Page 41 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
"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.
