Page 67 of Viper

And I’ve learned an agitated Reaper means a short-tempered Reaper.

“No,” he snaps, making me flinch. Reaper grabs my wrist, effectively dragging me toward him, and readjusts my hold on the practice knife. “You are small. Your body is weak. Hold it like this for more leverage.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I snap back, adjusting my stance and my hold on the knife. I glance over my shoulder at the closed door as I wipe beads of sweat off my forehead, wishing Striker would walk through the door and take over my training. I haven’t seen him since this morning. “Where’s Striker?”

“Busy,” Reaper says, once again readjusting my grip on the knife. “Pay attention.”

Sweat trickles down my back. My oversized t-shirt sticks to my skin. The t-shirts appeared after a day of fighting practicewhen I just wore my old tank top I used to wear with Viper, and Reaper dragged me to my room and ordered me to put on a sweater.

I pull the shirt away from my body, fanning myself as Reaper adjusts my stance, his large hands gripping my hips. On any other day, his tight grip and stern eyes would have me breathless.

Right now, I’m just annoyed.

He takes a step back, angling his body and bringing his knife up, blade out, thumb on the hilt. He’s so big. So imposing with his tight black clothes and the melting skull mask. Scarily erotic with large hands and the tattoos on his fingers. My belly flips, remembering those hands on me, those long fingers inside me just last week.

Okay, obviously not annoyed enough.

Focus, Delilah.

Grinding my teeth in irritation, I mimic him. We’ve sparred on and off during the week, but today has been intense. Like a clock is ticking, and I’m running out of time to learn how to murder and maim.

The images I saw of Rune’s hunts flash through my head.

I’m also learning how to defend myself.

Reaper uses his knife to point toward my feet. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart. Stay vigilant. You’re small, but remember what we taught you. Use your enemies’ size and weight against them.”

“In case you forgot, Rune isn’t a large man like you.”

“Your father isn’t the only threat,” Fallon says from behind me. “You will be with a hunting party.”

My stomach churns, and I drop my arms as I face him. “I saw the pictures,” I remind him. “I saw what they can do. But my task is to get into the safe the day they begin”—I gesture to Reaper—“and give him access to the weapons.”

Fallon smiles. “Correct. But what if someone—an enemy—were to find you before Reaper?”

I swallow at the thought.

“How many people will there be?” I ask. No one has told me anything beyond my task. Get into Rune’s private quarters, get access to the safe, and kill my father.

Fallon clasps his hands behind his back, gaze flickering to Reaper. “According to the last report from Clyde, there will be five staff on site and seven members. Two wives will join, but will not partake in the hunt, yet will be present for the release.”

“The release,” I say, but my voice fades. Hunting party. Release. I can put two and two together, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“57,” Fallon barks. “Take Reaper’s place.”

“No,” Reaper growls.

57 saunters forward, and I swear he’s smirking at Reaper under that all-black mask as he moves up next to me.

“She needs experience with different techniques and styles,” Fallon says. “I’ve been watching you for a week, and you’re too careful with her.”

Despite the fact that he’s talking about knife fighting, my cheeks flame, because Reaper is anything but careful with me.

Except for the afternoon in the kitchen, the men have been very deliberate in the way they’ve touched me all week. The only time they show me they are still in there and didn’t morph back into the hard, cold soldiers who took us is the slight graze of fingers as I’m fed each night.

Fallon gives Reaper a pointed look that makes him step back. Reaper’s aggressive and violent possessiveness seeps from his pores as he crosses his arms, onyx eyes laser-focused on us.

57 tosses the training knife from hand to hand, eyes moving from my oversized black shirt to my boots. Malice oozes from him, dark and almost tangible. Assessing him, I take noteof his slightly jumpy energy, like a boxer. Everything about him reeks of predatory malice, making me glad Reaper is just feet away.