CHAPTER 9

Lions Sit in Solemn Lines

I try my hardest not to stare at Beth as I walk into the gym. Somehow, I missed her going into her bedroom to change, because now she's wearing a sports bra patterned with daises and black sweatpants, with her hair pulled up in a bun. She looks simultaneously adorable and sexy, making my cock swell in my own pair of sweatpants.

When she sees me enter, she starts to do a boxer-like jog in place, shaking out her hands. "Alright, I'm ready. Let's do this shit."

Cute and sexy. I join her over on the wrestling mats, gesturing for her to stay still. "If we had more time, I would start at the basics and work our way up to the more complicated shit, but we don't have that luxury. I'm going to teach you how to react if one of the mercs tries to grab on to you and what do to if they succeed. Then I'm going to teach you how to use a gun, which should always be your number one defense method."

"Do you think they'll try to capture me?" she asks, placing her hands on both of her hips.

"That depends on what Harrison wants with me," I tell her, not trying to sugarcoat it. "He could just want me killed, and in that case he'll likely order us to be shot on sight. If he wants to go the torture route, then the mercs will be under orders to capture us, which is where these lessons will come in. If one of the mercs attempts to capture you, I need you to do everything in your power to escape, and if you manage to, don't wait for me. I was trained to sustain torture, you weren't."

Her face screws up in confusion, making her eyebrows furrow. "If I'm down here in the bunker, how would these guys manage to get to me?"

"By blowing up the doors. You never know what they have up their sleeve, which is why I need you to leave if you get the chance."

"So, if shit hits the fan, I'm just supposed to abandon you?" she asks incredulously.

I harden my stare, trying to convey the gravity of the situation I hypothesize. "You're supposed to keep yourself alive, Beth. If they get you, they'll do unspeakable things to your mind and body. From Harrison's perspective, you helped murder his brother and you're the only person I care about. He'll use you to torture me."

Beth sets her shoulders back and tilts her head high. "Well then, let's make sure neither of us get captured."

I give a resolute nod, taking a couple steps back from her. "Okay, turn around for me."

She does as I direct without hesitation, putting her back to me. I walk forward and wrap an arm gently but firmly around her neck. "In a situation like this, trying to pull yourself away or push my arm away is futile. So, I want you to twist your body towards my hand, and once you get your shoulders out, you shove me away. Try it."

She does it perfectly, and when she's free of my grip, she does a little leap and cheer. "I fucking did it!"

I smile at her enthusiasm. "Let's do it a few more times."

She does it perfectly again and again, and by the third time we try the move, she's a natural. But instead of letting her get too triumphant, I move right into the next move, grabbing her with both arms around the neck and pushing her against the wall. She gasps in surprise, and instinctually she attempts to shove my arms away from the sides, but it won't work.

"You're trying to fight me off with strength, but you need to fight me off with physics. See how my body is positioned? I'm leaning towards you at an angle. Twist your body just like last time, but now I want you to drop down at the same time."

"Can't I just knee you in the nuts?" she asks.

"If I were anyone else, sure. But that won't mean shit to the mercs. They're like me; they were trained to handle extreme levels of pain. And don't try to headbutt them either; it may hurt them, but it will also hurt you. Now try it."

She twists her body like last time, but she doesn't drop down fast enough, so my grip on her wavers only slightly before I resume my hold.

"Try again."

This time she does it a bit quicker and manages to escape my grip. I immediately try to grab her again by the neck, but she automatically twists and pushes like I taught her.

"Fucking excellent." I grin, watching her do a little victory dance.

"Those assholes won't see what's coming for them." She punches the air, making her own whoosh ing sound effects.

"Cool your jets, John Cena. We still have a lot of work to do," I tell her.

"Teach me more," she urges, practically bouncing off the walls in energy and excitement.

Without warning, I slip my foot around her ankle and pull, making her stumble forward. I grab on to her and, as gently as I can, push her down to the mat so she's lying on her back. I wrap my hands around her wrists, pinning down her arms, and I straddle her legs to keep them still.

Beth squirms under me, her expression scrunched up in determination, but she can't escape. After a few minutes of wiggling like a worm, she relaxes, catching my stare. She starts glaring up at me. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

I haven't been hiding my amusement in the slightest. "You're just making really funny faces."

She wiggles again, letting out a frustrated groan. "You're such a dick."

I smile down at her, flexing my fingers on her wrists. "I love it when you insult me."

She smiles sweetly. "I hope you choke on glass."

I chuckle at that. "As much as I'm enjoying having you under me, how about I continue with our lesson?"

"Well, get on with it then." She lifts her head closer to mine, staring me down in a challenge.

So feisty. "You ever do gymnastics as a kid?"

"Yes, why?"

"Make a bridge with your back and hips."

She tilts her pelvis up towards me, and because of the position I'm in, she pushes right up against my cock. It takes all my efforts not to groan. She stays like that as she waits for my instructions, and if I didn't know better, I would say there's a blush forming in her cheeks.

"At the same time, pull your arms down towards your waist," I instruct. "Try it."

She does both at once, thrusting her pelvis into mine, and a grunt escapes me.

I pray she doesn't look down right now.

"You see how it puts me off-balance?" My voice sounds thicker than usual, but I try to stay focused. "I'm forced to catch myself, giving you an opportunity to get the upper hand. What you have to do next is hug on to my torso, keeping me off-balance, then you grab onto this arm and push it between us. It will allow you to pull us both aside so you're now on top."

She does as I say, but when it comes time to pull us to the side, she rolls the wrong way and I end up having all my weight on her. She lets out a little squeak, and I immediately push up onto my elbows, not wanting to crush her. "Roll the other way."

She tries again, this time rolling to the left, and she ends up on top of me like I planned. She now straddles my hips, with her hands on my arms, and I was unprepared for how turned on the view of her on top of me makes me. It only gets worse when she grins down at me triumphantly and says, "Look who's the star pupil."

I like this side of her, this competitiveness. "Careful. Too much confidence in a dangerous situation can lead to mistakes."

She shrugs. "You've made it through and you're the cockiest bastard I know."

I grab on to her hips and flip us back over, and this time I lay my body along hers, completely pinning her down. "See? Instead of witty remarks, you could have slit my throat and saved yourself. But now you're mine."

I expect her to glare at me or call me an asshole, but instead her lips part and her breath catches. I look into her eyes and see her pupils widen, arousal filling her gaze. Whether unconsciously or not, she gently presses her body up against mine, and I feel myself harden to the point of pain. From now on, when I train Beth, I need to wear looser boxers, because this won't cut it. I feel like circulation has been cut off from my dick.

"We should take a break," I croak out, slowly lifting myself off of her.

She continues to lie on the floor, giving me a slow nod. "Yeah. A break would be good."

The two of us are sitting down in the kitchen eating some Campbell's soup from a can, with the news playing in the background on his laptop, which is resting in front of us on the table, but I can't bring myself to pay attention. My mind is too preoccupied with the knowledge of our shared feelings and the near dry humping session we had today. With one peek at H, I know that he's not listening to the news either. His eyes aren't even on the screen.

I'm able to distract myself for a bit as I check my blood sugar and dose for my food, but pretty soon I'm sitting there as stiffly and quietly as he is.

Say something, Beth. Something to break the ice . "How come you never told me you were religious?" I ask quietly.

He tears his eyes from the table and stares at me, his expression unreadable. "I didn't want to be one of those people that stuffs God down someone else's throat."

"Talking about something important to you isn't the same as forcing your beliefs on others," I argue, twirling my spoon around in the bowl. "You can talk about it with me if you want to. I was raised Baptist, but I stopped practicing religion after my parents died."

Henry's eyes refocus on the bowl of soup in front of him, and I see his expression harden into stone. "My mother raised me Catholic."

Oh.

I know he wants to change the subject, and usually I would let him, but there's something about our situation and what we've shared today that makes me pry. "Do you continue to practice because of her?"

"Yes and no." He sighs, licking his lips. "My father was Italian; his parents moved to the States when he was a baby, and they raised him Catholic. My mom converted to Catholicism when they got married, and as a way to keep his spirit alive in death, she raised me in the faith. She firmly believed in being kind to everyone, helping those who need it, and never harming anyone. She would say hello to everyone she passed by on the street, would give whatever money she had in her wallet to the poor, and she volunteered most of her free time at charities. I asked her once if she did any of it to ensure she went to heaven to see Dad, but she said she didn't care about where she ended up. She just wanted to help people."

I grin at that, imagining the warm smile of Henry's mother in the wedding picture. "She sounds like an amazing woman."

He nods, still staring down into his bowl. "She's why I do what I do. There are too many evil people in this world, and too many good people pay the price. I don't care if I end up in hell as long as I can ensure I'm taking others down there with me."

Instinctively I reach out and touch his arm, where a tattoo of Mother Mary rests. "I don't think you're destined for hell, H."

"The Lord examines the righteous, but the wicked, those who love violence, he hates with passion." His eyes lift to mine. "Psalms 11:5. God believes it's wrong to fight evil with evil."

"But you don't?"

"How many cases in the CIA did we work that had casualties that could have been avoided?" he asks rhetorically, his eyes flicking to the TV, where a news story details another mass shooting in the US, at a grocery store. "In all these organizations, whether they be the military, the CIA, the FBI—you have to follow a code. There are lines you cannot cross, just like in religion. But the evil in this world doesn't follow rules, and if you want to save the most lives, you have to play as dirty as they do. After working in the military and in the CIA, I learned that lesson the hard way."

"Why do you think I agreed to work with you?"

His eyes flick back to mine, and he half smirks. "I thought that was because of the promise of good healthcare?"

"Well that too." I squeeze his arm. "Thank you for telling me."

He nods, meeting my gaze. "What made you decide to stop practicing?"

I'm surprised he's asking me that, but I guess if I pried, so will he. "As you know, my parents died when I was seven. I went to live with my grandparents, and they took me to church on Sundays and made me say my prayers at night, but I didn't want to talk to the God that took my parents away. How could God be benevolent if he causes us all so much unnecessary suffering? And then I got diagnosed a couple years later and that firmly made me an atheist. God gave me a body that actively tries to kill me. I want nothing to do with God."

He nods, no judgement whatsoever in his eyes. "I understand that. I may identify as a Catholic in terms of my faith, but I don't subscribe to organized religion. Even when my mother was alive, I never went to church or read the Bible. My faith was built around the idea of loving and accepting everyone, a foundation created by my mother."

"That's beautiful," I tell him, truly meaning it. These days faith is built around so much hate and anger—hearing about the opposite is refreshing.

He takes in a deep breath, doing a shit job of hiding his ever-poignant grief. "How is your blood sugar doing?" he asks.

I fish out my pump from my sports bra and check it, seeing that my level is at 208 and rising. I just ate, so this is pretty normal. I show him the screen, and he nods. "Go grab a juice from the kitchen and bring it with us to the gym just in case you go low later."

Always looking after me. "Okay, Mom."

He gets out of his chair and shoots me a glare. "Don't be a brat."

I give him a challenging grin in return. "Why? You gonna spank me?"

I meant it as a joke, but I get goosebumps by the way his gaze intensifies.

Oh my God, does he want to spank me?

Oh my God, do I want him to spank me?

"Meet me in the gym," he says, his voice low and sultry. Without another word, he leaves the kitchen and disappears behind the metal doors.

Christ Almighty.