Page 20 of Cruel Russian Pakhan
“Follow me,” I said, gruffly, and exited the room.
Behind me, I heard the door close and her footsteps following. No way was I walking behind her when she was dressed like that. I just hoped my gym shorts offered enough coverage that I wouldn't embarrass myself.
But you don’t like her, remember? She’s the enemy. Only here to serve a purpose.
True—but, she’s also a woman, and a damn beautiful one. I’m a red-blooded man, not a monk. And when it came to Vera, my brain and body didn't always share the same agenda.
At the gym, I opened the door and let her walk in first. My eyes struggled to stay above her waist as she walked past, but I lost the fight. I took in the slight sway of her ass as she walked before forcing my eyes upward and walking into the gym.
I stepped into the ring and held the ropes open for her. Once we were both inside, I turned to face her.
“I’m going to run through a few moves. Let’s see how you respond.”
She nodded with a light smile, but her body was tense.
I started with the basics: wrist grabs, a bear hug from behind, a light chokehold from the front and back. Then we moved to pad work; I let her throw punches, tested her reaction time with quick taps to her shoulders and arms.
She failed every single one.
There was no way she was faking it. She fought back, sure, but not like someone trained. Her movements were frantic and wild, like in the van, not calculated and precise. Her reactions were based on instinct, not skill.
Artyom hadn’t trained her.
And that disgusted me more than I expected.
“I was horrible, wasn't I?”
Vera's question pulled me out of my thoughts, and I looked at her. She was biting her lower lip and wringing her hands.
“Nothing that can't be fixed if you really want to learn. You do want to learn, right?”
If Vera didn't have any desire to learn, our sessions would be futile.
She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I want to learn.”
“Good. And because you're a woman doesn't mean I'll go easy on you.”
Because enemies didn't care. They'd see her as a weak link and take her out first.
“I didn't expect you to.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Now, are we going to train, or are you going to stand there talking?”
For the next hour and a half, I kept our training focused on basic self-defense drills: how to stand her ground, keep her balance, and fall without hurting herself. We practiced breaking out of wrist grabs, bear hugs and chokeholds. At first, her movements were clumsy, but she listened, focused, and didn’t complain. Then I had her dodge swinging pads, and taught her footwork patterns. Halfway through, I saw how tired she was, but she didn't quit. She kept pushing herself past her limits, and I couldn't help but feel proud of her.
At the end, we ran through a few cooldown stretches before I tossed her a towel.
“I’ll be back at your room in thirty minutes. You’re having breakfast with me.”
Before she could respond, I turned and walked out of the gym without looking back. I needed to put some distance between us, needed to get my damn head straight. Watching the sweat glisten on her skin, and down the path between her breasts, had my thoughts drifting places they had no business going. At least not yet.
I got to my room, took a cold shower, and threw on my suit. Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed and pacing like a damn lunatic. I didn’t understand it. I'd just spent over an hour with her, yet I already wanted to see her again. I didn’t do ‘feelings’ or relationships. I never had the need. With one phone call, I could have any woman I wanted. Maybe that was it; it was just sexual tension. We’d been in the same house for over a week, and the only time I’d kissed her was to seal our wedding vows.
But I couldn’t afford to get distracted. She was still a Rykov, still the key to taking down Artyom. And if I let myself forget that for even a second, it could cost me everything.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, I unlocked Vera's door, then knocked. As much as I wanted to barge in like I had that morning, I needed time to compose myself before I saw her. I stood there longer than I should have. And just when I was about to grab the handle to enter the room, the door opened.
She stood there in fitted dark jeans and a black top that clung to her like a second skin. The dip at her chest drew my gaze before I could stop it. She wore simple sandals on her feet, her soft curls brushing her shoulders.
I extended my elbow to her. She hesitated, then took it, and I led us toward the dining room in silence.
