12 Scarlett
“Pain teaches us truths that words never can.”
The front door closes softly behind Hannah as Declan escorts her outside to her car.
Through the window over the sink, I can see him scanning the tree line and driveway before she even reaches her driver’s side door.
One hand rests near the gun strapped to his hip while the other holds a knife low beside him.
Always watching. Always checking. It’s strange how quickly I’ve gotten used to it.
Hannah smiles nervously at something Declan says before climbing into her car.
A second later the car disappears down the long driveway.
The deadbolt clicks as Declan comes back inside.
“All clear,” he calls.
Roman slides the large baking dish into the oven before shutting the door with his hip. The smell of garlic, parmesan, and creamy alfredo fills the kitchen instantly.
“Forty-five minutes,” he says while wiping his hands on a dish towel.
Harper perks up immediately. “Good. Enough time for me to become a deadly assassin before dinner.” Declan snorts.
“You’d die in the first five minutes.”
“Rude.”
Roman ignores both of them and looks directly at me.
“Training room. Let’s go.”
I blink. “Right now?”
Asher appears in the doorway beside him; arms crossed over his chest. “Especially right now.” Something in his tone makes my stomach tighten slightly. Not harsh. Just serious. Like whatever happened upstairs earlier hasn’t fully left him yet. Harper immediately hops off her stool.
“Oh my God, are we finally doing the cool fighting stuff?”
“You mean the part where you complain for an hour?” Roman asks dryly.
“I complain attractively.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Yes, it is.”
I can’t help laughing softly as I follow them downstairs.
The basement training room sits beneath the west side of the house, hidden behind a reinforced steel door that requires both a code and fingerprint access.
Of course it does. The second we step inside, my nerves spike.
Mats cover most of the floor while padded walls line one side of the room.
Training knives, wooden practice weapons, and gym equipment are organized with almost military precision.
Nothing about this room feels recreational.
Harper immediately points toward a hanging punching bag.
Asher tosses a pair of training gloves onto the mat before looking at both of us.
“Tonight is basics,” he says. “No weapons. No advanced techniques. If somebody grabs you, corners you, or gets hands on you—we teach you how to survive long enough to escape.”
That word settles heavily in my chest. Survive. Roman steps onto the mat first.
“Rule number one,” he says calmly. “You are not trying to win a fight.”
Harper raises a hand dramatically. “Then what’s the point?”
“To get away,” Asher answers immediately.
Roman nods once. “Movies teach people to stand there trading punches. Real life gets you killed doing that.”
Asher walks over to me first.
“Most attackers count on panic,” he explains. “Especially against women. They expect hesitation.” He stops directly in front of me.
“So, first thing?” His voice sharpens slightly.
“Stop freezing.” Before I can react, his hand suddenly grabs my wrist. Hard. A startled breath leaves me instantly as adrenaline spikes through my chest.
“First instinct,” Asher says calmly, “is usually to pull backward.” I automatically tug against his grip. He doesn’t budge.
“Exactly.” He shifts our hands slightly.
“Don’t pull against the thumb.” His fingers tighten briefly around my wrist before he rotates his grip slightly to show the weak point.
“The thumb is the weakest part of any grip.” He looks directly at me.
“So, attack the opening.” Slowly, he guides my arm.
“Turn your wrist toward the gap—then pull sharply.” I twist hard this time, and my hand slips free immediately. “Oh,” I breathe.
Roman nods approvingly. “Again.” He then gets in the same position with Harper.
For the next several minutes they make Harper and me repeat the movement over and over until my muscles start remembering it automatically. Harper shakes out her wrist dramatically.
“If somebody attacks me after this, they’re getting punched directly in the throat.”
“Actually,” Asher says, “good instinct.”
She blinks. “Wait really?”
Roman walks over beside her.
“You aim for vulnerable targets,” he explains. “Eyes. Nose. Throat. Knees. Groin.”
Harper looks delighted. “I knew violence was the answer.”
“It’s not,” Asher says flatly. “Usually.” I snort softly.
Asher moves behind me again. “Next lesson,” he says. “Balance.”
Before I can ask what he means, his foot hooks lightly behind my ankle while his hand presses against my shoulder. I stumble immediately.
“Most people panic once they lose footing,” he says as I catch myself.
“That felt personal,” I mutter and his mouth twitches slightly.
“It was educational.”
Roman demonstrates next.
“If someone bigger grabs you from the front—don’t fight their strength directly.” He reaches for Harper carefully, gripping her upper arms.
“Lower your center of gravity first.” He bends his knees slightly to demonstrate. “Then create space.”
In one fast movement he shows her how to drive an elbow backward and shove off balance simultaneously. Harper’s eyes widen.
“Okay that was hot.” Roman releases her immediately.
“Focus.”
“No promises.”
Declan came down and watches from the doorway, arms crossed while silently observing all of us. I notice he hasn’t taken his eyes off the security monitor beside the door, even down here, even now he is always watching. Asher tosses me a bottle of water before stepping back onto the mat.
“One more thing,” he says. His expression hardens slightly.
“If somebody ever gets you on the ground—fight dirty.” The room quiets instantly.
“No rules,” Roman adds calmly. “No hesitation.”
Asher’s eyes lock onto mine.
“You do whatever you have to do to survive.”
Something about the way he says it makes chills crawl up my spine.
Asher holds my gaze for one long second after the words leave his mouth.
You do whatever you have to do to survive.
The room feels smaller suddenly. Roman breaks the tension first by clapping Harper lightly on the shoulder.
“Come on, menace. Let’s work on your stance before you accidentally kill somebody.”
“I make no promises,” Harper says cheerfully as Roman leads her toward the far side of the mat. Asher steps closer again.
“Now it’s the harder part.” I regret asking immediately.
“What harder part?” Instead of answering, Asher reaches for me again. One hand wraps around my wrist while the other settles against my waist. Firm. Controlled. The heat of his palm burns straight through the thin fabric of my shirt. My breath catches instantly.
“Scarlett.” I realize too late I stopped listening completely.
“Hm?” His eyes darken slightly.
“You’re distracted.” I swallow hard.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
Declan makes a choking noise from the doorway.
Roman mutters, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath somewhere behind us. But Asher doesn’t react. Doesn’t move. If anything, his grip tightens almost imperceptibly against my waist.
“You won’t always have room to move,” he says quietly. “So, if someone gets close—”
“You mean like this?” I ask softly before I can stop myself.
His jaw flexes instantly. For one tiny second, nobody in the room breathes.
Then Asher shifts suddenly, turning us both until my back presses lightly against the padded wall.
Not rough but not gentle either. My heart slams violently against my ribs.
“Asher,” Roman warns.
“I’m teaching,” he says without looking away from me.
The problem is…I don’t think either of us is talking about training anymore.
Asher plants one arm beside my head against the wall while the other remains on my waist.
Close enough that I can feel his body heat surrounding me.
Close enough that I can smell soap, sweat, and something darker underneath it that feels entirely like him.
“Most people panic when they’re cornered,” he says. I can barely focus on the words.
“Are you panicking yet?” he asks quietly.
“No.”
A lie, but not because I’m afraid of him. That’s the problem. I’m so turned on right now a little moan escapes my lips. His eyes search mine and he smirks.
“Good,” he murmurs. My chest rises unevenly and his gaze drops briefly to my mouth, just briefly. But I noticed. God, do I notice. I notice everything about him right now. The smell of him, the way his body feels against mine and I feel how hard he is for me. Asher’s voice lowers another octave.
“First thing you do is create space.”
“Right.”
“You use leverage, not strength.”
“Okay.”
“You listening at all?”
“Uh huh.”
Declan outright cackles from the doorway.
Roman drags a hand down his face. “I’m begging you both to get it together.”
Asher ignores them completely. His attention stays locked on me so intensely it feels physical.
Then slowly—deliberately—his hand slides from my waist to my hip.
His thumb brushes once against the fabric there before he steps even closer.
“Try to move me,” he says quietly. I stare at him.
“You’re enormous.” One corner of his mouth lifts.
“Haven’t heard you complain yet.” He whispers in my ear. Heat floods my face and I plant both hands against his chest. Huge mistake. The muscle beneath my palms is solid. My brain completely short-circuits for half a second and I run my hands down the length of his chest.
“Scarlett.” His voice is rougher now.
“Focus.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re failing.” I push against him and he doesn’t move an inch. Not even slightly. Frustration flashes through me and Asher sees it immediately.
“Again,” he says.
I shove harder this time and still nothing.
“Use your hips,” he says quietly. “Turn into the movement.”
His hands settle on my waist again before he physically guides the motion. The contact sends a dangerous little spark through my stomach.
“There,” he murmurs.
I twist sharply this time and actually manage to create enough space to slip partially around him.
Asher catches my wrist before I fully escape.
He is too fast and the sudden movement pulls me flush against him again.