A touch on the small of my back jarred me from my trance. I whirled with my fists up, one already flying out for a knockout blow.
Talon caught my left hand with his much larger fingers, guiding the momentum of it to the side of his face and forcing me to stumble to the side with the sheer force of the attempted blow.
I shook myself as I caught my balance, gritting my teeth in anticipation of a mocking criticism. To my surprise, I got the opposite.
“You’ve got good form,” Talon said, without showing a hint of emotion.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “I thought you’d already figured that out.”
He gave a subtle shrug. “You weren’t exactly focused on technique the one time I’ve seen you fight.”
Fair. I cocked my head. “Can I keep going?”
He nodded to my hands. “Your footwork is more suited for a dominant right hand.”
That came as no surprise. I might have strengthened my left side for the sake of practicality, but my right side had always been my strongest.
“Yes,” I said. “I imagine it is, considering I’m right-handed.” A little impressive that he’d been able to tell just by watching me for a while, though.
He considered the brace holding my stronger wrist captive. If only he knew the things that I’d done with my left hand alone. The guns I’d used to take lives. The knives I’d wielded against my opponents.
I was proficient with my left hand. That was all I needed.
“I can show you a couple of adjustments that would help you switch over,” he offered. “If you want.”
He may not have been expressive, but I caught the undercurrent of interest in his voice now. He was impressed. Maybe only as if I were a toy he could play with to see what it could do, but I’d caught his attention enough for him to give some kind of a damn.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
Having seen him in action, I could tell he might have a few tips that would actually be useful. That was why I was still here, right? To use these men however I could?
I gave Talon a single nod. As he kneeled in front of me, I forced myself to hold still. He nudged one of my feet and then the other, adjusting their placement and angle just an inch here and there. His fingers brushed my calf before he straightened up, and even with the fabric of my sweatpants between his skin and mine, a quiver of heat shot up my leg.
When he stood, I lifted my fists and tested a punch. I felt the way my body moved in line, allowing just a little more power to fall behind the blow. I smiled and met his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Can I join you?” he asked, and I froze in place, not prepared for that question.