Page 29 of Ballistic

I stared down at the small arsenal set out for me and, all at once, felt afraid for both Aleksey and me. Was he crazy? What if I accidentally shot him?

“Aleksey has taken many bullets, but I can assure you, you won’t hurt him.” Dmitry’s voice carried an air of amusement, and suddenly he was reading my mind, too.

Would he hurt me?

I opted for the knife, lifting it with shaky hands from the table.

Dmitry gave Aleksey a nod, and the giant knelt down behind me, until he’d become my height. Still, he didn’t look at me, as he lifted my hand and turned the knife over so I was clutching the blade.

“Aleksey was trained as a soldier for the Vory. He’s very good at weapons.” Dmitry took a seat on the patio and lit up a cigar.

The giant finally spoke, using a language I didn’t understand, and tapped the knuckles of my right hand, while patting my left hip.

“He says, to properly throw a knife, it has to be in the hand opposite the leg you keep forward for stability. You throw with your upper body,” Dmitry translated, before taking three puffs of his cigar, letting the smoke gather around his face.

I nodded and allowed Aleksey to position my left leg one step ahead of my body. My bones could’ve crushed to dust in his big palm, as he drew my arm back and more of the language I didn’t understand came as a command from behind.

He extended his heavily tattooed arm beneath mine, flattening his palm, so mine sat atop his, and I somehow understood he wanted me to use my non-throwing hand for momentum. Gripping my wrist, he tugged my knife-toting hand back and guided a false throw for practice.

We drew back once more, taking the initial position from moments before, and in the next breath his hand snapped mine forward, and the knife flew out of my fingers, missing the target. I could feel the power in his arms, the strike almost knocking me senseless.

“Again,” Dmitry commanded, peeling his gaze from where my last throw had landed.

I walked forward and unstuck the knife from the ground where it’d lodged itself, before returning to my position in front of Aleksey, who reset my leg and raised my outstretched arm.

“Imagine the target is the one who left those bruises on you this time.”

Gaze lowering, I frowned, and guilt snaked through my blood, imagining my mother standing before me.

“This troubles you? Then, imagine someone else.”

Easy enough. I thought of my mother’s boyfriend, Pigman. I hated him enough to imagine a blade slicing through him.

Aleksey tugged my hand back again, and together we tossed the knife, only grazing the tree, but I celebrated the near miss with a smile.

Dmitry said something to the behemoth in his language, and his deep chuckle raced down my spine. The guard laughed, striding toward the fallen knife, which he picked up and returned to me. How strange to hear a giant laugh.

“This time on your own,” Dmitry said.

I took the stance, allowing Aleksey to adjust my arms and leg, then threw the knife. It missed. I threw it again. Two more times. Three more after that. Each time, Aleksey corrected my posture, grunted a command in his language, and I learned that, “Opyat!” meant, “Again!”

Perhaps an hour passed before I finally threw the knife and hit my mark. With a leap, and in all my excitement, I wrapped my arms around Aleksey, who stood stiff and guarded, refusing to reciprocate.

“Now.” Dmitry pushed up from his chair and stood beside me, setting his hand on my shoulder. “No one hurts you again. Understand?”

I stared at the knife still wedged in the tree trunk and gave a sharp nod. “I understand.”

* * *

An ache throbbed in my chest as I recalled bits of conversation with Tesarik, and I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes at the memory that Aleksey had been captured while trying to save me.

To hurt me, they’d made a point of torturing him slowly and without mercy.

“So tell me.” Dax kept his eyes on the road as he drove us through the city over wet pavement that gave off an almost romantic glow in daylight.

The rough tone of his voice yanked me out of the somber thoughts of my friend—a welcomed distraction. “Tell you what?”

“Where the hell that ninja shit came from? You’re obviously not what I thought you were.”