts at me. Instinctively, I dodge to the side, earning a proud “Good!” before she swings an uppercut.

I may be clumsy with the moves, but I’m learning my vocab.

“I’m low,” she explains, “so go high.”

“Huh?” I don’t think, just swing. It’s not the best, but I do graze her ear.

“Ayy, there we go, girl! You got it!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sofi.” I take a few steps back to put distance between us. “Pasha would kill me if I did.”

“If you can hurt me, I deserve it. Besides, Pasha will kill me if he finds out I’ve been training you and you still can’t defend yourself.” She sinks lower into her stance. “Now, come on the offensive. Enough scaredy-cat bullshit.”

“I can’t?—”

“May I?” Lev asks, appearing suddenly at the edge of the ring space.

Sofi doesn’t relax her stance, but she nods and backs away.

Lev tucks his phone into his pocket and casually saunters over to me. Everything this guy does is just like that: so casual. Like he’s completely unbothered by the fact that he’s a major criminal with what I assume to be a nauseatingly high body count.

“Close your eyes, Mrs. Chekhov.” He waits until I do. “Now. Forget she is your sister. Forget she is even a she. Remember what it’s like, protecting your baby from the man who tried to hurt you. Who tried to hurt her.”

How could I forget? The image of Conrad moving over Taty’s bassinet is burned into my memory.

I feel the back of my jaw clench.

“He is one of many more to come,” Lev continues. “Men who will try to hurt your husband by hurting your child. That is who you are fighting right now. That is who you will always be fighting.”

He nudges my elbows back into place. Taps my foot with his so I widen my stance into something stronger.

“You’re not just doing this for yourself, Mrs. Chekhov. You’re doing this for your daughter. Show her what a queen looks like.”

I have to open my eyes to see my opponent.

But when I do, I’m not seeing Sofi anymore. Not really.

Yeah, it’s her body. But in my mind’s eye, it’s Conrad lunging at me. Conrad swinging his fists. Conrad who I block, parry, and jab at.

I’m still far from perfect, but what I am is motivated. Pissed. And I get so into the moment, I swing a kick I haven’t trained on yet and it nearly lands against Sofi’s shoulder.

Nearly—because she grabs my ankle at the last second. “Nice! A little off to the side, but very, very good improvisation!”

I grin sheepishly. This won’t be my secret forever. Eventually, I’ll want to show off my new moves to Pasha and make him proud.

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