Page 39 of Vitaly

My fist connects with his mouth in a jab before I bounce back on my toes, feeling powerful from the surprised look he gives me. It was a sucker punch, but it sent the message I wanted.

Shut thefuckup.

When he doesn’t put his hands up, I lunge forward with two jabs to his abdomen followed by an uppercut that he takes without lifting his hands. I fall back, a rush of endorphins giving me a surge of energy.

“Fight, you pussy,” I sneer, my fists in front of my face, watching carefully for his to raise so I can wait for the best possible moment to deflect. That’s all I have to do to get that big bundle of muscle on the floor. From there, I won’t stop. I’ll kick and kick and kick until he relents. Until he admits that I’ve won.

I was too angry when we were back at his cabin. I couldn’t think straight. I had no plan of attack, nobrain power.

Now I’ve got this motherfucker.

He keeps his hands down, eyeing me like I’m a wild animal he doesn’t know how to approach. I hop in closer, ready to catch him off guard, but instead of landing the punch he’s expecting, I swing my leg toward his liver with a howl.

His hand moves so fast, I don’t register it until it’s too late. Confusion sets for a split second when he grasps my ankle, oxygen bursting from my lungs as he flips my leg over—thusme—and sends me to the ground. I catch myself by my palms, but it’s still a hard land on my sore ribs. I cringe in pain but bite back the groan, pressing my forehead to the cold floor.

I’m done. I can feel Vitaly standing over me, waiting for me to get up, but the pain that radiates from my ribs from the fall makes me feel too vulnerable.

Vitaly crouches and puts a hand on my shoulder. I try to shrug it off, but he doesn’t move it, and shame prevents me from speaking.

“You’re right,” he says, his soft voice more insulting than if he’d sneered. “You’re a talented woman with a knife, and maybe you could even hold your own against some men. You have some usefulness as a soldier, if that’s what you really want. With a bit more direction, I have no doubt you could be great, but as it stands… I would be shocked if you weren’t dead in your first fight against anyone with a brain or a gun. The other night, that man had your life in his hands, and I’m not sure he had either.”

My body feels like it’s made of lead as I close my eyes against the weight of Vitaly’s words. They don’t sting, they injure. Far worse than any kick would. His words are a gunshot to the abdomen. They steal my breath, clog my throat.

Seconds pass while I wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. His hand remains on my shoulder while he leans in close.

“Get up.”

No.

He stands and nudges my leg with his shoe. “Let’s go,soldier.”

Soldier?

Is hemockingme?

The pain furling my stomach moves to my chest where it thaws into anger. Opening my eyes, I plant both palms on the floor and slowly push myself up, climbing to my feet before turning around to glare at Vitaly.

He doesn’t smirk or gloat like I expect. His expression is neutral, even as his eyes dip down my body and back to my face again.

He steps up so we’re a mere foot apart again. Our height difference wasn’t so striking to me last time, but with his shoulders squared, he seems to tower over me now, enough that I stand up as straight as I can, my neck craned to sneer up at him.

“Hit me,” he commands.

I rear back, squinting.

“I’m not going to hit you back,” he says, as if I’m worried about that. As if I haven’t taken a beating before. As if I didn’t take a beating due to his actions just yesterday.

I don’t care about my body. I care about my pride. He’s already wounded it.

Nails digging into my palms, I rear back my fist and drive it toward his nose, putting all my weight into the punch. But before I make contact, Vitaly's grasp on my wrist stops me an inch from connecting with him. My momentum sends me stumbling forward, falling against his rock-solid chest before jumping back and jerking my wrist from him.

“You’re staring right at your target.” He shakes his head with disapproval. “And you'reslow. You make a face that shows exactly what you’re planning on doing, and then you puteverything you have into executing it. Then what? You have no plan for what happens if you miss, do you? Or if I catch you?”

“You just said to hit you,” I snarl. “Obviously, it wasn’t going to come as a surprise.”

He cranes his neck as he peers at the ceiling and seems to consider this. “If you told me to hityou, do you think you could block my punch?” he asks, returning his gaze to me.

I stare for a moment, keeping my face neutral, but inside I feel uncertain. Block a punch? I don’t know that I’ve ever tried to block a punch before. Certainly not consciously. I imagine that would’ve resulted in a much worse beating.

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