John held on to the heavy bag for dear life as Victoria pummeled the fuck out of it. Hooks, jabs, uppercuts, and swift knees knocked him off his feet as she focused her concentrated hatred on the inanimate object. She picked up the pace when Rage Against the Machine’s “Maggie’s Farm” came on. She mouthed the words under her breath as she wheeled off a flawless roundhouse kick, hitting the side of the bag. John avoided her as best as he could while holding the bag still. When she returned to punching, she kept pace with the song, alternating between ducking and strikes. Victoria Reese was not going to work on someone’s farm. If John wanted to remain unharmed, he’d have to figure out who was oppressing her.

“Time,” he called out.

As if she were a sleeper agent, Victoria paused mid-swing. Her eyes cleared as she looked from the bag to him. Chest heaving and dripping from sweat, she dropped her arm. “That felt amazing,” she panted.

“Did it?” Chris asked. “You attacked the bag like it owed you money.”

“Oh, I could go again,” she said, running her arm across her forehead. “That was a warm up.”

John exchanged looks with his friend. “Maybe I don’t need to supervise,” Chris said. “Looks like Dr. Reese has it under control.”

“Maybe you can stick around,” John said. “For my safety.”

“He’ll be fine,” Victoria said to Chris as she took off her gloves. “It’s time for a spar, Mr. Donovan.”

“You heard her, Mr. Donovan,” Chris said as he backed away with a grin. “It’s time for a spar.”

Left to themselves, John was hesitant to move away from the heavy bag and expose himself. “Would you like to talk about your day yet?”

She shook her head. “Nope, not yet.”

“Before we move to the mats, can I ask you something?”

Victoria took a long swig from her water bottle. “Sure.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that? As far as I know, you punched a girl in grade school and felt terrible about it. You didn’t say you were a paid assassin.”

Victoria laughed. “My dad taught me. He’s a Marine, remember?”

“What on earth did he teach you?”

“Marines martial arts, MCMAPS,” she said. “They borrowed from all kinds of fighting styles: judo, wrestling, Muay Thai, Taekwondo...”

“... Krav Maga,” John finished. He’d heard of this from Dante, the kickboxing instructor. Maybe Victoria should have been teaching his niece.

“You’ve heard of it?”

John was nervous. “I have. It’s kind of lethal.”

“Of course it is, it’s the military,” she scoffed. “I’ll go easy on you.”

He hoped so. As they walked to an empty kickboxing studio, John closed the door behind him. If he was going to get his ass kicked, there was no sense in letting everyone know about it. “And how did that square with your mother?”