Chapter 20
TWENTY
When Avery’s new knife showed up to our door, she took one look at it and instantly got cold feet about learning how to use it.
I’m usually not one to push about this sort of thing but with how many threats are stalking her, having no defensive skills is just plain dumb.
When I pointed that out to her, she still tried to talk her way out of it.
So I decide to corner her instead.
When she arrives to the training room for her dance practice and finds me leaning against the door waiting for her, she takes one look at the firm set of my mouth and sighs like I’m murdering her. Then, to her credit, she waves a hand for me to lead the way without putting up a fight.
We head to the same gym I train in each morning and, predictably, it’s empty.
Every area of Hannaford’s sports center is set up for specific uses, which is why the dance studios and weights rooms are always packed.
This room only houses the boxing ring, where I found Harley and Blaise back before winter break, so I’m guessing not many students are into hand-to-hand.
Weird, considering how popular the fight club is.
That only tells me it’s about their public image, and saving face in their upper levels of society.
I just can’t wrap my head around how these rich kids think and function, and I’m not sure I ever will.
Luckily, I can leave that shit to Avery.
I set my duffel bag down on the mats and dig around in it to be sure I have everything we need before we start. The boxing ring calls to me, but I refuse to look at it because I don’t need Avery questioning the blush that will absolutely color my cheeks if I do.
Dressed in a pair of Avery’s yoga pants and a loose hoodie, I slip my shoes off but leave my socks on because the polished wooden floor is freezing.
Avery was on her way to ballet so she looks like a freaking cast member of The Nutcracker.
I think. I mean, I have no idea what a ballerina in the Nutcracker would wear but I’m confident Avery would fit in.
“I already hate everything about this.”
I don’t bother turning around. I know the exact expression that will be on Avery’s face as she looks around the gym.
I also don’t give her shit for whining about it.
She didn’t ask for this, has no interest in doing the dirty work herself, especially since she’s a germaphobe who will absolutely lose her shit if she’s ever forced to use the knife I got her.
I didn’t exactly have a choice, either, but I also wasn’t opposed to violence and bloodshed.
I never was, even before I met the Jackal or knew what the Twelve was.
It took me a long time to see that other people don’t have the ability to turn off the parts of their brains that make them ‘human’ and lean into their base, predator instincts instead.
It took me even longer to realize not everyone has a predator inside them.
Turning back to Avery, I lay it all out for her in a firm but sure way.
“I’m not going to teach you how to fight.
I wouldn’t be good at that anyway because I don’t get into ‘fights’.
I defend myself and I make calculated moves to overcome whoever I need to despite my size. That’s what I’m going to teach you.”
The door opens and closes but I hear the murmured snarking from the guys so I push it out of my mind while I focus on the lesson.
Avery groans and moans her way through the first part.
I teach her not to tuck her damn thumb in when she makes a fist. I show her how to shift her weight so she’s more stable on her feet, which thanks to her dancing, she picks up easily since she’s a pro at this stuff from dancing.
Then I teach her how to breathe when you’re afraid so your brain receives the optimal amount of oxygen.
I teach her the best points to strike and what parts of her body she should use to strike them.
After an hour of this Avery is panting and, wonder of wonders, sweating.
She looks at least slightly unkempt and I’m grinning like an idiot over it.
When we stop to grab water, I find the guys all sitting and watching us.
I startle a little, but only because I was expecting them to be training in the ring, or working out, or something.
“Do they teach this in Mounty school?” drawls Blaise, but there’s a flush to his cheeks that is confusing as hell.
Ash looks conflicted and Avery trots over to talk quietly to him.
He meets my eye over her head and gives me the smallest of nods, like the acknowledgement is costing him dearly, but I give him one back without being a bitch about it.
I know he hates that she’s being forced to learn these particular skills, but he also jumped at the opportunity for me to teach her, which says a lot.
I drain my water bottle and Harley grabs it from me with an offer to refill it.
I smile at him and then call out, “We still have more to cover, Aves, so get your ass back over here.”
She groans and drags her feet. “I’m not strong like you, Lips. I can’t do this.”
I sigh and perch against the boxing ring, crossing my arms so she knows I mean business.
“You think that because you’ve always had Ash or Harley or Blaise around to protect you, but you’re wrong.
You exercise six days a week. Some days you do three sessions.
You’ve never broken a bone, no nerve damage, and when you froze at what Rory was doing it was fear not PTSD.
Physically, you are stronger than me. What I’m teaching you are the basics of self-defense but the most important, the most valuable thing you need is something you already have. ”
She huffs and crosses her arms but I keep going.
“You’re observant and intuitive. You can look at literally anyone and make a quick assessment of what weaknesses they have and how to exploit them to take them out.
So far, you’ve used that strength to socially ruin the sheep, but you can easily switch to reading body language and defending yourself.
You’re better at it than anyone I’ve met, you’re as good as I am. You may end up better than me.”
I glance behind her to see the guys have settled back into their seats and are fixated on us.
I quirk an eyebrow at Avery in question but she waves me off.
“I don’t care that they’re here. But I need you to show me something real.
Walk me through a situation and explain how knowledge will be better than strength or size.
I need you to prove it to me so I can stop second guessing myself. ”
Hmm. It’s a good idea and I’m a little pissed I didn’t think of it myself. I cringe a little at the scenario that pops into my head, but the more I think about it, the better it fits.
I sigh and grab a stack of training mats before piling them up until they’re bed height, then I slip my hoodie off and hand it over to Avery.
She takes it hesitantly and pulls it over her head.
She looks ridiculous and Ash snorts as he takes a photo of her in it.
I dig around in my bag until I find my knife and slip that into the hoodie pocket.
I chew on my bottom lip and then address our audience. “Look, you guys have to stay quiet. If she’s going to learn how to defend herself you need to let me walk her through this. If you can’t hack it then please leave.”
They all nod, somewhat hesitantly, and then I push them out of my mind. I grab Avery’s wrist, hard enough to bruise. She jumps and frowns at me.
“When I first transferred and Joey fixated on me, insisted that I go to a party here with him, he told all of the seniors he was going to fuck me, one way or another. He found me walking back to the dorms and I knew he was high but I also knew he could outrun me. He’s not as big as Rory or Ash or most of the guys at this school because of his habit, but drug addicts are unpredictable. I couldn’t just run.”
There’s a deep furrow on Avery’s brow and her lips are turned down at the corners. I’ve never offered her this truth before. I had put it out of my mind even before we became friends, just one more fucked up thing that almost happened to me to add to the pile.
I hold up her wrist. “He held my wrist harder than this. I could feel my bones bending under his fingers and pulling away meant fighting him off with a broken wrist. So… what do you do? Knowing him, reading the situation you’re in, what do you do?”
Avery swallows. “Play along. Get him talking and distract him.”
I nod and tug her over to the mats. Once we’re both sitting on them I wait a minute and then continue. “Now he tells you he can fuck you by force or you can lie back and enjoy it. He kisses you. What do you do?”
Her lip quivers but her eyes stay dry. “Play along. I have no choice, he’s still got my wrist.”
“Good.” I shove her back and cover her body with my own, careful not to crowd her or hurt her. Explosive swearing erupts behind us and a chair crashes against the floor but I keep my focus on the lesson. “Now what?”
She frowns and takes stock of what’s going on. She tugs a little at her wrist that’s still pinned above her head and then wriggles a little. “Oh. The knife is in my pocket.”
I smile and nod. She reaches in to grab it and I lower myself on her to pin her. “I grabbed it before he pushed me down so my hand was trapped. What do you do?”
She sighs. “Gross. You can’t wrestle your arm out because he’d notice so you have to play along. What a pathetic piece of shit.”
I snort but I’m glad she has her fire back. “Yep. Arch your back and moan a little and he’ll ease up because he wants you rubbing on him.”
“Right.” She arches and pulls the knife out but leaves the blade covered. Then, without further instruction, she presses it to my groin. The grin I beam down at her is savage and wild.
“Avery Beaumont, you just saved yourself. No white knight required.”
We run through a few more scenarios and Avery’s confidence blooms, no longer needing my prompts to make the right calls.
When we finish, Ash is nowhere to be seen and Harley sends Blaise off to find him then walks us to our room.
I don’t think about what happened in the training session until there’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find a fucking wasted Ash, swaying on his feet as he tries to stay upright.
I shove him toward the couch, mumbling under my breath as I lock the door, “My life is now babysitting drunk, spoiled rich kids.”
When I turn to find him sitting hunched over on the couch, I sigh and rub my face. “Avery is in the shower, if you need to puke please tell me now so I can get you a bucket.”
His head jerks up as he frowns at me and, fuck, drunk Ash is adorable. My body is in danger of melting into a puddle so I step away from him, only to have him snatch my wrist and tug me down onto the couch beside him. “I’m not here for Floss.”
His voice isn’t slurred and he doesn’t look like he’s going to lose his stomach contents, so I ease myself back into the couch slowly. “Then what’s wrong? Has something happened that I need to fix?”
“Did my brother rape you?” he blurts out, zero tact as always, but there’s something extra in his voice, some emotion I can’t figure out.
I frown at him and he rubs his eyes. “I know you walked my sister through it but I need to hear from you, that you got away from him. I need to know that he didn’t get away with it. ”
“He tried but I got away from him. Don’t worry about it, I’m not losing sleep over it.”
He groans and leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his face cradled in his hands. I’m not sure what this crisis is, and I find myself praying Avery will hurry up and rescue me. Here I was thinking girl talk was hard, but this? Lord help me.
“Fuck, how can you even stand to look at me? I look just like that fucking monster. We're all the spitting fucking image of our father.” He laughs but there’s no humor in his tone.
“Harley looks like my mom. He gets to look like the only good we ever had in our lives and I get to stare in the mirror at the demons who own us. Fuck, now I sound like Morrison. Someone get me another fucking drink before I start singing.”
He really does sound like he’s about to lose it, only it’s not his usual rage-fueled violence.
Every inch of him radiates misery as though it’s seeping from his pores.
This feels like a breaking point for him, and I’m so ill-equipped to help because I have nothing but the truth to offer him, but Ash has never believed a word out of my mouth.
I stare at my own hands for a beat before I try anyway.
“I don't think you look like Joey. I think you look like Avery and she's one of the very best humans on this earth. So yeah, looking like your mom, like Harley, would have been great, but looking like Avery is pretty fucking good, too. Stop having a meltdown over shit that doesn’t matter.”
He freezes for a second, and my heart is in my throat before his frown is back. Good God, the adorableness is only increasing in intensity and I can’t fucking breathe.
He mumbles at me, “Where the fuck did you come from?”
I snort and pat his leg the way Avery does when she thinks I’m being clueless. “A drug addict. Or a meth lab, depending on which specific you were looking for.”