Trick of the Trade
The air left her lungs. Back colliding against the mats. Again.
What did I get myself into…
That stupid, silly moment of glory. Escaping Lucien’s grip had felt like winning the lottery. As if finally, she had some control. After being floored onto the black mats like a weightless puppet for the first time. She accepted that. Beginner and all.
Second time. That sweet notion of control, that had allowed her decent sleep for once. Shook.
The third time. It cracked like an egg.
Ten times in, and there was nothing left of it to salvage.
Yes. Kate wished she’d have swallowed that “Teach me.”
But here she was. Black leggings hugging her tightly, white T-shirt ending at her waist. Crumpled on the floor like a pretzel.
His hand floated in front of her. An invitation to get back up. Again.
Her teacher was nothing if not a stickler for gentlemanly manners, to help her back up after wiping the floor with her. Oh, and did she mention patience?
Lucien basically owned the word. As well as an innumerable amount of weights.
The black discs lined the walls like shadows.
And that boxing bag. The heavy sack kept swinging, silver chains rattling softly in the breeze coming in from the window he’d insisted stay open. It didn’t help her growing irritation.
“Backing down so quickly, sweetheart?” That grin on his face. Oh, if only she could wipe it off of him. Those freaking quips. She gathered her feet, taking his hand to have him pull her up again.
“Let’s try something else for a bit.”
Yes. Else she’d bite down on her tongue.
To keep it from saying stupid stuff like teach me.
There was one silver lining to today’s torture though.
Boxing. It had worked… not perfectly, by a long shot.
But it felt fitting. Hitting those pads, when she managed to hit them squarely in the middle.
That sound. Yes, she may have fallen in love with what Lucien had called an art form.
Lucien fixed her with a stare. “Earth to Kate.”
“Yes, dear teacher?”
“That move you used yesterday?”
“Um, that hip thing?”
He chuckled. “Yes, that hip thing.”
Well that hip thing asked for a whole lot of personal space invasion. But it seemed like most things self defense would ask her to cross that threshold. That high, canyon-wide, gaping threshold.
Step by small step. For every time she took his hand without flinching, her confidence grew.
“Yes. Let’s do the hip thing. As you so elegantly phrase it.”
She hesitated, biting her lip, feet frozen to the black floor. It would mean he had to put his hands on her, ensnare her like he’d done yesterday. Her heart tightened.
Lucien strode over to his water bottle, chugging it down. Seconds, he was giving her precious seconds to regain her composure. Kate closed her eyes. Four in, hold for seven, out for eight.
The mats creaked, fingers clasped around her shoulders. A second later his chest touched her back, arms coming up to encircle her. Their waists touching. She stiffened. They couldn’t be getting much closer then this. No, don’t think that. Breathe.
“Relax.” He let an arm hang loose, coming up to rest on her upper arm, tracing a slow circle over her skin. She shivered, goosebumps rising below his careful touch. But she exhaled softly, step by small step.
“Good. Now relax those shoulders.”
She tried, letting her breath ease the gathering tension.
“Hips are next.” His breath tickled her neck. She ignored it. Digging a deep mental hole to bury what it made her feel in it, deep, deep down.
“Hmmhmm. Think of what you did yesterday.”
The closeness was overwhelming, her brain screeched to a halt. Yesterday… what had she done again? His hand stilled, pulling her even tighter against him. He leaned in, resting his chin on her neck to whisper softly. “Shouldn’t let me get this close.”
She bucked her hips harshly, twisting around like a horse. He lost his grip. But so did she. With no hand to hold her up this time, she tumbled unceremoniously onto the mats. Again.
He stood above her. Smug grin staring her right in the face. “Excellent. We’ll have to work on the landing a bit. But pretty damn good nonetheless.”
Kate sighed heavily, glad the touch between them had disappeared. And still, the escape had given her a dopamine hit. It rushed through her nerves, lighting her up from the inside out.
She watched Lucien shake his head to himself.
Mumbling something about her being a fast learner.
Her head spun, he changed with a deft flick of a coin.
One moment he was praising her, teaching her self-defense, the next he…
let other men touch her. Unwanted hands all over her.
What had happened after their walk with Denise had kept her up for nights on end.
The feeling of hopelessness following her into her waking hours.
It was the prime reason she was here, sweating on the mats.
Not to be a victim ever again. But she felt it, knew in their training together, that Lucien would bring her to the edge more often.
His hand entered her view once more, long fingers waiting. She took it for the eleventh time that day. A thought ran through her mind, it wouldn’t do much. She knew that, but he deserved it. She let him pull her up, using the leverage to drive a hard right fist into his abdomen.
Her knuckles tingled from the impact. But Lucien merely arched an eyebrow, shooting her a curious glance. “What was that for?”
“For what you did… during the traffickers’ attack.”
He angled his head like a fox. “Right, what did I do?”
“Nothing.” She fought to keep the fury from seeping into her voice. No luck there.
Lucien corrected her. “At first, nothing.” He regarded her with a strange look, as if something clicked into place. Spreading his hands wide, he said. “Good, makes sense. Now, what else?”
Her composure, which she’d clung to with such a vengeance, broke. Enough, she’d had enough. Her knuckles struck out. “For not letting me go.”
Her human boxing bag interlaced his fingers above his head, nodding. “Keep going.”
She did. Lefts, rights, the pain in her hands flared to life, warmth blooming beneath her red and rubbed raw knuckles. The punches kept raining down on Lucien. Spiteful words turned into throaty gasps.
The second she dropped her hands, he jumped to life. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Keep going.”
She braced on her knees. ‘‘I-I can-”
“Keep going!”
She wavered.
“I’ve got something to help you out.” He let himself lean against the wall. Tilting his head, he added. “The liver tends to hurt the most.”
Hurt… after all she’d thrown at him. He hadn’t stiffened once. Her lips widened into a dangerous smirk. Sweet, acidic.
“Yeah, figured you’d like that.” He flicked her against the cheek. Not hard, taunting. “Now Kate! Give it the best you’ve got.”
She straightened from the demand in his tone. Cheeks aflame. She struck with another right. “I’m not a cat you’re stroking. Harder, louder!”
Her fists beat on his abdomen. “You fucking bastard!” Smack. “I didn’t deserve this!”
He spoke up. “Did you deserve it when you were younger?”
“No.” She sobbed, gasping. But she couldn’t stop. Something had taken over. Steering her in its place.
“What didn’t you deserve?”
“None. Of. It.”
She hit his liver. Barely noticing that he winced.
“Not the beatings, not that he. Tried. To. Force. Himself. On. Me.”
“Louder, harder!” But he’d flinched. Flinched at the words she flung out.
“I didn’t deserve to live in their house of horror.
To be treated like the gum below their shoes.
” She fought for air. Lungs burning. “To lose my life because of what happened.” The car accident, glass breaking around her ears.
The world tilting around her as the car kept flipping and flipping.
Her family dying around her. The sole survivor she’d been.
Luck. Lucky that she had survived, they’d said.
But she had never felt blessed. Not when she was dropped into a family that never cared for her.
Lifted their hands not to caress but to bruise.
Sharpened their words to hurt, never to comfort.
And then came the thing that had made the bucket overflow.
A gunshot splitting the silent air, white and brown fur smudged with dirt, and blood blossoming out from the wound.
Screams. Her own. Hoarse and filled with pain as she clung to her sole companion.
His loving eyes turned to hers. A swift lick on her hand. A final goodbye.
She sucked in air. Dizzy. Searching for something to hold onto.
She found it in his hand. Clasped gently but firmly around her arm.
His thumb tracing that familiar circle over her slick, reddened skin.
She squinted through the blur in her eyes, blinking to remove the sweat that had trickled in.
Hiding the tears that were closer to the surface than laughter.
Her cheeks reddened… he had heard every single word. Another circle was traced, her breathing easing in tune with his grounding touch.
She didn’t flinch away. Maybe she was just too fatigued. Yeah, that must be it.
“You good?” He leaned closer, eyes skimming over her.
“Yes. Yes, actually, I am… good.” Even though the shame of what she brought into the light itched beneath her skin. Something in her chest had eased. Blossomed open, as if a weight was lifted. If only for a bit.
She shook off the awkwardness. “How are you though? Must be tough being the boxing bag. We could have just used the actual bag.”
Lucien put a finger to his chin in thought. “We could have. Don’t think it would have had the same effect though.”
“No.” She laughed. Actually laughed. “It wouldn’t have been the same.”
He stayed near. As if he sensed how close she was to dropping to her knees.
Lucien sighed dramatically. “I needed this anyway.”
“Why the fuck would you need this?”
“It’s quite the conditioning drill for the abdomen, aids me to ignore the impact.” He shot her a wink. “Thanks for the help.”
She snorted. Mad, he was mad.
He clapped his hands together. “Now you’ve got that out of your system.” He made a show of checking his watch. “Perfect, we’ll be there in time. One thing though, you’d better dress warm.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”