Page 56 of Vow Of Fire

“No, I don’t like guns. Why are you asking me these things?”

“You’re going to have to learn,” he announced, as if he’d just decided this over breakfast.

“Dante, what on earth is going on?” I walked over to where he was standing in the kitchen. There was an empty bowl in the sink. He’d had cereal. My stomach rumbled. “I can’t cope with your bizarre questions on an empty stomach.”

His eyes flickered with amusement as he reached for the box. Handing it to me, he said, “You have to be able to protect yourself.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just head over to the local judo club,” I mocked, nodding at the wilderness outside the window.

He gave me a hard look. “I meant, I’m going to teach you.”

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked him as I poured a liberal helping of cereal into my bowl. “Did you forget you’re the one holding me prisoner here?”

“I didn’t forget. I just think that in light of what’s been happening, it’s important you learn.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “In case you attack me?”

His jaw tightened. “This isn’t a joke. There are some very dangerous men after you, Ophelia. Between Malakov and the Bratva, and whoever broke into your apartment, you can’t afford to take any chances.”

I stopped teasing him and gave him a curious look instead. “Why do you care?”

It was a legitimate question. Whoever else was using my gallery to launder money, or whoever it was who wanted me dead, had nothing to do with him.

He scowled as he drew in a breath. “Like it or not, you are now my business. I don’t know why there’s a price on your head, but there is. The only way I can keep you safe is if I teach you how to defend yourself.”

I stared at him. Okay, when he put it like that it was downright terrifying.

Still, there were so many questions.

I held up a hand. “Hang on a moment. Why do you want to keep me safe? You don’t care about me. All you care about is your family and catching the men who ambushed your shipment.”

“Exactly,” he muttered, not meeting my gaze. “And I need you to do that.”

I huffed as I splashed way too much milk in my bowl.

“Eat and meet me outside,” he said, heading for the door.

I was unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “You want to do this now?”

He turned and glared at me. “You got better things to do?”

Fair point.

16

CLOSE CONTACT

Dante

I’d been teaching men to kill since I was twenty-two years old.

Privates fresh out of basic. Iraqi police recruits who’d never thrown a punch in their lives. A Bolivian squad that didn’t speak a word of English and learned the curriculum from my hands and a battered training dummy in a hangar outside Santa Cruz.

Killing wasn’t hard, once you knew what you were doing. I didn’t enjoy it, but I’d come to realize it was a necessary part of warfare. Kill or be killed, that’s what my commanding officer had often said, and in the heat of battle, he was right.

Hand-to-hand combat was slightly different, but the mechanics were simple. Look for the vulnerable points is what I told the men I’d trained. The eyes, the throat, the soft pocket at the base of the skull, the small bones in the foot that snapped when you stepped on them at the right angle. Find your advantage.

The clearing in front of the cabin was roughly twelve feet by fifteen, big enough to work out in. The cold dirt surface was covered in pine needles that would soften her landing. It was a cool fall morning, but that didn’t bother me. This was balmy compared to an Afghan winter.