Page 79 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
Following Kade to the training facility, I step into the vast room, my jaw dropping.
The space stretches before me—5,000 square feet of reinforced mats, impact-resistant walls, and hidden weapon deployment points tucked into strategic corners.
Kade stands in the center, his presence commanding the entire room. "Center of the mat, Bennett."
I bristle at his tone but comply, moving to join him. His intense blue eyes scan me from head to toe, assessing every detail of my stance.
"First lesson," he rumbles. "Situational awareness. In our world, threats come from everywhere."
My eyes dart around. "Like that camera in the corner? Or the hidden door behind the equipment rack?"
A flicker of approval crosses his face. "Good catch. Now, show me what you've got."
Without warning, he launches a controlled strike toward my midsection. I sidestep, deflect his arm, and counter.
He easily evades. "Not bad. Carlos Martinez taught you?"
"Jenny's father," I confirm, maintaining eye contact. "After she died."
Understanding flashes in Kade's eyes. "He gave you fundamentals. What I'm teaching you goes beyond self-defense—this is about survival against trained killers."
"I can handle myself," I insist, chin lifting.
Kade's mouth twitches. "Prove it."
I thrust forward with a quick jab. He moves like liquid, sidestepping with preternatural speed. Before I can react, I'm face-down on the mat, arm twisted behind my back, his weight pinning me.
"Good instincts," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "But predictable. A real operator would have you dead before you realized you were in danger."
Heat flushes through me—anger, embarrassment, and something else entirely.
"Don't let your previous success go to your head." He releases me. "You weren't exactly facing elite assassins at the restaurant."
I scramble up, face burning. "I handled myself fine."
"Three amateurs in a crowded dim sum place with flying plates and screaming customers?" His lips quirk. "Those idiots couldn't hit the broad side of a dumpling cart."
Despite my frustration, a laugh escapes me. "Fine. So teach me something useful."
His eyes darken. "You'll regret asking for that."
For the next thirty minutes, Kade demonstrates techniques I've never seen before—pressure points that drop opponents instantly, strikes that bypass conventional blocks, counter-intuitive movements that use an attacker's momentum against them.
"This is for when someone has a knife." He positions himself behind me. His arm encircles my waist, pulling me flush against his hard chest. "They won't telegraph the attack like in movies."
He guides my hand to his wrist. "Feel this? If someone grabs you here, your instinct is to pull away. Don't. Instead—"
He rotates my body suddenly, and I twist his arm in a direction that makes him vulnerable.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "That actually works."
"Marine combat technique. Most people never see it coming. Carlos never taught you that? Interesting oversight." He rubs his jaw, still looking impressed.
I shrug, feeling a tiny spark of pride. "Not exactly standard curriculum for an investigative journalist. Usually I'm behind a camera or notebook, not taking down suspects. Though lately..." I trail off, thinking about how my path has taken some unexpected turns.
We move through a series of drills, each more complex than the last. Despite my stubborn pride, I'm impressed. Carlos taught me to fight dirty, Kade is teaching me to fight lethal.
"Again," he commands when I fail to execute a particularly complex evasion. "You're overthinking it."
