her.
A small cloud forms above her, but nothing falls from it.
“Don’t move,” I tell her, working to keep my voice assertive instead of gentle. I slide the access channel open and press the button. The channel closes on its own and won’t reopen for anyone except the knife’s new owner.
“Squeeze your hand around it,” I say, and she does. In five seconds, the knife beeps to accept Nautia’s fingerprints.
She peers up at me, her features indicating she’d rather put the weapon down and never retrieve it again. But I can’t let her do that. The North Koreans won’t hold back and neither can she.
“It’s an extension of your arm. A part of you, so treat it as such,” I say. Then I address the men. “Handling a knife isn’t like handling a gun. Guns will kill someone from hundreds of feet away. A knife cannot. A knife is personal.”
“Will we actually have to use these?” Kray asks. “Wouldn’t a gun be easier?”
“You might have to,” I answer. “And if you do, you’ll need to know how to use them.”
Kray grins. “Are we going to learn how to throw them? ’Cause that would be sa-weet !”
It took him longer to ask that question than I thought it would.
“Yes, but that’s not where we’re going to start. Keep in mind, if you throw the knife, it’s gone and you’re weaponless. Throwing it should be a last resort.” I draw my own. Point it toward the dummies at the far wall. “Those are your enemies. Pick the knife that feels best in your hand. The one you’ll be able to control.”
Nautia doesn’t even touch her other options, whereas Kray, Gibson, and Haskal spend a few minutes with each before deciding on one. I set their weapons for their use, then the guys clutch them as they cross the room. Nautia, though, walks over slowly, her gaze hard on her knife. When she finally reaches her faceless dummy, she stops in front of it and drops her arms to her sides.
“Show me what you’ve got,” I say, giving them all time to maneuver themselves.
Kray rips into the cloth. Gibson and Haskal stab. Nautia does nothing.
I work through some stances and techniques on the middle dummy, where they can all see me. Nautia repeats the footwork, and even some of the fighting moves, but she only slashes at the air. Her form’s really not bad.
Kray is a natural. He strikes hard and fast, and I bet hand-to-hand combat will be easy for him. Haskal catches on fast too. Gibson struggles, though. His equilibrium isn’t as solid as Kray’s, and his moves aren’t as smooth and precise. His kill shots miss the mark ninety percent of the time.
“A close hit won’t work. You have to be exact. An inch can be the difference between your opponent dead or you dead,” I tell him, sticking my blade into the dummy’s chest cavity at the exact center of its heart.
“If someone comes at me, I’ll just hurl him up in the air. Spin him around until he pukes,” Gibson says, and I can’t argue with that. In a fight, no one should even get close enough to touch Gibson. Still.
Kray spins around the back of his dummy and slides the knife across its neck. “Kray four hundred twelve, dummy zero. I’m a fucking ninja, man,” he celebrates.
“If you make a kill in close combat, you’ll see the lights go out of a person’s eyes, and it’s not something you’ll ever forget. Killing a human being should never be taken lightly,” I say, stopping in front of Kray’s dummy.
Kray puts his arms down. “Yeah. No, of course. I wasn’t…I was just…” he stammers.
Smack.
My attention snaps in the direction of the sound. Nautia’s knife slides across the floor and comes to a halt at my feet. And face down on the floor, lies Nautia.
Even before I open my eyes, I know something’s off. Massive energy surrounds me, reverberating off my skin, my bones, my soul.
It takes me a second to identify my surroundings. I’m in a bed, but not in my own bunk. And I don’t remember losing control of my powers
A small cloud forms above her, but nothing falls from it.
“Don’t move,” I tell her, working to keep my voice assertive instead of gentle. I slide the access channel open and press the button. The channel closes on its own and won’t reopen for anyone except the knife’s new owner.
“Squeeze your hand around it,” I say, and she does. In five seconds, the knife beeps to accept Nautia’s fingerprints.
She peers up at me, her features indicating she’d rather put the weapon down and never retrieve it again. But I can’t let her do that. The North Koreans won’t hold back and neither can she.
“It’s an extension of your arm. A part of you, so treat it as such,” I say. Then I address the men. “Handling a knife isn’t like handling a gun. Guns will kill someone from hundreds of feet away. A knife cannot. A knife is personal.”
“Will we actually have to use these?” Kray asks. “Wouldn’t a gun be easier?”
“You might have to,” I answer. “And if you do, you’ll need to know how to use them.”
Kray grins. “Are we going to learn how to throw them? ’Cause that would be sa-weet !”
It took him longer to ask that question than I thought it would.
“Yes, but that’s not where we’re going to start. Keep in mind, if you throw the knife, it’s gone and you’re weaponless. Throwing it should be a last resort.” I draw my own. Point it toward the dummies at the far wall. “Those are your enemies. Pick the knife that feels best in your hand. The one you’ll be able to control.”
Nautia doesn’t even touch her other options, whereas Kray, Gibson, and Haskal spend a few minutes with each before deciding on one. I set their weapons for their use, then the guys clutch them as they cross the room. Nautia, though, walks over slowly, her gaze hard on her knife. When she finally reaches her faceless dummy, she stops in front of it and drops her arms to her sides.
“Show me what you’ve got,” I say, giving them all time to maneuver themselves.
Kray rips into the cloth. Gibson and Haskal stab. Nautia does nothing.
I work through some stances and techniques on the middle dummy, where they can all see me. Nautia repeats the footwork, and even some of the fighting moves, but she only slashes at the air. Her form’s really not bad.
Kray is a natural. He strikes hard and fast, and I bet hand-to-hand combat will be easy for him. Haskal catches on fast too. Gibson struggles, though. His equilibrium isn’t as solid as Kray’s, and his moves aren’t as smooth and precise. His kill shots miss the mark ninety percent of the time.
“A close hit won’t work. You have to be exact. An inch can be the difference between your opponent dead or you dead,” I tell him, sticking my blade into the dummy’s chest cavity at the exact center of its heart.
“If someone comes at me, I’ll just hurl him up in the air. Spin him around until he pukes,” Gibson says, and I can’t argue with that. In a fight, no one should even get close enough to touch Gibson. Still.
Kray spins around the back of his dummy and slides the knife across its neck. “Kray four hundred twelve, dummy zero. I’m a fucking ninja, man,” he celebrates.
“If you make a kill in close combat, you’ll see the lights go out of a person’s eyes, and it’s not something you’ll ever forget. Killing a human being should never be taken lightly,” I say, stopping in front of Kray’s dummy.
Kray puts his arms down. “Yeah. No, of course. I wasn’t…I was just…” he stammers.
Smack.
My attention snaps in the direction of the sound. Nautia’s knife slides across the floor and comes to a halt at my feet. And face down on the floor, lies Nautia.
Even before I open my eyes, I know something’s off. Massive energy surrounds me, reverberating off my skin, my bones, my soul.
It takes me a second to identify my surroundings. I’m in a bed, but not in my own bunk. And I don’t remember losing control of my powers
Similar Books
