Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
We walk in silence, and only when we reach the stairs does she ask, “Did you speak to your father?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah,” she breathes.
“I guess the conversation went the same as mine,” I mutter, really not looking forward to training.
I look like I ran face-first into a wall, and my broken bottom lip stings whenever I talk.
I’d much rather stay in bed all day long.
“Yeah,” Abbie answers, then she mimics her father, “You have to train hard, Abigail. I can’t have a weakling take over the business. Don’t let me down.”
“Yep,” I sigh. “That’s pretty much how mine went.”
“It sucks.”
Neither of us has any appetite after yesterday’s brutal revelation, so we head straight for combat training.
Dread spins in my stomach. I hope to all that’s holy Instructor Nikolai doesn’t make us fight today.
Walking into the studio, the twins are already practicing. I don’t know anything about them besides that they’re Portuguese.
There’s no sign of the Asian guy who kicked my butt.
Shortly after our arrival, Instructor Nikolai walks into the room with Misha right behind him.
“Mr. Shinoda won’t be joining us for a couple of days,” Instructor Nikolai informs us. “Someone beat the shit out of him, so he’s indisposed.”
What?
Instructor Nikolai gestures at me. “Miss D’Angelo, you’re paired with Mr. Petrov. Miss Almeida, you’re with Mr. Almeida. Just keep practicing what you’ve already been taught. Miss Sartori, you’re with me.”
What. The. Hell?
“Ah, Sir?” I step forward, nerves spinning in my stomach. The last thing I want is to piss Nikolai off. It didn’t work in my favor yesterday. But Misha? Seriously?
“Yes, Miss D’Angelo.” When Instructor Nikolai looks at me, I almost take a step backward but stop myself in time.
Jesus, the man is intimidating.
“I’m not questioning you. I just want to know why I have to fight Mr. Petrov. He’s had two years of training, whereas I’ve had…” God, it’s embarrassing to say out loud, “…none.”
“That’s why he’s paired with you. Mr. Petrov is the best in his class. You and Miss Sartori need to be on par with the other attendees before we can proceed with the lessons, or you’ll both end up bloody and half-dead every day.”
Like fighting Misha won’t put me in the hospital. Jesus.
Abbie and I glance at each other, and I see she looks just as nervous as me.
Oh, right, she has to fight Instructor Nikolai. Shit.
Emotions war in my chest, everything from hopelessness to frustration.
Misha is the best in his class.
Dear God, why are you fucking me over like this?
“Let’s do this,” Misha mutters as he walks to the other side of the room.
Reluctantly I follow him. When he stops at a row of weights, I start to frown.
Is he going to beat me with a dumbbell?
“You’re weak as fuck,” he states the obvious, his harsh tone clearly indicating he’s not happy with the fact that he has to train me.
It hurts to hear it, though.
Gesturing at a bench, he instructs, “Sit down and lie back.”
Not taking my eyes off him, I sit down on the bench. I’d like to say I’m staring because I don’t trust him, but it’s sadly not the reason my gaze is glued to him.
I hate that he’s so attractive. And those damn blue eyes…sigh.
“What are we going to do?” I ask
Misha ignores my question, and picking up a bar with weights at the ends, he snaps at me, “Lie the fuck back and put your arms up.”
“Asshole,” I mutter as I take the weight of the bar. “Oh Jesus,” I groan, struggling to keep from dropping it on myself.
Misha throws a leg over me, and as the bar slips from my hands, he takes hold of it with one hand, stopping it from crushing me.
Oh, God.
No. I don’t care that he looks hot right now. You will not swoon for this man.
Focus.
With his free hand, he adjusts my fingers, then he orders, “Lock your arms in place.”
Jesus, he looks good on top of me.
Greedily, my eyes take in the sight of him standing over me. He’s wearing the usual black cargo pants and t-shirt, but on him it looks porn-worthy. He doesn’t even strain under the bar's weight, which tells me he’s freaking strong.
Unlike me.
For fuck’s sake! Focus.
“Ready?” he asks, his tone not as harsh.
I nod, but the moment he lets go, my arms buckle, and he has to grab hold of the bar again.
Letting out a sigh, Misha shakes his head. “Fuck, you’re weaker than I thought.”
That feels like an insult.
As he carries the bar back to the weights, I shoot a scowl at him. He places lighter weights on the bar, then comes back to me.
“If you can’t lift this, you might as well call it a day and go home.”
This time Misha comes to stand behind me. “Arms up.” He sets the bar down in my hands and lets go of it.