Page 86 of Us Deadly Few

“Bring it.”

To her surprise, Brock proved to be a good teacher, though he was impatient.

He spent considerable time teaching her how to grip the damn blade. He demonstrated various slashing and thrusting techniques, focusing on her leg placement for maximum force.

She would never admit it to Brock, but even though he obviously knew what he was talking about, she learned better from Takeshi.

The cold Captain knew exactly when to push her buttons and when to offer support—though that last part was more of a rare occurrence.

Even though he drove her crazy, no one else ever made her feel so in tune with her strength. Like she shouldn’t fear the world, but it should dread her.

The entire time, Takeshi didn’t intervene or speak.

He merely watched from the dark corner outside the shop.

Takeshi’s arms were crossed, casually leaning against the building. She couldn’t see his facial expression, but she felt his cold, predatory gaze slide over her body.

Khalani didn’t know how long she practiced with Brock, but her body was worked to exhaustion and the sun had long set.

“Good.” Brock nodded, looking vaguely surprised. “Didn’t expect you to last this long.”

“Someone helped me with that.” She glanced past Brock, frowning when she noticed Takeshi was no longer there.

Brock’s brow raised but he didn’t inquire about the mystery person.

“If you want to keep practicing, stick to the drills I showed you. I’m going inside to check on the others.” He turned toward the store, leaving her alone.

Khalani wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead, the temperature quickly dropping, and only a faint hint of sunlight remained on the horizon.

She took a deep breath and resumed her stance, slowly going through the drills—slicing, thrusting, and jabbing forward—speeding up with each repetition.

Her movements were a bit sloppy, but she was confident that if an enemy appeared, she’d at least be able to nick them with the blade.

There was a quiet tension in the air and the hairs on her arms stood up. Before she could turn, a large hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream.

She thrust her right hand back, but her wrist was captured and squeezed tightly, forcing Khalani to release her grip on the blade and it clattered to the ground.

“He forgot to remind you to watch your back,” Takeshi tutted in her ear and shivers raced through her body.

Her backside was pressed flush against his front, her chest heaving with each breath as anger swept through her, barely overshadowing the warmth pooling in her stomach.

She tried to bite the hand covering her mouth, but he lowered his grip until his palm rested around her throat. Khalani tried to elbow him, but he wrapped his forearm around her, rendering her immobile.

“And you’ve already relinquished your weapon,” he softly continued, as if holding her utterly still was child’s play. “I should eviscerate your teacher on principle alone.”

“Jealous?” she seethed.

“Do you want me to detail the one hundred ninety-seven ways I thought of killing him, or the thousand ways I plan on punishing you?”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Keep provoking me, Kanes. See where that gets you.”

“Are you admitting that you care?” she prodded.

He lowered his head, his palm still resting on her neck. “You mistake caring for being annoyed that I have to retrain you. Your grip on the blade was all wrong. Your footwork looked like you were trying to dance rather than stab someone. At this point, you’re more likely to injure yourself than an enemy.”

“You sure that’s the only reason?”

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