What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3

by Cherise Sinclair

  Grammy Lillian tapped a finger on her cheek. “You sound as if you’ve had some experience with fighting?”

  “Some. I’ve taken aikido classes since I was Regan’s age.” Frankie grinned at Regan. “I like aikido because it lets me throw people around without having to punch them in the face. But that’s just me.”

  Fun! Maybe Papá would let her learn aikido. Regan grinned back, then frowned. “No one teaches that aikido stuff here.”

  “No, but I still practice. There are a couple of grassy areas in the town park, where I practice in the mornings. You’ll have to join me, and I’ll teach you a few moves.” Frankie smiled. “If I tried to practice kicks in my cabin, I’d break a window, and Dante would throw me out.”

  Regan laughed. Dante was all proud of his rentals.

  When Audrey asked Frankie how she liked the cabin, Regan sat back and considered. Frankie was really pretty when she smiled, and she wasn’t wearing a bunch of stuff on her face or rings and necklaces, and she just wore jeans and a blue sweater. Not all fancy. Uncle Bull wasn’t into fancy stuff.

  And she liked to fight and cook.

  Regan nodded.

  If Uncle Bull was lonely, this Frankie might do.

  Chapter Twelve

  Watch their hands. Hands kill. (In God we trust. Everyone else, keep your hands where I can see them.) ~ Rules for a Gunfight

  * * *

  A graveled path from Frankie’s cabin ran alongside the lake, in and out of trees, straight to the city park. Carrying her aiki-jo, the four-foot aikido staff, she jogged slowly, grumbling with every step. Her legs felt more like brittle branches than flesh, and her body sure wasn’t what a person would call willing. She was still sore from her…adventure, the one where the bastardi shot her. But the wound was doing fine. She mustn’t let her body get out of shape, not when Kit and Aric’s lives might depend on her.

  She wanted to work out anyway. Back in college, she’d stopped doing her aikido exercises, stopped jogging—and not only gained a bunch of weight, but also became winded from just walking up a flight of stairs. That had made her do a long hard study of what she wanted from life—to do stuff and eat stuff.

  She wanted to be able to play the occasional soccer or baseball game with friends. Or fly drones with kids. Then, as Nonna said, eating was one of life’s pleasures. Bacon. Lasagna. Wine. Sticky buns. She wanted to savor her food, which meant burning some of those calories off. So, she’d returned to aikido and jogging.

  The jogging wasn’t helping with her mopey feelings today. She’d been here in Alaska for just over two weeks. Kit still wasn’t free, and everything was stalled now, what with the PZ lockdown.

  Then again, the delay would give her time to figure out how to use those night vision optics. Her trip to Soldotna yesterday had been successful, and last night, she’d worked on getting the head mount to fit and attaching the monocular.

  She grinned, reminded of when she and Kit had tried to assemble a stroller for Aric. This strap goes…no, not there, it must go…no, not there either.

  With a lot of lubrication from swearing, the night vision equipment was put together. Next step, get outside and learn to walk around without killing herself. She was going to need a lot of practice. Even with enhanced night vision, she wasn’t sure she could follow that windy, narrow path at night.

  So…at night, she’d practice with the NVM. During the day, she needed to hike the trail to the PZ’s compound enough times so she could manage even after dark.

  Surely there was an inconspicuous way to mark the trail, one the PZs wouldn’t spot. She grimaced. Well, she’d figure it out. It was just one more little frustration in a pack of them.

  Like the very personal frustration that today was Friday, and she hadn’t seen Bull since early Wednesday morning.

  How could she miss him so much?

  Okay, sure, ever since the first day in the roadhouse, she’d listened for his deep voice and stole glances at him. Come on, who wouldn’t? The man was a walking advertisement for masculinity. And sometimes, he’d hold her gaze—a long look across the bar that was as palpable as a caress.

  But, after spending the night with him, bare skin to bare skin, having him inside her, his hand moving over her skin, his skillful lips driving her crazy… The need to see him, to be with him, had grown into an addiction.

  With a grunt of exasperation, she increased her pace. The swathes of shade were almost frigid, making her grateful for jogging pants. In the sun, the temperature rose a good ten degrees. By the lake was a huge brown bear, too much like in a grizzly horror film. But its attention was on the water and the glints of fish. Easing carefully away, she put a good distance between them before managing to breathe.

  Back to jogging, she passed a Frisbee golf area, then a horseshoe pit. To her right, a loon flapped slowly off the water, a trail of sunlit droplets in its wake. As the bird lifted into the sky, so did Frankie’s mood.

  About halfway through the park, she veered off the trail, down a short path that opened into a wide grassy field with picnic tables dotting the perimeter. Old chalk markings indicated the space was used for soccer or football games.

  Level ground. Nicely private. Perfect for her aikido practice, especially when she used her jo. Carefully, she did her stretches. Her wound pulled a bit, but it’d be all right.

  Starting the kata, she gripped the jo lightly, feeling it become part of her body. As she went through the twenty suburi of thrusting, striking, countering, and figure-eights, energy rose and flowed from her center outward and into the staff.

  Balance and grace—the heart of aikido—were what would turn an opponent’s attack into defeat.

  The sense of being watched intruded on her peace, and she spun smoothly to scan her surroundings.

  Gryff beside him, Bull was leaning against a tree, studying her, scarred arms over his chest. His tank top clung to his thick pectoral muscles, damp with sweat. He’d obviously been jogging with Gryff.

  Like a giant wave, her blood surged in her veins, roared in her ears, and tumbled her senses. Bull. Santo cielo, the very air seemed to sparkle.

  The dog trotted over, and she smiled in relief. She knew how to talk with him. “Hey there, Gryff.”

  He accepted her enthusiastic petting with a wagging tail and a quick lick to her wrist.

  “You’re a good dog. A fine dog.” As her brain rebooted and came back online, she straightened and smiled at Bull. “Good morning. Did you enjoy the show?”

  How long had he been watching her?

  “Why, yes, I did, thank you.” That too-sexy-for-words dimple appeared as he smiled. “You’re exceptionally good, but I assume you know that. How long have you been practicing?”

  “I started in elementary school.” She grinned. “My mother wanted me to take dance like my sisters, but there were bullies in my class, so my father said I could learn self-defense. Mama chose aikido because it’s so ‘pretty’.”

  Later, Frankie had stayed with it because the philosophy agreed with her own.

  “Aikido really is beautiful.” Bull’s brows drew together. “But it’s not the most effective fighting style.”

  How many times had she heard that criticism? Unhappily, it was true, in many ways. Not that she’d admit it. A girl had her pride. “Is that a way of saying you want to spar?”

  His eyes lit. “Well. Sure. I never turn down a chance to fight.”

  No leer, no cracks about getting his hands on a woman. From the pleased smile on his face, he meant it sincerely. Maybe he didn’t get to spar very often. Who in their right mind would take on someone his size?

  If he could really fight—and from the way he moved, she figured he could—she was seriously outclassed. He was incredibly muscular, taller by seven or eight inches and outweighed her by close to a hundred pounds.

  This was going to be fun. “All right. Rules are you pull your punches and kicks, no blows to the face or crotch.”

  “Good rules.” Bull walked over to th
e dog, unfastening his jogging belt. She saw it held an aerosol can against his back. Seeing her interest, he said, “My wallet—and bear spray.”

  Duh, she should carry spray. “I guess if the spray doesn’t work, they’ll be able to ID the remains.”

  He grinned. “There’s that, yeah.”

  She laid her jo beside the dog. “Tell Gryff I’m not attacking you, okay?”.

  “He’s shown he can tell the difference between fun and anger.”

  Uh-oh. That comment implied Bull’s skills weren’t rusty. He probably sparred with the other guys at the Hermitage.

  She was doomed.

  They started off easy, punching, kicking, easy one-two forms, and then, he sped up. His moves grew faster, more aggressive. She blocked, danced around him, her speed mostly making up for his overwhelming strength. She caught some blows that would’ve been disabling if they’d been real.

  Weaponless aikido was superb at turning an attack, but not so good at really hammering an opponent. However, she did have a weapon. She dodged a kick, swiped her jo off the ground, and kept sparring.

  She lunged with the end of the staff. If not pulled, the blow would’ve taken his liver out—and he gave an approving laugh.

  Now, the fight was equal, and if anything, the slight smile he had at the beginning grew bigger. He caught her a few times—and grinned when she spat curses at him—and she dished a few out herself.

  She’d never had so much fun in a fight.

  Spinning him off-balance, she swung and stopped the staff a few inches from his throat.

  “Very nice.” His smile held only respect and approval. “The moves with the staff are far more aggressive.” After a quick glance for permission, he examined her jo.

  “I have a couple others, but this is my ‘street’ staff.” It was painted in swirly Celtic designs with rubber on one end. “When I use it as a walking stick, no one gives it a second glance.”

  “Clever. And if you don’t have it, you could use anything else about the right length.”

  Canes, umbrellas, branches. The world was full of potential weapons. “That’s the idea.” Wiping her face with the bottom of her shirt, she belatedly realized she’d flashed him with her bare stomach.

  For which he rewarded her with a very masculine look of appreciation.

  Oops. She straightened her shirt and felt her cheeks heat.

  Smiling, he handed her back her jo. “So much for trying to show you that aikido isn’t enough to keep you safe.”

  Huh. No wonder he’d agreed to fight her. The big guy was so very protective.

  Laughing, she sat cross-legged beside Gryff who laid his head on her knee so she could properly pet him. “I learned the inadequacies of aikido the first time I had to fight someone in real life.”

  Bull’s face went still, and he went down on his haunches in front of her. “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s okay, orsacchiotto,” she murmured. He really was a teddy bear, all concerned and warm—and deadly. “We survived.”

  “We?”

  The teddy bear was persistent. “In college, my roomie broke off with a guy—a vindictive kind of guy.” Kit, dammit, you never did learn. “He came to pick up his stuff from our apartment and started hitting Ki—her. Jumping in, I learned aikido’s good at keeping me from getting hit, but less useful at really disabling an attacker.”

  “It lacks the predatory moves,” Bull agreed.

  “And I lack a predatory instinct.” She shrugged and stroked Gryff’s soft fur. “I considered Krav Maga.”

  Bull nodded. “Good choice.”

  Naturally, the guy would think so. Krav Maga was all about wiping out the opponent. She shook her head. “That’s not who I am. I’m a pacifist at heart. So, my instructor talked me into the jo as a compromise.”

  “Ah.” He studied her for a second. “Actually, I do understand. I enjoy fighting for fun, but I’d rather no one gets hurt.”

  She’d seen that. Even when she’d landed a blow, he never stopped grinning. “I hoped you’d be a typical big guy and rely only on your size to win, but your skills are even better than mine.”

  Bull rocked his hand back and forth. “I’d win in pure offense, but I’m not as good as you are at defense.”

  “Where did you learn? If you were raised around here, does that mean there’s a gym and classes?”

  “Not hardly.” He sat down beside her. With a small whine, Gryff scooted over to be between them and heaved a sigh of bliss when Bull ruffled his fur.

  Frankie had to suppress her own whine. Because she knew all too well that Bull had awesome, gentle, strong hands, so very skilled at touching.

  “We had our own personal instructor when growing up. The sarge—our adopted father—started us on morning PT the day after we arrived in Alaska.” Bull huffed a laugh. “I was nine and thought I was in great shape. After Mako got through with us, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk again.”

  “Morning PT?” Frankie frowned. “You were just children.”

  “He was career military and spent years as a drill sergeant.” Bull grinned. “Honestly, even the SEAL’s BUD/s course wasn’t all that bad after the sarge. Once he had us in shape, he taught us to fight.”

  A jay landed in a nearby tree, obviously hoping for picnickers. When no food appeared, it scolded them and flew away.

  “You didn’t compete in tournaments or anything?” Frankie asked, smiling when Gryff set his paw on Bull’s leg. More petting, less talking.

  “No, we rarely went into town. But with four of us, we had our own type of tournaments—also known as brawling.”

  * * *

  Good memories, Bull thought as he petted Gryff’s silky fur. The four of them had been hardened by rough foster care homes, by trying to survive in the worst sections of LA, by attending schools with inadequate supervision. They’d all been damaged in different ways.

  “Caz could barely speak English and would pull a knife at the drop of a hat.” Actually, he’d still perforate anyone who pissed him off enough. “Gabe had a smart mouth and bossed us around, which we mostly liked, since he’s a natural leader, but…not always.”

  “And when you didn’t like it, you’d fight?” Frankie was staring at him with wide eyes.

  “Oh yeah. Then there was Hawk who had a low tolerance for anyone infringing on his space.” That hadn’t changed either. “Being young assholes, we’d push just to set him off.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes. “Of course you would.”

  Badgering Hawk to get a reaction had ended with Hawk losing it and battering the shit out of Caz. Two days later, Mako’s friend Zachary Grayson came to visit for a while. The doc took them on long hikes—especially Hawk. Did chores with them—especially Hawk. Hawk would sneak out of the loft to watch the fire late at night, and Grayson occasionally joined him.

  Being snoopy brats, Bull, Gabe, and Caz eavesdropped—and learned why a casual touch or too much proximity bothered Hawk so much. Fuck, some parents didn’t deserve anything other than the deepest of hells. Jesus, they’d felt so fucking guilty.

  After that, they’d done their damnedest to make him part of the team—whether he wanted to be or not. Hawk had learned what it was like to have someone on his side against all comers.

  Now there wasn’t anyone Bull trusted more to guard his back.

  “How did Mako come to have the four of you? He…uh…doesn’t sound like a typical adoptive father.”

  “As it happens, he rescued us from an abusive foster care home in California and brought us to Alaska. Not exactly legally.”

  The way her eyes widened was adorable.

  “It took a while, but we turned into a team, then into a family.” Bull sighed. “It was about a year and a half ago when we lost the sarge. That was…”

  There were no words.

  Frankie’s expression turned soft. Rising onto her knees, she kissed him gently.

  Her sympathy drew away the rough edges of his sorrow. He was left with a
gentle sense of loss and gratitude he’d had the rugged old survivalist in his life for so long.

  Bull wrapped his arms around Frankie’s waist and pulled her closer. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  When she started to draw back, he smiled slightly. Mako always said a warrior should take advantage of ground and position and weakness. Maybe he hadn’t meant the lessons to apply to sex, but…

  Bull smiled, thinking of his little niece, who insisted Frankie was “into him” and he should make some moves.

  Let’s see if Regan is right.

  Cradling Frankie’s head with his palm, Bull fell sideways, rolling to put her beneath him, and kissed her again. Soft lips, soft body.

  Soft heart.

  Yeah, she appealed to him on all levels. He brushed his mouth against hers and nibbled down her cheek to her neck. All woman, with the taste of salt. “Mmm.”

  “Crazy man.” Her voice had gone husky, even as she pushed at his shoulders. “We’re in a park.”

  “Woman, you picked this site because it’s private.” If Regan hadn’t told him she worked out in the park, if he hadn’t been watching for her, and if Gryff hadn’t caught her scent, Bull would have jogged right past. Would have missed seeing her practice. She’d been a hell of a sight with the short staff flashing around her so effectively he could almost see her imaginary attackers and hear their bones breaking.

  She was gorgeous, graceful, and sexy as hell.

  As he settled his weight on top of her, her legs opened. She could undoubtedly feel his bulging shaft against her pelvis.

  She swallowed, her gaze on his.

  “Guard, Gryff,” Bull ordered.

  The dog moved to the only trail into the small clearing and lay there, ears forward. Whoever trained the dog before the asshole got him had done a fine job.

  When Bull turned his attention back to Frankie, her face was flushed a dark rose color. “Um. I thought we’d agreed we weren’t going to…”

  “To fuck?” he asked gently. “No, we agreed to no entanglements and that nothing would intrude in work. On your way out, you might have mentioned something about a one-time thing, but I didn’t agree to that.”