Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(84)

“Anything?”

“I once killed a man with chopsticks.” Nena said it as if she’d picked up milk at the grocery.

Georgia snapped around, forgetting they were supposed to be training, her eyes as round as saucers. “Get the fuck out!”

“Language,” Nena said blandly. “Now turn back around and repeat the move from your nonfight. I’ll react, and let’s see what you can come up with to defend yourself.”

This time, Georgia did as she was told.





62


BEFORE


Dad and Mum teach me and Elin the ins and outs of Council, although she enjoys it much more than I do. Elin is shrewd, like Mum, knows when a deal is good or bad, plans and thinks things through. And I, like Dad, am better suited to action. We are becoming a well-oiled machine, each with our own roles and purposes. And I begin to feel real comfort at being a part of the family.

My sophomore year at university is when I begin tagging along on light team missions. It took Witt a while to get the okay from Dad, but Witt convinced him that the best way to learn was with on-the-job training. Reconnaissance and concealment go hand in hand. When I tag along with the team or with a member on a job, I usually stay back in what we call an urban assault vehicle. It is filled with cameras and microphones strong enough to pick up a mouse breaking wind, if they did that sort of thing.

I learn the key to recon is to be the observer, not the observed. And to never let a mark see me until it’s too late.



I practice languages, one of my favorite subjects because of my affinity for them, thanks to Papa. Eventually, Languages and Linguistics becomes my major at uni, while Elin, of course, chooses Business and Accounting. A good decision.

I perfect my driving skills when Dad treats me to a weeklong event at the Circuit de Monaco, where I experience the Monaco Grand Prix. I train with one of the racers for Defensive Driving and High Speed. My first trip to America is to the Daytona 500 in Florida. It is a memorable experience that makes me fall in love with Florida, more specifically Miami, when we shoot down there afterward for Dad to conduct some business.

At the 500, I also learn to ride motorcycles, something to use in tight spaces and for quick getaways.

I undergo all these intense trainings over and over until I not only get a passing grade but excel. My education consists of the University College London and the University of Witt. I hungrily consume both, the illegal and the not, especially anything hands on. And I accept the consequences of my choices, the good and the bad.



After one particularly grueling day with the team, I am on my bed. Every inch of my body is racked with pain. When I try sitting upright, a sharp stab ricochets through my sides like a ball in a Ping-Pong machine. I bear down, breathing through the pain. My mind does a body check—I took a course from a field medic at the University of Witt—and I diagnose my pain by comparing it to injuries I have received before. I have bruised my ribs.

The scalding-hot shower I took to help ease the pain provided only temporary comfort, and I stare at the jar of ointment sitting all the way over on the dresser. My body begs for me not to move. But I try to ease off the bed, hissing through the pain.

“Need help?” Elin asks from the doorway.

I close my eyes, knowing what she will say when she sees my bruises. She invites herself in without my answering her, grabbing the ointment. She twists it open as she approaches me. She gets on the bed as carefully as possible, which, of course, makes me hurt worse.

“Sorry.”

She gently removes the robe from my shoulders and emits an audible gasp at the dark-purplish bruising over half my body, the side Dana pummeled earlier that day.

“Bloody hell, Nena, how much more of this will you take?” Elin asks as she begins applying a thick slathering of ointment. The room fills with the smell of camphor. “You don’t have to do this. It’s been years, and you still get fucked up. Haven’t you had enough?”

“I like it.” I wince. “And I am nearly finished with my training.”

“You’re always hurt, bruised, cut, broken, or exhausted,” she fumes. “I hate this for you.” With nimble fingers, she kneads away knots of pain. I grit my teeth, my hands fisting into tight balls and digging into the duvet cover, to keep from crying aloud.

I hiss, “I’ll be okay.”

“Why can’t you stick to the business side with me? Run it with me?” She asks me this every time she nurses me. It has become our routine. “We would be unstoppable.”

“I don’t want to run anything.”

She pulls my robe over my shoulder and watches me inch into the bed, between the covers she has thankfully pulled down. When she tucks me in tightly enough I cannot escape, Elin lies beside me, her head touching mine. “What about a double date? Tomorrow.”

Her voice brightens when she says it, and I twist my head to gawk at her, then return to my more pressing matter of finding a comfortable position to sleep in beneath this cocoon she has wrapped me in.

“Ben has a friend who says you’re hot.” Ben is her flavor-of-the-month boyfriend. Her words, not mine.

“I am hot,” I mutter. “Would you mind turning down the heat when you leave?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Not that kind of hot, Literal Lucy. He finds you attractive. You need to shag, sis.”