Page 20 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

After several minutes, a sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead, her breathing slightly labored but controlled. There's a new energy radiating from her, something primal and fierce that wasn't there before.

“How does it feel?” I ask, watching her reflection in the mirror.

A smile curls at the corner of her mouth. “Good. Really good.”

“Want to try hitting something besides air?”

I retrieve the focus mitts from a nearby shelf and slip them on. “Same combination, but this time with a target.” I hold up the padded mitts. “Don't pull your punches. Hit them like you mean it.”

Vesper's first hit lands with surprising force, the impact reverberating up my arm. Her second follows immediately, more powerful than the first. She intensifies with each strike, her technique improving in real time.

"That's it," I encourage, moving the targets to different positions. "Jab-cross, jab-cross. Now add a hook."

She pivots, throwing her weight into a left hook that lands with a satisfying smack against the mitt. A sound escapes her—part growl, part breathless triumph.

“Again,” she says, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

We settle into a rhythm, the steady beat of her fists echoing through the small space. With each combination, her movements sharpen, confidence building as her body finds its flow. I push the pace, calling out combos quicker, shifting the mitts unexpectedly to force her to adapt.

“Hook-cross-uppercut,” I call.

She hits each mark, and the final uppercut nearly catches me off guard.

“Damn,” I say, grinning. “You’re a natural.”

Vesper's smile is radiant, her cheeks flushed with exertion and something that looks like pride. “It feels...” she searches for the word, “empowering.”

“That's the point,” I tell her, lowering the mitts. “Knowledge is power. Knowing you can defend yourself can mean the difference between being a survivor or victim.”

“I’m done being the victim.”

“Good,” I say, tossing the mitts aside. “Because that's exactly what I want to hear.”

Her eyes gleam with newfound determination with a spark that wasn't there before. She pushes her damp hair away from her face, her breathing still slightly elevated from the workout.

“Show me more,” she says, not a request but a demand.

I move closer, circling her like a boxing coach. “Let's work on your defense. Knowing how to throw a punch is important, but knowing how to avoid one is even more crucial.”

I demonstrate a basic slip, moving my head to the side as if dodging an incoming jab. "The goal is to use minimal movement for maximum effect. Conserve energy. Make them miss by inches, not feet."

Vesper mirrors my movement. I can see her cataloging each move, storing it away like ammunition for future use.

“Now,” I continue, “if someone grabs you from behind?—”

Before I can finish explaining, the door to the gym swings open. Z stands in the doorway, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The tribal tattoos covering his chest and arms seem to shift in the harsh lighting as he crosses his arms.

“So this is where you disappeared to,” he says to Vesper.

“Talon's teaching me to fight,” Vesper finishes. She doesn't look guilty, just slightly defiant as she meets Z head on.

“I can see that,” he says evenly, pushing off from the doorframe.

“Is that a problem?” I ask, watching Z carefully. His expression remains guarded, but there's something else there. A hint of approval, maybe.

“No,” he answers after a moment. “It's actually a good idea.” He approaches us, his bare feet silent on the padded floor. “But your form needs work.”

Vesper rolls her eyes. “I've had exactly one lesson, Z.”

“You showing her how to break holds yet?”

“We were just getting to that,” I reply.

“Good. That's the most important thing for her to know. I’ll leave you to it.”

Z gives her one more appraising look before turning to leave. As the door closes behind him, I catch the briefest smile on his face. It's gone in an instant, but I saw it.

“He approves,” I remark, turning back to Vesper.

“Since when do I need his approval?”

“You don't. But having him on board means you'll have two instructors instead of one.” I position myself behind her. “I’m better with a gun.”

“And Z is better with his hands?” Vesper challenges, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

“I didn't say that. We all have our talents, princess. You just have to figure them out yourself. Now, when someone grabs you from behind, your instinct will be to freeze. We need to override that response.”

We run through several scenarios and holds until she gets a good mastery of each one. By the time we’re done, we’re both sweating.

“I think that's enough for today,” I say, grabbing my towel and wiping sweat from my face. “You’ll be kicking all of our asses in no time.”

She beams at the praise, still bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, adrenaline clearly flowing through her system.

There's a flush to her cheeks that makes her look vibrant, alive in a way I haven't seen before.

Something about teaching her to defend herself has awakened something in both of us.

“When can we do this again?”

“Tomorrow, if you want. I usually work out before breakfast,” I tell her, gathering the focus mitts and hanging them back on their hooks. “You hungry?”

She nods, but instead of heading straight for the door, she steps closer to me. Before I can process what's happening, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is quick but deliberate, her mouth soft against my own for just a heartbeat before she pulls away.

“Thank you,” she says simply. “For treating me like I'm capable.” She starts to leave, but I grab her wrist, pulling her back to me with a gentle tug.

“Hold on. That wasn't a real kiss.” Before she can respond, I cradle her face, my thumb sweeping over her cheek. I dip my head and capture her mouth with mine, tasting the salt of her sweat. Her lips part beneath mine, a soft gasp escaping as I deepen the kiss.

She melts against me, her body molding to mine. Her nails dig into my flesh. I lose myself in the taste of her, the soft sounds she makes as I explore her mouth with my tongue.

When we finally pull apart, her pupils are dilated.

“You are capable of anything, Vesper,” I tell her, my thumb still tracing the line of her jaw. “Don't ever let anyone make you believe otherwise.”

She nods, a shy smile playing at her lips as she steps back. "I'll see you upstairs.”

I watch her leave, the sway of her hips in those tiny sleep shorts doing absolutely nothing to settle the tension pulsing through me. When the door clicks shut behind her, I exhale slowly.

“Fuck,” I mutter to the empty room, shifting uncomfortably in my workout shorts. I need to cool off—in every possible way.

A cold shower. Preferably glacial.

The last thing I need is to be flipping pancakes with a damn kickstand.