Page 34 of Caution to the Wind

“Clear some space,” he ordered Brian and Paul mildly.

They almost tripped over themselves to do as he bade, bumping shoulders as they pushed tables aside and hauled chairs on top so there was a small, square space of emptiness in the restaurant.

When he was down to his white tank, blazer, and shirt laid carefully on Kang’s offered arm, Jiang raised his brows at me and stepped lightly forward.

“You can handle yourself, you say?” When I nodded, he pursed his lips and settled gracefully into the ready position favoured by Wing Chun martial arts practitioners. He raised his right hand in my direction and flicked his fingers back and forth, beckoning me. “Let’s see how true that is.”

“Mr. Kuan,” Brian started to protest, concern etched into every inch of his form. It made me feel a little bad that I thought so poorly of him.

Paul pressed a hand to his chest to silence him, and Brian didn’t say another word.

I stared at Jiang Kuan. He wasn’t overly tall or muscled like Henning, but there was a whip-like corded power to his physique that spoke of restrained and exacting violence.

He could kill me, I knew. Easily, quickly, and worse, without a qualm.

But I didn’t think that was the purpose of this exercise.

Something about me intrigued him—my assertiveness, which could be construed as rude in traditionally minded households, especially toward strangers and elders, or maybe my boldness in seeking out criminal company as a teenager.

Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to squander it. This was my chance, probably my only chance, to get an in with these people.

Slowly, I toed off my black Converse.

A flicker of something––a smile, a sneer––flashed across Kuan’s face.

I shrugged out of my black leather jacket and placed it along with my shoes neatly on the chair I’d been sitting on. My skinny jeans had enough stretch in them to allow for a decent range of movement, but my long-sleeved tee was too baggy to wear in a fight. It would be easy to control me with a single grab of the fabric, so after a moment’s hesitation, I pulled it over my head and added it to the pile.

Brian let out a low whistle at the sight of me in a black, full-coverage sports bra, but Paul hit him in retribution.

This wasn’t about being desirable.

It was about being deadly.

I slapped my hair into a high bun and stepped forward to match Kuan’s ready position, sinking into it with an ease that spoke of my many years of training.

Just as I drew in a readying breath, he attacked.

A snake strike straight to my low belly with his far hand. Despite his ready position in the Wing Chun style, Kuan didn’t fight like a professional kung fu fighter.

Chinese martial arts were about showmanship over debilitation. Watching two professionally trained kung fu fighters was like watching two dancers, acrobats, their bodies achieving impossible angles and leaps.

If you wanted to learn to defend yourself, many other forms of fighting would better prepare you. Clearly, Kuan knew quite a few of them.

Happily, his street-fighting style didn’t throw me off.

I knew I’d never meet a combatant who would know or follow the rules of traditional kung fu. Fighting for your life was different than fighting on the cushioned mats at my kwoon.

Which was why I’d supplemented my traditional Chinese fighting with mixed martial arts.

I lent away from Kuan’s fist, twisting to land a kick to the side he’d exposed leaning into the punch. He absorbed the blow, grabbing at my ankle before I could retract it. I braced on his grip, launching off my other leg to land a whip kick on his chin. My tender instep impacted, pain bursting through my foot. I had to twist my body to land the hit, and he took advantage by wrenching my knee until itpoppedwith pain. Gritting my teeth, I fumbled and landed on my hands and knees.

There was a little curve to his mean lips, a glimmer in his eyes.

He enjoyed this.

I watched as he smoothed a hand over his chin where I’d landed the powerful kick.

“Interesting,” he murmured in Cantonese before flinging himself at me in a flurry of fists and kicks.