Deacon pushed to his feet. He paused at the door and seemed to struggle with whether or not to speak. But he left without saying a word.
And how fucking awesome was it that Knox had learned the “I’m your sensei; my word is law” attitude from Ronin?
When Shiori felt Knox’s ire directed at her, as if she’d contradict him, it took her a breath or two to look at him.
“Is that how you’d like me to respond to the e-mail? That we’re not interested in him training in our facility in any capacity?” she asked.
“Forward the e-mail to me and I’ll respond, but yes, that is my intent.”
“Of course.”
Shiori slid her laptop closer and started opening screens. Her fingers fumbled on the keys beneath Knox’s penetrating stare. “Done.”
“Do you disagree with my decision?” he asked coolly.
She met his gaze. “No, Shihan, I don’t.”
His eyes darkened. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Shihan.”
She closed her laptop and stood. “That’s the first time you’ve acted like you deserve the title.”
* * *
THURSDAY night classes were always crazy. Still, it surprised her to hear, “Shihan needs you in practice room one.”
Shiori glanced up at Deacon and moved toward him, standing in the open doorway. “What’s going on?”
“I was filling in for Zach in the yellow belt class, and uh, well, now there are a couple of students who are cryin’.”
“You made kids cry?”
“The fuck if I know what I did wrong. But you can hear those two girls bawlin’—”
“You made little girls cry?”
Deacon looked away. “Just go help Knox.”
She passed through the open training areas. The wails assaulted her ears before she reached the room.
Knox had two little girls, age seven or so, up at the front of the class. With the way the building echoed, the girls’ cries were actually louder outside the room. She shot a quick glance to the other students, a dozen boys and girls who were watching Shihan with wide eyes.
Shiori set her hand on Knox’s shoulder. For the briefest moment she thought he might act instinctively and put her in a wrist lock.
But he cranked his head around and gave her a surprised look. “What are you doing here?”
“Deacon said you needed help. What’s going on?”
“Near as I can figure, that one”—Knox pointed to the dark-haired girl sobbing with her forehead on her knees—“attempted a wheel kick and her foot caught her”—he gestured to another dark-haired girl sobbing with her forehead on her knees—“in the face. Then girl number two pushed her down and tried to choke her out.”
“Are either one hurt?”
He shook his head. “Go back to your class. I’ve got this handled.”
Right. “What set off the waterworks?”
“Deacon put them in time-out for the rest of class and said he’d talk to their parents about banning them from watching MMA TV shows.”
Seemed reasonable. MMA was great for showcasing high ability levels for different styles of martial arts, but kids didn’t grasp that they shouldn’t try those moves until they’d been trained properly. “What are their names?”
“No clue.”
“Mind if I try to talk to them?”
“Have at it.”
Shiori tapped girl number one on the foot. “Hey. You need to stop crying and get a grip.”
Knox snorted. “Great help. And believe it or not, they are calmer than they were a few minutes ago.”
“Don’t you just have the magic touch?” she said sarcastically.
“No, but I do have two little sisters.”
He did? Why hadn’t she known that?
Knox touched girl number two on the arm. “Can you talk to me, sweetheart?”
Girl number two raised her head. Her sobs had faded into hiccupping sniffles. “Addy is mean. She said she’s gonna get her orange belt before me so she doesn’t have to be in the same class as me because I suck.”
Girl number one looked up. Holy shit. They were identical twins. She retorted, “Abby is just mad because I’m better at jujitsu than she is.”
“Are not!” Abby yelled.
“Am too!” Addy yelled back.
“Are not!” Abby yelled louder.
“Am too, and I don’t want anyone thinking that you’re me, because I am better!” Addy shouted.