ALTERED BY FIRE: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 1

by James Tate

  "Setting up a training space," Mace replies, jerking his head in the direction of the church. "He'll be expecting you in there soon, so you'd better eat quick."

  "Wait, we're training in the church? What if some little old lady comes in to light a prayer candle or something?" I ask, and Mace arches a brow at me. "I don't know. Isn't that what people do in churches?"

  "He's locked the door and put a sign out to say we're doing repairs for a couple of days. It's just safer, especially with you being here and all." Mace nods to my food. "Eat up. I want to help out before I need to go out." He glances at his watch and grunts. "Which is in less than an hour, so chop chop, Talia."

  "You … closed the church so you could train me?" I repeat, forking another load of food into my mouth and chewing quickly. "That seems extreme."

  Arsen barks another laugh at this, spinning around to face me so fast that egg goes flying off his spatula and hits the wall. "Extreme? Has no one really explained our mission to you, Miss Petrova? We're here to take down your Daddy's whole operation, sunshine. And then, once there are no commanders in place to take over, we will kill Daddy Petrov himself." He drags the spatula across his throat, as though it's a knife. "So, nothing is too extreme when it comes to corrupting his little princess. Is there, now?"

  "You mean … training. Right?" I hesitate, unsure of his meaning. "Because I'm fine to train, but I won't become involved in my Papa's business. Not now, not ever."

  Arsen gives me a totally unhinged smile. "We'll see about that, little princess."

  I open my mouth to argue, but Mace stops me with a huge hand on my wrist. "Eat, Talia. Ignore him."

  Grumbling, I do as I'm told because I really am hungry and for all his insanity, Arsen knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. That, and I have a bad feeling about why I would "need my strength" for whatever Hawke has planned.

  Quickly, I finish two thirds of my plate before groaning and pushing it away. My appetite is better than it’s been the last few days, but not even the healthiest version of me could finish all of that food.

  Mace pushes back his chair and holds out a hand to me, which I take.

  "Catch you later, Arsen," Mace mutters as he leads me out of the kitchen. I can't help myself: I glance over my shoulder and find Arsen's cruel, blue eyes locked on me with a stare so intense I physically shiver. He's up to something … and my stomach is in knots with anticipation wondering what it might be.

  "About time," Hawke snaps, breaking my line of thought as Mace and I enter the church. "Have you eaten sufficiently?"

  The question was for me, but it's Mace who replies. "She ate. Not enough, but better than before."

  "I can speak for myself, you know," I sulk, snatching my hand back from Mace's grip and folding my arms. I despise being treated like a child.

  Hawke spears me with a predatory glare. "Good. Get on the mat."

  Craning my neck past the two huge men, I see seven or eight pews have been cleared from the front of the church and thin blue training mats have been laid down. The other thing that catches my eye, though, is the web of ropes draped over the altar, which has been cleared of stuff.

  "What's that for?" I ask, my belly fluttering with nervous excitement.

  "For stretching," Hawke tells me, but his eyes flicker with mischief. "I want to do some hand-to-hand work with you first. So get on the mat, Natalia."

  "Yes, sir," I mutter sarcastically, brushing between the two men and strutting over to the middle of the blue mats. Once again, with both Hawke and Mace eyeing me like a prime rib or something, I wish I was in hot pants rather than sweats. Fucking sweats. So damn un-sexy.

  "Alright, Natalia." Hawke nods, sauntering over to join me on the mat, while Mace perches on the edge of the rope-covered altar to watch. "Have you ever learned to fight before? You handled yourself pretty well in the parking lot yesterday."

  "Uh, no." I shake my head, the memory of yesterday's attack taking the wind from my sails. "Papa taught me to shoot, but that was about it."

  Hawke nods again, thoughtfully. "Okay, let's see what we're working with then." He steps closer to me. "Punch me."

  "Uh …" I raise an eyebrow at him and take a nervous step back. "You want me to …"

  "Punch me. If you can." Hawke's words hold such challenge that my fists automatically curl. Did he seriously just imply I'm not capable of hitting him?

  "Fine." I hold my ground and raise my chin stubbornly. "Anywhere in particular?"

  "Lady’s choice," he mocks me, and my eyes narrow. He's doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me; I know this logically. But damn him, it's working.

  "Fine," I say again, tightening my fist and then whipping it out without warning to slam into Hawke's midsection. It's like hitting a fucking brick wall, and I scream in pain. "What the fuck?" I yell at him, clutching my hand to my chest and trying to bite back tears.

  "I see we have a lot of work to do," Hawke sighs, stepping closer and taking my aching hand in his to inspect. "You'll be fine. At least you kept your thumb on the outside."

  Scowling, I yank my hand away from him. "I'm not a total idiot."

  "No, just dumb enough to hit me in the least vulnerable part of my body. You hit like a little girl, too. We need to work on that." Hawke purses his lips, looking down on me. "This is going to be a long day."

  "Why do I even need to know this?" I demand like a petulant child. "I can shoot. Surely that's enough to keep me alive for a few days?"

  Hawke walks away from me, towards some equipment beside the mat, but when I say this, he pauses and looks back at me. "A few days?" he repeats. "What happens after that?"

  I shrug. I hadn't really meant to say that out loud, but it’s been a tiring few days. "I'll be dead. That's what. You can't think Dmitri and the others would be the only attempt Papa will make to take me back?"

  "And … you think he’ll kill you?" Hawke queries me, his eyes narrowed.

  A humorless, bitter sounding laugh chuckles out of me. "Unfortunately, I don't. Not for a long, long time, anyway. That's why I'll kill myself before I let him get to me."

  Hawke simply stares at me for a long, tense moment, then gives a short nod and turns away to pick up some punching pads. "I see. Well, then we best get started."

  He returns to me, his face closed-off and cold, holding out a pair of gloves which I strap on without another word. I have a feeling he’s the kind of guy who’d try to talk me out of suicide, so his lack of response is … confusing.

  "Let's begin," Hawke instructs me. "Hit the pads one after another until I say stop."

  Biting the inside of my lip to keep my trap shut, I nod my understanding and move as he tells me to. For what feels like hours, we continue like this. Me doing what Hawke says, and him correcting little things as we go. My stance, the angle of my elbow, the shift of my hips as I throw a punch … the whole thing is utterly exhausting, but even I have to admit I'm making improvements.

  Hawke seems to agree, but getting compliments out of him is like squeezing blood from a stone, I’m learning. Whether he does or not, he eventually calls an end to the drills he has me running, and I collapse into a boneless heap on the mat.

  "Get up, Natalia," he orders me sharply, tossing his pads aside and strapping on gloves of his own. "No rest. You need to put these new skills into practical use."

  "What do you mean?" I groan, reluctantly rolling to my feet. I get my answer when Hawke throws a punch at my face which I just barely manage to dodge in time to avoid a broken nose.

  "What the fuck, Hawke?" I yell. "That's fighting dirty! I wasn't ready!"

  "Natalia, sweets. We're for-hire mercenaries and assassins. Not the fucking NYPD. All we do is fight dirty." Hawke gives me a grim smile, bouncing lightly on his toes as I circle away from him. "Besides, you need to learn what it feels like to be hit. If you know what to expect, you'll hesitate less in battle. You won't lock-up with fright. Knowledge of pain might save your life one day."

  "So what?" I rage. "I'm supposed
to just let you punch me?"

  "No," he smirks. "You're supposed to fight back. If you can."

  My eyes narrow, and I curl my lip in anger. Hawke doesn't leave time for me to reply as he darts in close and throws another punch at me, this time aimed at my midsection. I dodge and stumble, but his knuckles still glance off my ribs.

  I cry out with pain. He sure as shit isn't fucking around, and as much as my ribs are hurting, it could’ve been a whole lot worse if he'd landed the full force on me. He was right though, for a second there when his knuckles connected, and white-hot pain flared, I froze.

  "Come on, Natalia," he taunts me. "You can hit back if you want. It'll make you feel better about the beating you're going to take from me."

  Sweat drips down my spine, and I lock my jaw, refusing to be baited. It’s what he wants, for me to lose control and forget everything he's been teaching me all day. I watch enough action movies to know how these things roll.

  I will take him up on the offer to hit back, though. Using my smaller size, I duck under a lazy fist he throws in my direction and jab a sharp punch into his side. I’m banking on the fact that he might have somewhat less muscle coverage at the side, but I'm thwarted when it feels like I'm hitting rock.

  Hawke chuckles and returns the favor with a hit to my gut which I have no hope of dodging. His closed fist meets my weak abdominal muscles and the air rushes out of me as I fall to the floor.

  "Get up, Natalia," Hawke orders, but there’s a trace of mocking in his voice. "I didn't even hit you that hard. Come on."

  I'm incapable of words as I clutch my belly and try to find my breath again, but I'm nothing if not a stubborn bitch, so I push back to my feet and glare at Hawke. My trainer. Call me crazy, but when the guys had said Hawke would be training me today, I'd sort of thought he'd be training me in something else. Something requiring a whole lot less clothing and hopefully the inclusion of those ropes on the altar.

  I heave a sigh. Yeah, pretty sure I was wrong on that front. These bastards really do mean to train me in how to fight.

  Hawke and I circle each other, trading a few more blows for a while until my whole body feels black and blue. Hawke's strike rate compared to mine is laughable, but that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?

  "Okay, I'm done," I declare, collapsing onto the mat. My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps and I'm drenched in sweat. Not to mention the fact that my body feels like it's been shoved in a barrel and tossed over Niagara Falls. Everything hurts.

  "We're not done yet," Hawke tells me and I groan. He's standing over me and unstrapping his gloves. The fucker isn't even sweating! "Hop up, it's time to stretch out your muscles or you'll lock up tomorrow." I let out a dramatic sob, but take his hand when he offers it to me, pulling me up from the mat.

  "You'll need to remove your sweats," Hawke continues, leading me over to the altar which this morning I'd seriously thought was set for some kinky bondage sex play. Now, though, I’m pretty sure it’s as boring as Hawke said. Stretching. "I need to be able to see your muscles."

  Fighting a smile, because I'm a dirty bitch who’s still thinking about sex, I drop my sweatpants and strip my shirt off. This leaves me in just my panties and sports bra, and I hear a low whistle from the choir balcony.

  "Don't mind me," Arsen snickers, perched on the edge of the railing. "Just came to watch."

  Hawke flicks a glance up to him and grunts a noise in his throat. "Ignore him. I do. Come on, hop up." He taps the flat top of the altar with the palm of his hand, and I climb up as gracefully as I can manage.

  "Uh, isn't this a little bit sacrilegious?" I tease, laying down on my back the way Hawke indicates.

  "What? Using the church altar to stretch you out?" Hawke puts an odd emphasis on that word that has my mind straight back in the gutter. "Considering Arsen is sitting up there in the choir balcony wearing his priestly robes while smoking a cigarette, this isn’t near as bad, right?"

  I smile, remembering the sacrilegious things I did with Colt only a few nights ago. "You're right. Proceed, oh great combat master. Give me your worst."

  "Careful what you wish for, Natalia," he chuckles, moving around the altar to take one of my wrists. He extends my arm away from my body and secures it with the rope attached to the top corner. The cord is soft, silken, and I suspect it’s been borrowed from somewhere else within the church. Too bad Mace left hours ago. I’m already missing him, and I’d like to see his reaction to this, see if his eyes might sparkle with lust, or his pants tent in excitement.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, a little breathlessly as he takes my other wrist and does the same to that side. The angles tug a little at my muscles, but it’s basically just like an intense pilates workout so far.

  Hawke gives me a little smirk, but doesn't respond as he moves around to my feet and then climbs up onto the flat surface with me and grasps one of my ankles. He locks eyes with me as he lifts my leg up high, straightening my knee and pushing my leg closer and closer to my face.

  Silly Hawke must not have done his homework on the mob princess, though, as he looks impressed with the range of flexibility in my leg.

  "Keep going," I tell him when my ankle is mere inches from my face. "Fifteen years of ballet and gymnastics, I can take it harder."

  His eyes flare with interest and he pushes me further until my foot touches the altar beside my head. He holds it there for a long moment, his body pressing down on top of me and his gaze locked on mine. This is exciting him, I can tell by the hard bulge pressing against my crotch, and I let out a small sigh of arousal.

  "This was a bad idea," he mutters, releasing my leg and swapping for the other one. "All I want to do is tie you down, spread you wide open right here, and sink my dick inside you."

  "So?" I gasp as he presses my other leg up in a stretch. "Do it."

  Hawke's eyes narrow as his weight bears down on me and his hard cock brushes against my throbbing center again. "You actually mean that, don't you?" he murmurs with curiosity. "You actually want me to tie you down and fuck you here on this church altar."

  His words alone send a heady rush of excitement through me, and I moan. "Fuck yes. Don't make me beg for it, Hawke."

  He sucks in a deep breath, releasing my leg and kneeling between my spread thighs. "You are awfully hard to say no to, Natalia …" he ponders aloud, stroking his thumbs under the waistband of my black cotton panties. Thankfully, he must be just as turned-on as I am right now, because he drags the damp fabric down my legs and tosses them aside.

  Amusingly, from the corner of my eye, I see them hit a carved wooden statue of an angel and hang over her face like a blindfold. I don't waste time laughing at it though, as Hawke grasps my ankle in his firm grip and winds rope around it.

  "Maybe I should have made you beg," he mutters as he works, looping the cord over and over around my skin, bending my leg and linking my ankle to the back of my thigh. He then proceeds to tie me directly to the altar itself. Suffice to say that by the time he's finished replicating this on the other side, I'm not only spread wide open and so secure I can barely move an inch, I'm also soaking wet with arousal.

  "Wait," I pant as he tosses his shirt off and goes for his pants. "Will you wear the robe?"

  Hawke pauses, looking down at me with an eyebrow raised. "Seriously?” He sighs, and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them back up, they’re burning with lustful shadows. “Well, I don’t see why not. Wait here." He chuckles and disappears from view, presumably to fetch his priestly robe. Fuck me, just the idea of being pounded by Hawke's thick cock while he's in disguise almost has me coming right here without stimulation.

  I lie there for what feels like ages, spread open with my pussy aimed right up at the stained-glass angels of the windows. They smile down on me, serene, and I think even a little mischievous … We've all heard stories of angels corrupting human women, so I like to think those bastards would enjoy this show.

  Hawke's footsteps announce his arrival befor
e he climbs back up onto the altar to kneel between my outstretched and bound thighs. He's done exactly as I asked, and thrown on his billowy black robe and even included the little white collar. Below the collar, he's left the robe open and I can see the chiseled expanse of his body, covered in swirling ink all the way down. All the way down. The only part of his body from neck to knee that isn't illustrated is his big beautiful penis which stands proudly out of the cloth as though straining to be inside me.

  "Fuck," I breathe, taking him in with wide eyes. "I missed out on this view last time."

  "Natalia," he snaps, arching a brow at me. "No more talking. Or do I need to gag you?"

  Licking my lips, I shake my head. "No, Father."

  This seems to tip his control, and he launches at me, grasping my rope covered thighs and thrusting his tip just inside me before swearing and pulling back.

  "What—" I start to say, then remember the no talking rule. Hawke growls a noise, digging in one of the deep pockets of his robe and pulling out a condom. With savage efficiency he tears it free from the packet and rolls it down his length, smoothing his hand a few times along his shaft once it’s on.

  It's a bit twisted of me, given none of us have engaged in the safe-sex talk, but I kind of wish he’d ride me bareback. There’s just something … extra about it. Maybe it’s the danger? The unknown risk? Especially when they come inside me like Arsen, Weston, and Colt had. Then again, it’s all just an illusion of risk when likely, I’ll be dead by month’s end. No time to develop any pesky diseases or pregnancies.

  Hawke's oblivious to my sinful thoughts though, as he returns his tip to my opening and pushes inside ever so slowly.

  I groan at the exquisite torture of it, as he slides into me bit by bit. I want to beg, scream, cry out for more. But Hawke has a mean streak, and I just know he'd do the opposite, so I bite my lip and moan as he fills me with his dick.

  Eventually, he's in and my cunt clenches around him, hugging him tight, making him groan.

  "Jesus Christ, Natalia. Your pussy is like a clamp; it makes me want to blow my load right now." He withdraws halfway and pumps back in with absolutely zero urgency. It's utterly maddening, and I'm panting so hard I'm starting to see stars. "Good thing I'm no amateur." He gives me a wicked grin and adjusts his position so that he's sort of kneeling, his legs spread wide for balance and his cock still firmly entrenched inside me.