“So you put yourself in danger and killed two men out of the goodness of your heart?” Claudia’s voice teetered on a sneer.
I shrugged. I was tired of talking, especially when nothing I could say was going to convince her. She was going to kick me out any second now. I’d be lucky if Reginald came back with my sub before Claudia had some guards shove me and Mo out the front door. And that would be just fine with me. Because I wanted to leave here and never set eyes on her again.
And I especially never, ever wanted to see Devon Sinclair again.
Claudia studied me another moment, then got to her feet. I sighed and did the same, knowing what was coming next. No free food for me, after all.
“Well, then, Miss Merriweather,” she said. “If you are as smart with a sword as you are with your mouth, then you won’t mind a demonstration of your skills.”
A shocked realization zipped through me. This wasn’t an interrogation at all.
It was a test.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ten minutes later, I stood in the center of a large training room, holding a sword. Thick mats stretched across this part of the floor, with several treadmills and weight machines off to one side. Swords, daggers, and knives were also lined up in neat rows on two of the walls. Metal grates hung over some of the weapons—the black blades—locking them away from greedy, grasping hands like mine.
The air smelled of sweat with a faint, coppery tinge of blood. Behind the grates, a few dull stains gleamed on some of the weapons, although I doubted anyone could see them but me. A glass partition stood along the curve of the third wall, with rows of padded seats behind it, as though this was a hockey rink.
The spectators had already arrived. Claudia, Reginald, Grant, and Mo sat in the seats, while two guards armed with swords acted as sentries next to the doors—I supposed to stop me if I did something crazy, like try to make a run for it.
Mo flashed me a thumbs-up. I resisted the urge to reach down, grab one of the throwing stars attached to my belt, and send it hurtling in his direction.
My opponent was here as well. Felix stood on the far side of the mats, clutching a sword. He gave me another wink, followed by a slow, sexy smirk.
Devon was here, too, leaning against one of the grates, his arms crossed over his chest. I ignored him.
Behind the glass partition, Reginald rose to his feet. “This is to be a demonstration only, so no drawing blood, no debilitating blows. The first person to disarm the other wins. Do you understand?”
“Crystal clear,” I sniped.
“Felix?”
He nodded. “We’re good.”
“All right then.” Reginald held his arm up, then abruptly dropped it. “Begin!”
Felix raised his sword high, let out a fierce yell, and charged. He was trying to scare and surprise me, but it didn’t work. If we’d been fighting for real, I could have easily moved forward and run him through before he even realized what was happening. But I decided to be nice, so I sidestepped him instead. He whipped around and charged at me again. This time, I engaged him.
Felix was decent enough with a sword, but he fought in an exaggerated, reckless fashion, like someone who was trying to copy the flashy maneuvers he’d seen in the movies. I could have disarmed him in three moves, but I decided to be nice again and drag it out to seven.
He swung at me. I stepped forward and grabbed his arm, bending his wrist back far enough to make him yelp and drop his weapon. He tried to jerk free, but I drove my elbow into his stomach and slammed my sneaker into his knee. A second later, he was down on the mat, my sword pointed at his heart.
Felix’s face creased into a smile. “Have I mentioned that I dig bad-ass chicks? Seriously, you are, like, a total hottie right now.”
I couldn’t help laughing. I reached down, offered him my hand, and pulled him up onto his feet. Felix winked at me and stepped off the mats.
The training room was silent. I looked over at Reginald.
“Anything else?” I sniped. “Or can I go now?”
“Not just yet,” a low voice sounded.
Even before I turned my head, I knew what I would find. Sure enough, Devon shrugged out of his black suit jacket and tossed it over to Felix before rolling up the cuffs of his shirt, revealing his brown, muscled forearms.
He grabbed Felix’s sword from where it had landed on the mats and snapped it up into an attack position. I sighed and raised my weapon again. I wondered how many people I’d have to fight before Claudia and the others grew tired of this pointless display.
Reginald repeated the whole drill about fighting clean before starting the match. Instead of attacking me, Devon started twirling his sword in his hand in a slow, easy motion. So I mirrored his movements, just to mock him.
“I hope you’re better with a sword than your boy Felix. He wasn’t even a challenge.”
Devon’s green gaze flicked to Felix, who had taken a seat with the others behind the glass. “I know. It was cruel of you to toy with him like that.”
“I wasn’t toying with him so much as I was letting him lose with a little bit of dignity.”
“Well, please, don’t do me the same favor,” he drawled.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that—”
He charged at me, trying to take me by surprise, and the battle was on.
Devon was a far superior fighter to Felix. Stronger, smarter, more careful with his blows, and always thinking about his next move.
But I was still better.
I knew it instinctively, the same way I knew I should always pay the lochness toll. I knew it because my mom had trained me to be the best, and I’d spent the last four years honing my skills on the streets. I knew it because I was just like her deep down inside, no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise.
We broke apart after a quick exchange and circled each other, going around and around on the mats.