Page 107 of X Marks the Stalker
“You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”
“You will.” He guides me toward the stairs. “The first one is always the hardest.”
I freeze mid-step, his words registering.
“The first one,” I repeat. “You say that like there’s going to be more.”
Chapter 25
Oakley
“Inever thought I’d measure intimacy by how comfortable someone is teaching me to kill,” I say, watching Xander arrange the weapons on the polished oak table. “But here we are.”
He looks up, those intense eyes catching mine. “Most couples have cooking classes. We have this.”
“Is that what we are now? A couple?”
His hands pause over a curved knife, a rare smile cracking his usual mask. “I’ve watched you sleep, memorized your coffee order, and know which drawer holds the twenty-three emergency snacks. I’d say we’re well past the awkward dating phase.”
He delivers this with such deadpan sincerity that laughter bubbles out of me. Only Xander could make stalking sound like relationship milestones.
I pick up a scalpel and balance it between my fingers. The same type of instrument I’d held over Wendell. “I like whatever this is,” I admit, both to him and myself. “Now show me everything.”
His eyes darken. “Everything?”
“Everything,” I confirm. “If we’re taking down Blackwell together, I need to know how to do this right.”
The training begins with the basics. Proper grip, stance, approach.
“Grip it like you mean it,” Xander says, adjusting my fingers around the handle. “Not like you’re cutting the world’s most disappointing birthday cake.”
I tighten my grip. “My cake-cutting technique happens to be quite aggressive. Ask anyone who’s seen me at an office party.”
His body molds behind mine, one hand on my waist, the other guiding my arm. His heat burns through my clothes, his breath tickling my ear.
“Extend your arm,” he instructs, voice dropping lower. “Like this.”
He guides me through a controlled, stabbing motion. My body follows his lead, muscles already memorizing the pattern after five repetitions.
“Better,” he murmurs, still pressed against me. “Now try it without me.”
I execute the movement again, trying to mirror his precision.
“Your stance is off,” he says, circling me. “Spread your legs more.”
He trails off as I widen my stance to something ridiculous.
“What?” I blink. “Is this not optimal for stabbing bad guys?”
His lips twitch. “You look like you’re about to lay an egg.”
“That will be my signature move. The chicken stance. They’ll never see it coming.”
He shakes his head, but I catch the smile he’s trying to hide. He steps in again, this time kneeling down to position my feet correctly with his hands.
“Hip width,” he says, tapping the inside of my foot. “And turn your back foot outward for balance. Unless you’re trying to kill them with comedy.”
