Chapter 12 Carter
CARTER
Lana is staring at me, fist up at shoulder level, guarding her chest, bouncing on her feet like I just taught her a few minutes ago.
It’s a date. Sure. But I still want to teach her how to defend herself if she ever needs to, especially since I’m not around all the time.
Which, according to my therapist, wouldn’t be healthy.
Whatever. If I could, I’d stalk her even in her sleep, just to make sure she’s safe.
But Ash said something about being a red flag, and now I can’t get it out of my head.
I’ll behave as normal as my messed-up mind can, and hopefully, I won’t mess everything up.
“Hey,” she calls me, bringing me back to the present, the determination in her hazelnut eyes distracting me.
Or is it her pair of black leggings sticking to her thighs so damn much?
It was hard enough to stay focused on the road with her behind my back on my bike that I had to bite the inside of my cheeks so hard it bled a bit.
Keeping my focus on Lana is like trying to ride a bike on ice, no grip, no control, just pure skidding.
“Alright, show me what you’ve got,” I grunt, my voice as steady as I can manage. She throws a punch hesitantly, her lips parting as if she was surprised by her own strength.
“Good,” I say, hoping it’ll give her confidence to keep going. “Try to aim a bit higher on the next one.”
“I…I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“O-okay…”
“C’mon, sweetness, imagine, imagine it’s him.
” I deliver it flatly, knowing it might push her over the edge.
But maybe that’s where she’ll remember her strength.
I want that for her, because that’s how I survived all these years.
I learned to live with my anger, to shape it into something useful.
I’m not saying I’m healed. Far from it. But I’ve come a long way, and if I can help her see that anger doesn’t have to be the enemy, I will.
She can use it. Control it. Own it. Her next blow comes fast, harder this time, aimed straight for my chin.
I dodge it by a hair, and damn, I wish I could smile.
“Sharp,” I tell her, nodding. She blushes, putting her palms on her face to feel the heat.
I get closer and remove her hands, looking at them with the sudden urge to cover her knuckles with kisses.
Is kissing hands a thing now? I used to mostly cut them off with a saw, but with Lana, damn, I just want to worship every inch of her.
“Carter?” she murmurs. “Are you okay?” I must have stared a bit too much. Sometimes the world stops when I dissociate and drift elsewhere in my mind.
“I was picturing kissing your palms,” I grunt. “Your hands are very distracting.”
“Oh.” She bites her smile and the look of her teeth digging into her lower lip sends a jolt of electricity to my stomach.
“Now, I want you to defend yourself when I attack you. We’re going to try this move; it’s easy.
Here,” I say as I circle her and stand behind her back, her shoulders rising fast. “Just breathe, it’s an exercise.
You’re in control,” I remind her, hoping my voice is warmer than a brick.
“When I do this,” I pretend to grab her ribs and rest my palm on her mouth to silence her, which is quite plausible for a female getting attacked in the street, “strike me with your right elbow in the ribs, then quickly take my index finger with your left hand and twist my finger.” I show her the move by taking her hand in mine and mimicking the gesture.
“The attacker will most likely let you go, taken by surprise when you twist his index,” I explain. “It’s very effective.”
“I’m not sure I can remember all these moves.”
“Don’t worry about it, just trust me. It’ll work.”
“Okay…” She trails off, unconvinced.
“You ready, sweetness?”
“Yes,” she says in a breathy voice, and I hear the sound of it resound into my bones.
This voice, damn. I want to hear it every day of my life.
Every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to sleep.
That little, sweet voice. Like honey melting on a sunny day.
I grab her firmly, my other hand drifting to her full lips to silence her.
And my world falls off its axis when she immediately shoves her elbows in my ribs with more strength than I was expecting and then twists my index hard, forcing me to let her go, and watch her all fucking smily and out of breath, her hands resting on her thighs, staring at me intensely.
She did it. On her first try. I flex my hand and move my fingers, but the pain is already gone.
My girl may be sweet, but she definitely knows how to bite, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“That was perfect, Lana. Really,” I tell her, wondering about all the other moves I could teach her and make her a damn walking weapon nobody would expect.
“Really?” she asks, blushing.
Blushing is good. Yes. Right.
“You're a fast learner,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “Do you want to continue?”
She nods, eager, hungry for more.
Damn, this woman will be the end of me.
After an hour on the club mat teaching Lana many other moves where she succeeded each time in acting against me, I look at my watch and notice it's about time we go grab a bite.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m starving.” She laughs, her cheeks red from effort.
“What would you like, sweetness?”
“Anything, as long as I can go there in my leggings.” She chuckles, and I want to smile at her, because despite having more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime, I'm glad we both have the same mindset.
No need for fancy stuff. As long as the food is good and the place is nice enough, then it's alright.
I've never been into sophisticated chicks because they always expect you to take them to luxurious places with suits on.
Never liked that. I've always been a T-shirt and jeans kind of guy.
“There's an Italian place ten minutes from here. They make fresh pasta, I think you'll like it.”
“I'm definitely in the mood for pasta.” She smiles as I give her my hand to go down from the ring to the floor.
She puts her sweatshirt back on, and I want to bite my fist when I realize, once again, after picking her up tonight, that she's wearing my sweatshirt.
The one I gave her last time. “You okay?” she asks as she removes her elastic band and lets her long chocolate hair fall on her shoulders.
“I'm okay,” I grunt.
“It is about the sweatshirt? I can give it back to you if-”
I raise my palm in the air. “I really like watching you with my clothes on your body. I like it a lot. Maybe a bit too much,” I say flatly. “Let's go.”
I take her hand and mine. She laces our fingers right away, and I really enjoy the fact that she initiated it.
The sound of a vibration takes my attention, and I notice that it comes from her phone.
Lana looks at her side pocket, unlocks her screen, and winces.
I don’t think it's her sitter, otherwise, she would already have answered.
Must be someone she doesn't want to talk to.
“You can pick it up if you want. I'll just wait,” I assure her.
“No, it's nothing.” She falters and places a weird smile on her face. Less genuine. Less authentic. Might not be a smile at all. Why can't I read her right now? I drop it ‘cause it ain’t my business. In the parking lot, I secure her helmet, then lift her by the hips and help her onto the backseat. She doesn’t even gasp or flinch. Like she’s done it a million times.
Like I’ve always pictured her doing this.
Once we’re settled, I feel her lean into my back just a little, and I catch myself holding my breath.
I could get used to this. I am getting used to this.
I fire up the engine, and the rumble settles through both of us.
“Ready?” I ask, just loud enough for her to hear over the roar. She nods, her arms sliding around me, and it’s like everything clicks into place.
“Oh my God,” she hums, digging into her plate.
Creamy sauce clings to her lips, and I have to look away before I do something stupid, like wipe it off with my thumb.
“This is amazing. Fresh pasta is definitely the best. I tried making some with Noah once, total disaster. We were both covered in flour.” She laughs, eyes lighting up at the memory.
I inhale, then grab a bite of meatballs, watching my girl enjoying herself.
I’m glad I brought us here. The owner’s a great guy, always has a table for the club members, and it’s not far from our warehouse.
Simple food, just how I like it. It’s small, with red checkered tablecloths, candles, rustic wood chairs, and Italian music playing in the background.
“You improved a lot today,” I tell her, ‘cause she learned a bunch of new moves and nailed them each time. Don’t know if this has to do with picturing her ex, but it definitely brought the lioness in her.
Her phone is on the table, screen up in case the sitter calls, she said.
She’s a good mom, always thinking about her son and what she could do to make him smile.
I like that about her. She’s caring, kind, smart, and strong.
You don’t come across a lady like her every day.
The screen lights up, and the name of her ex appears backward.
What does he want?
She locks the phone and makes the vibration disappear, but I’m starting to think that he’s been the one calling her before we left and once more on the drive.