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Fuck that.

I would rather suffer Knox’s hatred than endure his pity.

I turn my back to him, picking up my palette knife to fake being focused. “There’s nothing to talk about… I just couldn’t sleep.”

Knox leans his back against the wooden railing, scanning the canvas. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Whatever you want it to be.”

“It’s just dark swirls and jagged red lines. Why are you painting that?”

“I paint my feelings, Knox. That’s what art is. It’s love, pain, fear… emotions without words.”

Knox leans in closer, studying the canvas for a long moment. “I don’t know anything about art, but looking at this makes my chest hurt.”

“Yeah…” I whisper. “Mine too.”

He looks over at me, his brow furrowed with worry.

Okay… worried is better than pitying.

“Is that how you’re feeling today?” he asks.

“Partly,” I admit, finally setting my brush down. “I love Pickles, and I feel at peace here… but I know the second we leave this sanctuary, I’m vulnerable again. It makes me feel… useless. So damn weak.”

“You’re not weak, Cil. You just need to tweak how you handle things.”

“Tweak what?”

“Come on,” Knox says, setting his coffee mug down on the deck railing. “I’m teaching you some basic MMA moves.”

“You’re kidding.”

But he isn’t.

Knox steps off the porch onto the lawn and gestures for me to follow. “Get your ass down here, little Prince.”

“Fine,” I sigh, stepping down onto the grass. “Just don’t kill me while showing me how not to die.”

“Get in position,” Knox says, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the porch.

I don’t move an inch. I just stand there, openly staring at his insanely toned abs.

“Concentrate, Cillian.”

“Ha! You can’t order me to get into position, rip your clothes off, and then expect me to concentrate!”

“Fine, I’ll put my shirt back on—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I lift a hand to stop him. “I’ll concentrate.”

And I mean it, but if I’m going to suffer through this distraction, he’s suffering with me.

I reach down, pull my own shirt off, and throw it onto the porch deck.

“Concentrate, Knox,” I say, tossing his own words right back at him. I can’t help but laugh when he glares at me.

“Rule one.” Knox steps up behind me, wrapping a thick arm around my chest and hauling me back against him. “If an attacker grabs you from behind—”