Maverick #2
“If you can, you’ll want to go for the throat. It will disable your attacker faster and for a longer period of time. Punching a face will likely bruise or break your knuckles, so softer spots like the stomach are more ideal if you want to avoid injury.”
She nods, soaking up the information. “What about the crotch?”
I nod. “If you can get a clean shot to the groin, take it. But it’s easier to block a kick and throw you off balance.” Her brow furrows, like she’s trying to picture it. “I’ll show you. Kick me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“But what if—”
“Just kick me, darlin’.”
She shakes her head, like she can’t quite believe we’re arguing about this. Finally, she gets into position and kicks up toward my crotch. I catch her foot by the ankle, rotating her leg so she’s forced to hop to keep her balance. “See?” I drop her foot.
“Got it.”
“In hand-to-hand combat, distance is your friend. If your opponent gets you pinned, it’s much harder to escape. They could easily strangle you, especially since they’ll likely have a size advantage.”
“Can you show me?” She bites her lip.
I quirk a brow. “Are you sure?”
A quick nod. “Do it.”
“As you wish.” I raise my chin, inviting her to make the first move.
Delilah wastes no time putting what she’s just learned to use.
She throws a punch toward my stomach, and while her form is decent, I still easily block the blow, catching her fist in my hand.
She tries to kick me, but I angle my body away and block that too.
I pull her toward me and she surprises me by punching out with her other hand.
It lands on my side, but it doesn’t do anything to stop me from tackling her to the ground as gently as I can manage.
I cover her body with mine, pinning her arms above her head as both our chests heave with effort.
She wiggles beneath me, panting as she tries to get free.
The friction between our bodies increases, and the blood pumping so furiously through my body flows straight to my dick.
I’m growing harder by the second, like a goddamn teenager who’s never felt the touch of a woman.
Her eyes widen when she feels my erection pressing into her pelvis, but neither of us move.
My eyes move down to her lips, and hers do the same to mine.
Her tongue darts out, and it takes considerable strength for me to refrain from taking her bottom lip between my teeth.
She lifts her chin slightly and angles her head, almost like she wants me to act on the desire so clearly clouding my judgement.
A tree branch snapping nearby has us both whipping our heads toward the sound.
I give Delilah one last glance, wondering if she can see the want in my eyes, before releasing my grip on her and pressing up off the ground.
I extend my hand toward her and she grasps it as I haul her to her feet, eyes never leaving mine.
“Mav?” Someone—Bec, by the sound of it—calls out before appearing in the clearing. “Oh, there you are. Hey, Della.”
Delilah finally looks away from me, offering Bec a big smile. “Hi!”
“What are you two doing out here?” Bec looks back and forth between us, her keen senses probably picking up on the sexual tension in the air.
I clear my throat. “I’m teaching Mrs. Sinclair some self-defense techniques.”
“Without me?” Bec’s voice goes up an octave. “Rude! You know I love any excuse to kick your ass, Stetson.”
That gets Delilah to laugh—she even snorts—which may just be the loveliest sound I’ve ever heard.
“I would very much like to see that.”
“What have you taught her?” Bec asks, taking off her faded leather jacket.
“Just the basics,” I answer. “I was about to show her how to hold a knife and shoot a gun.”
Delilah’s gaze—back on me—widens once again. “You didn’t say anything about knives or guns.”
I shrug. “We don’t have to today if you’re not comfortable. But at some point, you should at least have a rudimentary understanding of weaponry.”
I can practically see the cogs turning in her head before she straightens, apparently remembering that she was treating me like I’m a member of the Brotherhood earlier. “Whatever you think is best, sir.”
Bec pretends to gag herself. “Ew. Please don’t call him sir.” She pops her knuckles. “Let’s go, big man.”
I roll my neck, knowing I am indeed about to get my ass handed to me.
Bec did Krav Maga for years before the Reckoning, and has basically taught me everything I know when it comes to close combat.
Even though she’s over a foot shorter than me, she’s wicked fast and knows how to target sensitive areas like a pro.
She’s taken me down more times than I can count.
Delilah watches us with rapt attention, and less than two minutes later, Bec has me on the ground with her knee pinned against my throat. I tap her thigh twice, and she releases me with a smug grin.
“Maybe Bec should be the one teaching me,” Delilah mutters.
My number two throws her head back and howls in laughter. “Damn straight I should be. Taught him everything he knows.”
Delilah looks at me in surprise. “It’s true,” I confirm, rubbing my neck.
“Come on, city girl. Show me what you got,” Bec says.
“No way!” Delilah shakes her head. “I’ll be on the ground in two seconds flat.”
“Doesn’t sound like such a bad time, if you ask me.” She winks, which makes Delilah’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red.
She clears her throat, pulling her shoulders back. “Fine. Just go easy on me, okay?”
“I got you.” Bec nods encouragingly.
We spend the next hour sparring, and with Bec’s firm but kind direction, Delilah’s form and ability grow exponentially.
We show her how to hold a knife and which spots to go for with the blade if her life is truly in danger.
With the pistol, we walk her through gun safety, how to load and reload the weapon, how to aim, and spend a few minutes shooting makeshift targets.
If I had it my way, I’d drill her on everything she learned until I was one hundred percent confident she’ll be able to hold her own, but I can tell she’s practically dead on her feet by midday.
“You did good,” Bec praises as we walk back toward camp.
Delilah smiles weakly. “Thanks. You’re a good teacher.”
Bec bows at the waist with a sarcastic flourish, which makes me roll my eyes.
We make it back to my tent, and Delilah grabs her spare change of clothes and some toiletries. “I need a bath.”
“You remember how to get to the pond?” Bec asks her.
She nods. “I think so.”
“We have a shower tent, you know,” I say. “The water’s cold but it’s better than a pond.”
Delilah looks at Bec, who raises her hands defensively. “It wasn’t set up that day!”
She turns back to me. “A shower would be lovely, thank you.”
She follows me to the Hub, where we have two portable shower tents set up. “There’s a bucket of rainwater hooked up to a hose and a battery-powered nozzle, so it really does feel like you’re showering, aside from the cold water.”
“Where do I put my clothes?” She looks around.
“I’ll hold them for you,” I offer.
“You’re gonna stay here and hold my clothes while I shower?” She sounds skeptical.
“If you want me to.” I shrug. Most people just walk back to their tents in their towels, but I have a feeling Delilah doesn’t feel quite that comfortable here yet.
“Okay.” She studies me for a moment. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Little does she know standing guard outside her tent is more for me than it is for her. I may have taught her how to throw a punch today, but letting her put those skills to use—hell, even letting her out of my sight—might prove a whole lot harder.