by Ellen, Tracy
“Yes, you’ll love it, but listen up and learn, butterfly,” he ordered brusquely.
His eyes had lingered on my shimmy, but the nose and the voice were doing that arrogant thing. Add his way with a shrug to the list, and I was convinced Luke’s arrogance was ingrained in his DNA from a long-dead descendant, and it wasn’t Spartacus. Grow Luke’s hair out in dreads, throw him on a trick pony from the steppes, and my guess was he’s a dead ringer to Genghis Khan.
Was it wrong to be turned on by this speculation?
I couldn’t imagine why it would be, either, since everything else about this sneaky Mongol got me hot.
Wriggling on the hard bar stool, I smiled to show I was listening up.
Luke’s eyes followed the wriggle, too, but he continued speaking without comment, “Training inexperienced beginners, I instruct them to forget everything they think they know about hand-to-hand fighting. If they believe the fighting they’ve seen in the movies or TV is anything like real life, they’re going to get their asses stomped.” His hand waved in my direction. “You’ve been in real fights, so you have an advantage. You know it’s true when I say that most fights happen in a blur and are over within a few seconds of beginning. The winner is usually the person throwing the first punch, and the combatants fight close-in with fists and elbows.” He added dryly, “Fancy roundhouse kicks look great and karate chopping a piece of wood in half was a handy skill when men wore wooden armor on their chests, but not so much when you find yourself in the middle of a bar brawl.”
Clasping a hand around my knee, I nodded in agreement at the logic of Luke’s words while raptly watching him center stage and in his element.
“Our task is to hone your natural instincts to use situational awareness to your advantage. To start, I’m going to teach you a few Krav Maga moves. I hope to Christ you never have to use them, but our goal is for you to strike fast and hard. We want you to disable your opponent long enough, so that you can get away safely from any fight.” At my moue of disgust at the thought of running away, Luke smiled a little. “Don’t give me that look, Anabel. Unless you plan on killing every person you may ever fight, and by the way, that is not an option because the police tend to frown on that, then getting the hell away is what will keep you alive.” He added forcefully, “And that is the only thing that matters, understand?”
“Yes, my magnificent war-god,” I answered meekly.
He crossed his arms, biceps bulging most distractingly, and stared hard at me with glinting eyes, his mouth a cruel line. I shivered at the sight of all that frowning muscled maleness and was barely able to stop myself from launching off the stool again.
I crossed a hand over my heart. “I swear to strike hard and fast and then run like a cheetah.”
Luke uncrossed his arms. “Good. I would never tell you to not kill to defend your life, but not all situations are life or death.” His mouth turned up on the side, “But then again, some are. We’ll also practice with your gun because I want you threat focused shooting.” Seeing the confusion on my face, he shook his head and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, it’s just another name for point shooting.”
I didn’t know for sure what that was either and figured I’d find out soon enough, but Luke must have read this thought, too, because he explained, “Point shooting is what you did to Gustav Hammerschmidt in your attic. It’s shooting at a close target without sighting. If you ever need to shoot somebody again, your dexterity and hand-eye coordination at drawing your pistol and hitting where you aim will be vastly improved by these drills. You will know what you’re doing.”
“Or at least what to call it,” I muttered, last night’s nightmare about the Hammer still too fresh for me to be complacent at the thought.
Smiling broadly, Luke stood up. “In other words, I’m going to work your ass off making you practice until you beg me to stop,” he rubbed his hands together, “and then that’s when we’ll really get started on the lessons.”
Looking up at the diabolical smile wreathing Luke’s hard face, I thought, ‘Yep, I’m spot on with the Genghis Khan because Spartacus would never treat a weekend sex slave this way.’
I took a deep breath, excited but also a little nervous over that smile. “One request, please?”
Luke’s brow arched. “Just one request? Really?”
Hopping off my stool, I giggled. “Yes. I’ll do whatever you say and work very hard, but please,” hands together, I bowed my head, “please, Sensei, don’t make me lift weights or do anything else in my training that causes a woman to have those big, tall neck muscles!”
“You mean the trapezius?’ Luke asked, arching a surprised brow.
“Whatever, sure.” I shuddered. “Deal?”
“Deal, no tall trapezius muscles for my tiny Princess.” He did a roll of his arm and pointed to the indoor track, “Let’s start with some laps…”
True to his word, Genghis II ran me ragged for the next hour while he evaluated and recorded notes on his phone. I jogged, sprinted, and ran. I did push-ups, pull-ups, chin-ups, and lifted weights. I punched, kicked, elbowed, and head butted. I even did back bends, toe touches, jumping jacks, and the splits. I still believe those last few were ordered for Luke’s viewing pleasure, despite his grinning assurances to the contrary.
After we were done indoors, Luke led me out behind the silo where he had set up a gun range in an empty, plowed field. Different sizes of paper plates with numbers written large in black marker were tacked to backboards and mounted on hay bales. The bales were spread out at intervals of several feet and within varying distances from where we stood. The paper plates looked new and untouched. Smiling inside, I realized Luke must have set this up this morning while I slept.
We briefly revisited gun safety and then he explained today’s first exercise.
Luke called it a point shoot drill. It started with the Ruger unloaded. Luke called out the number one target straight ahead and about fifteen feet away. I closed my eyes while visualizing the center of the plate and pointed the handgun, my finger next to the trigger, but not on it.
Opening my eyes—the sights should be lined up exactly where I aimed. At this range, Luke said it should be no more than a couple inches off center-target. I was a few inches high and to the left, so we talked about how to compensate my grip to fit the gun to improve accuracy.
The next drill Luke called rapid firing. My gun loaded, I started in the safe-carry position, or the gun lowered at my left side. I practiced drawing the gun up and firing several shots at one target in a close contact position only a few feet away, without pausing or sighting. I’d correct and adjust my speed and aim for accuracy after each grouping of shots. It took awhile, but I could steadily see improvement in what Luke called the “good hits”, as I learned a pace that worked for me.
From rapid firing at just one target, I moved onto shooting a single round, close contact drill. Luke had set up three separate targets spaced a few feet apart. For the next half hour, Luke stood behind my right side and loudly shouted out commands that I could hear over the ear protectors. I point shot once at whichever paper plate number he called out of three targets while moving back and forth on the range. The goal of this drill was to point shoot slow enough to be accurate to hit the plate, and then work on building up my speed.
After the drills were finished, Luke observed critically while I broke down and cleaned the Ruger. I’ve only had this gun from NanaBel for a couple of weeks, so I was happy for any tips he had.
My left arm was shaky and weak from the long drills and the unaccustomed motion, but I’d live. This was the most fun I’ve ever had at any target practice.
My first self defense lesson complete, I also had the unique experience of getting thoroughly French kissed in the shadows of a brick silo by my instructor. The kisses were interspersed with murmurs of praise for a job well done. When Luke raised his head and released me from his spell, I kept my eyes closed. Body supported by the rough brick at my back, I lifted my fa
ce to the warm sun. Luke’s finger traced lightly over my lips that felt deliciously swollen and still stung from his biting mouth.
After a quiet moment, he said, “When you’re out with Pam today, I want you to call me every hour. I…we,” Luke amended with a smile in his voice, and I kissed his finger without opening my eyes, “need to have a system to verify you’re safe.”
I sighed at reality intruding, but nodded and murmured, “Good point. Do you think I’m an idiot to leave the farm?”
“I’d prefer to keep you locked in the basement until this person is caught,” Luke replied seriously, “but you won’t agree to that happening, so while I wouldn’t call you an idiot, it’s not safe, either. If the person is local that hired Webster and they see you alive today…”
Luke didn’t need to complete this thought and I hurried to ask, “Have you heard anything from Dickie or from your guy at that farm house?”
“Nobody showed up at the farm and I’ll let you know if I hear from Webster.”
“That would be great, thanks,” I replied, relieved. “What safety system did you have in mind?”
I felt Luke’s shrug under my stroking hand on his arm. “A simple OK text works for me.”
My eyes flew open and I scrambled to stand straight. “Or how about code words that only we know? If I’m captured, and I don’t say this exact word, you’ll know I’m being held under duress. Then maybe you can triangulate my cell phone location based on all your Batman gadgets downstairs!”
“Or how about I’ll just put on my cape and fly to your rescue?” Luke hugged me close for a second before looking down into my upturned face, his green eyes sparkling.
His tone was pretty close to sarcastic but didn’t cross the line, so I laughed. “Well, duh, that’s the plan. If I don’t text you the code E for Empress and you don’t respond with Khan; you’ll fly to my rescue and I’ll fly to yours.”
“That’s the plan, huh? You’ll rescue me, too?” He smiled slowly, teeth startling white against his dark skin and black stubble.
“Of course, we’re partners.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you calling me a con?”
My face was innocent. “Why would I ever call you a con?” I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him in return. “It’s K for Khan, as in Genghis, ruler of all.”
Luke laughed, curtly gesturing his agreement with his ancestor’s nose and a small pat on my ass. “Okay, now you’re talking.”
A few minutes later in the barn, I was somewhat surprised that I didn’t have to convince my favorite satyr to allow me to shower alone, but he threw me the keys to the house without a word. Luke stripped to the waist and starting his own workout.
He didn’t hide his small smile when he glanced at me sideways and saw I stood rooted in place, staring transfixed at his ripped upper body. The tattoo on his chest was healed and I wanted a closer look, but forced myself to leave the barn. Back in Luke’s bedroom and bathing solo, I was still trying to understand why I felt deprived when I got what I wanted.
At 11:30, I added the final touch to my toilette by slipping back on my rings. I’d taken extra pains with my hair and make-up. After feeling so sweaty and bedraggled since last night, looking ultra-feminine and smelling sweet could no longer be taken for granted. I felt a kindred spirit with the refugees of the world and made a mental note to discuss a charitable foundation idea with Mr. Barkley, or perhaps James Byrd. I’m sure Anna would love to do some more volunteer work in her spare time.
Chuckling evilly at the thought of her face, I strolled into the kitchen and was picking at a lone croissant left in the bakery box when Luke came in the back door.
“Perfect timing, I was just going to come find you,” I called out, looking through the rest of the pastry offerings and trying to decide which would tide me over until lunch. At the silence, I finally glanced over at the back entry to see Luke checking me out from the door.
I shook my head and wagged my finger. “Oh no, I recognize that look and I’m all ready to go to lunch.” Today, my long hair was down and straight. I was wearing a short black dress with a high round neckline and a fitted waist, and black suede boots. The fabric of the dress was a Lycra knit, so it didn’t wrinkle, but it did cling tightly to my body in all the right places. Motioning down my body, I stated, “You had your chance at this, but stayed in the barn.”
Luke didn’t say anything, just stalked towards me.
“No, no, no!” Backing away towards the dining room, I laughed and said, “No muss, no fuss!”
His smile was sharp and predatory, his tail was snapping. “Back in the barn, you didn’t smell so good or look so hot like you do now.” He ignored my outraged choke of laughter, his gaze running down my dress. He cocked a black brow. “Stockings again, and lace.” He murmured,. “I warned you about stockings, Anabel.”
“These are delicate tights that I don’t want ripped off me. Plus, you don’t smell so hot right now yourself!” I retorted sassily, quickly putting the dining room table between us. I noticed it was of the Danish Modern style and not to my taste, but I didn’t let that stop me from using it as a buffer zone while taunting, “So, ha to you, Mr. Sweatyballs!”
Luke placed a hand near the middle of the table and vaulted across my buffer zone to land right next to me. It happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to move before his hand tilted up my chin and I was staring up, agog, into glinting eyes.
“You were saying?”
‘Who cares what you were saying! Quit talking and vault his pole!’ screeched the sex kitten voice.
His skin glowed golden with a healthy sheen. The athletic devil didn’t really smell sweaty, he smelled all rugged male. I bet he’d taste salty and…
I shook my head to dislodge the mind control. “I was saying that Pam wants to know if I am meeting her in Faribault or should she leave now to pick me up here?”
Until Pam called me a few minutes ago, I hadn’t remembered that I didn’t have my jeep here at the farm. Being trapped with no wheels was alarming enough but at my question, a fleeting expression of dismay passed over Luke’s face and he let go of my chin.
Interpreting his look to be discomfort at me taking his truck, I tried not to sound offended when I said, “Hey, no problem. I’ll call Pam and have her pick me up then.”
I walked around the table and back into the kitchen to grab my phone on the counter. Luke followed me and caught my arm.
Running a hand through his hair, he said quickly, “No, she doesn’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s out of her way.” He pulled out a drawer and opened a box. He took out two keys. Putting then in my hand, he smiled, but it seemed strained around the edges to me. “I have stuff to do here so it’s cool, take the truck. That’s a key to the back door, too.”
“Listen, if you’re worried that I’ll hit a curb or something because of what my stupid brother said…”
I stopped talking when Luke blinked at me. For one nanosecond I had seen his confusion before the veil came down and his eyes resumed their customary teasing gleam.
“Now that you mention it,” he chuckled casually, “I was worried, but it’s okay.”
I met his eyes and he gazed back calmly, no trace of the momentary panic I’d seen a few seconds ago before he shut it down.
I’ve always thought it interesting how you can see a person regularly, but one particular expression on their face can imprint on your memory. You’ll never forget that fleeting look. Whenever you think of that person, it’s their image with that one emotion displayed that pops up first in your mind’s eye. It can be anything from a huge smile to a seductive stare, or in the example of my boyfriend, that nanosecond look of confusion when I was certain that he lied to me for the first time.
“What’s going on, Luke?” I asked, tilting my head in puzzlement. I was hoping he’d be straight with me if I asked point blank.
“Nothing’s going on. Go ahead, take the truck,” he answered steadily, and added with anoth
er light chuckle, “You can’t blame a guy for stressin’ for a sec.”
Closing my hand in a fist around the keys, I gathered my phone, purse, and in my disappointment at Luke’s answer, even my jacket.
‘No, but I can blame a guy for trying to BS me.’ I didn’t bother saying anything more. I know men and I know that look when they lock down into stubborn mode.
I was halfway out the back door and Luke’s voice wasn’t raised, but I heard the steel when he said evenly, “Oh, Anabel?”
I leaned my head back around the back entry doorway into the kitchen. “Yes, Luke?”
Mr. Secretive was leaning back on the counter and tossing a red apple back and forth in his hands.
Without looking my way, he answered softly, “Don’t forget our deal.”
I stared at him, not connecting what he said. “What deal?”
He looked over with bland green eyes that didn’t fool me for a minute and supplied helpfully, “The deal where you agreed to do whatever I say for the rest of afternoon when you get back.”
Allowing bored disinterest to color my voice, I repeated, “Oh yeah, that deal.”
I toyed with the idea of reneging on the deal based on the argument of being under the influence of drugs when agreeing, but then discarded it. I don’t welsh.
Holding the apple up for inspection, Luke didn’t visibly react to my tone but said, “If I’m not around when you return, this is your first instruction.” Pausing, he took a big, crunching bite from the apple with sharp white teeth.
I didn’t say anything, but raised my brows slightly in polite question.
As I waited with outward calm, he finished chewing while his eyes took their time appraising me.
“Go immediately to my bedroom and strip off all your clothes except,” Luke grinned wolfishly, “the stockings.”
“Tights,” I corrected gently and returned his grin. It’s the grin my sisters have dubbed EVILBEL. They even say it in capitals before they take cover. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan. I can’t wait to see how it goes.” I blew him a kiss. “Bye, baby.”
