Page 47 of Her Mercenary
“But you said you killed them.”
“Not all of them, and I wasn’t able to get rid of all the bodies.”
“They have to know I didn’t kill those men ...”
He shrugged. “No way to know right now. I’d rather be prepared, wouldn’t you?” He refocused on the knife. “Knives are useless in self-defense unless you hit a vital organ or artery. That is always your goal, do you understand?”
I nodded, shifting my focus back to survival.
“You’re short, five-foot-four, I’m guessing, and therefore will probably always be smaller than your attacker. Use that against him. Your height is not a weakness.”
He gently set down my foot, stood, and began demonstrating.
“Always keep the tip of your blade pointed at your attacker, not to the side—not all limp-dick at your hip like an imbecile. Don’t look around for help like an idiot, stay focused on him, and him only. You are preparing for attack—never assume otherwise. You fight, Samantha, fight.”
Roman stepped behind a tall, thin rock spearing up from the cave.
“Put an obstacle between you and him, and keep the point of the blade aligned on the attacker. Always keep your body behind your knife. When he advances, don’t be a pussy and slash like a girl. You want to stab hard, stab downward, and twist the blade if you can. Leave the blade and run if you got him good.”
“Do you always talk to women like this?”
“I rarely talk to women.”
“I see.”
Roman fisted his hands on his hips, glowering at me. “You’ve quite the attitude, you know that?”
“You’ve told me this already.”
He shook his head, then returned to the subject. “Never stand flat-footed, always on your toes, always moving…” He pointed the knife at me. “…while doing what?”
“Keeping the knife between me and the man.”
“Right. Good job. Keep your body small and tight, your limbs close together, not flailing about like a—”
“Idiot. Got it.” I rolled my eyes. “Keep going.”
“Never use your other arm as a shield. This is the most common mistake. It opens your body for attack. And never extend your arm fully while stabbing.”
“But you said it yourself, I’ll be smaller than my attacker. I’d have to fully extend my arm.”
“No. Get in close. It’s the opposite of what he’ll expect. Move in after dodging a blow or follow your attacker’s arms as he retracts after a punch. Stay low, go in like a fucking lion, get it done, get out.”
Like a fucking lion. A surge of adrenaline pumped through my veins at that thought.
Gripping the knife tightly, I turned it over in my hands, examining the lines, the length. It felt good. It made me feel like I had some control back, that I could do something. All of a sudden, I felt strong.
Strong like a lion. Like a fucking lion.
“Thank you.” I spoke before thinking it through. “For what you did—for saving me. Killing those men.”
“Give me your hand,” he said, ignoring my gratitude. Or uncomfortable with it, perhaps.
I lifted my right arm.
“No. The other hand.” Roman knelt at my feet. “The hand that’s in your pocket.”
I hesitated. “You—you already saw it. In the room.”