Page 20 of Shaman

The knot in Ian’s stomach eased. “Gentlemen,” he greeted. “Expanding?” he asked, with a gesture to the building.

“Business is good,” Ghost said, flicking his cigarette away across the pavement. “This is gonna be the new body shop.” His gaze moved between the two of them. “You two sure you wanna do this?”

Alec scuffed a toe across the tarmac.

Ian snorted. “Yes. Why, planning to let your monster kill us?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Mercy.

Mercy laughed.

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Nah. He’s wearing his choke chain today.”

“I resent that, boss.”

“Tough shit.” Ghost looked at Alec, specifically, assessing. “You up for this?”

Alec’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Ghost smiled. “’Sir.’ I like that. He’s got more respect than some people.” His reprimanding look included Ian, Mercy, and Aidan.

“Whatever,” Aidan groaned. “Come in and get suited up.”

~*~

“I didn’t think you meant anactualsuit,” Ian muttered, eyeing the military grade tactical vest Ghost had shoved into his hands. It was heavier than it looked, filled with panels that housed ceramic armor.

“It’s a vest, not a suit,” Ghost corrected, “and you’re gonna want to put it on.”

“Planning to shoot me?”

“No. He’s planning to throw you up against that wall,” Ghost said in a bored tone, pointing to Mercy.

“Oh, please,” Ian scoffed…but he tugged the vest on over his head. Which of course displaced his beanie, and meant he had to tuck stray long wisps of hair back up into its band. “Why do I get the feeling,” he said, glancing at Mercy’s anticipatory grin, “that this is just an opportunity for you lot to rough me up for the fun of it?”

“Hey now. We’re assholes, but we’re notdouchebags,” Aidan said.

“There’s a difference?” Alec asked. He was fiddling unsuccessfully with the straps of his own vest, looking more than a little hesitant about what was to come.

“Assholes are mean ‘cause they have to be,” Ghost said, coming to stand in front of them, hands clasped loosely behind him and chin lifted like a general inspecting his troops. “Douchebags are mean ‘cause they think it’s fun. Now.” He cleared his throat with a note of formality. “Are we here to learn self-defense, or what?”

Ian aimed for bored, but sounded unsteady when he said, “Yes.”

~*~

It became immediately apparent that, though Ian was good at many things, grappling with a would-be assailant wasn’t one of them. His long arms and legs and all his years of ballet training should have been assets – and maybe they would be, eventually – but at the moment, he was nothing but a flinching, flailing mess. And to add insult to injury, he was sparring with Aidan, who he’d anticipated being less of a challenge than the gargantuan Mercy.

“You’re not boxing,” Ghost said as he paced around them. “This isn’t a gentleman’s sport. There’s no rules, and no bell, and no ref. When you’re fighting for your life, the other guy’s gonna kick you in the nuts, gouge out your eyes, and stick a knife in you. That’s if he doesn’t shoot you first.”

Aidan – who’d been circling with his hands open and out to the side – chose that moment to lunge.

Ian managed to sidestep, but Aidan caught the strap of his vest and yanked him off balance. He stumbled, and Aidan wound up behind him, an arm around his throat, digging into his windpipe. Ian coughed against the pressure and reached to grab Aidan’s arm with both hands…but it was too late. Aidan had the leverage advantage.

Ian gritted his teeth and huffed in frustration. He was brilliant, damn it. This shouldn’t be so hard.

Ghost stopped in front of him, head cocked to the side, expression unreadable. “You’ve spent too much time with a driver and a bodyguard. You’ve gotten soft and careless.”

“I am not…careless,” Ian hissed as he gasped for breath.

“So prove it,” Ghost challenged. “If a guy got you like this, what would you do?”

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