Page 42 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
"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.
