by C. L. Stone
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be so damn nice to me.”
I nuzzled at his shoulder. “Do you really want me to stop?”
He pulled back until he could look at my face. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me to back off. You can tell me what you want. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me things, either.” Isn’t that what he was just complaining about? The drugs had let slip some things that he was keeping to himself, things I didn’t realize he’d been feeling. While the way he’d said it was crude, at least he told me something. He’d said everything I wondered they were thinking and confirmed my fears.
I’m not sharing. I don’t want to share her.
He felt he was sharing me with the others. Did Nathan and Silas feel the same way last night, despite what Nathan said that it was okay? Did Kota feel like he had to share me with Nathan? Did it require drugs for North to be honest with me?
His mouth opened and his lips twisted for words but nothing came out. He shook his head, sighing heavily. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” He collected my other hand and kissed the palm. He inhaled deeply, kissed it again and started to nudge me away. “Do me a favor. Try to ignore me for the next couple of days.”
I stepped onto the floor, moving away from him so he could stand up. “Why?”
“If this was Ecstasy, there might be some side effects. I might get a little grumpy.”
“You mean more than usual?”
The touch of a smirk caught the side of his mouth. “Very funny.”
SELF DEFENSE
After breakfast, Silas and North left for the diner. They were a little late, and North looked like he’d been run over by a truck, but he claimed he could get through a couple of shifts.
Kota insisted I get dressed, despite my pleas to be a sludge for the day. He’d promised self-defense training and wanted to get started. I was tired and not sure I was ready for this. I took a long bath and changed into a pair of shorts, stuffed myself into a sports bra and a T-shirt. I twisted my hair, clipping it back, but a couple of locks of hair fell against my face. I tried shoving them behind my ear but they remained defiant, slipping back across my cheek.
When I was done stalling, I padded back into the house, calling for Kota and Nathan but didn’t hear any of them. I was about to call them on my phone but caught the sliding glass doors in the living room hanging open, letting in a gentle breeze. I stepped out.
The pool gleamed, sparkling and full of alluring promises. Beyond it, the shed doors were open wide. Kota and Nathan stood together inside, their heads tucked together as they talked. They wore identical black pants and top robes resembling karate uniforms I’d seen on television.
I circled the pool. Kota turned his head as I approached, his lips portraying that calm smile. He stepped forward, offering a hand out. Instinctively, I dropped my hand into his. He grasped it, and tugged me into the shed.
I felt the polish against the grain of the wood on my bare feet. My finger betrayed me, shoving itself against my bottom lip.
Nathan pushed my hand from my mouth. “Stop being nervous,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
It wasn’t really what I was nervous about. It was just new-to-me stuff and I wasn’t sure if I could do it.
“She’ll be fine,” Kota said. He swept a finger across my cheek, catching one of the locks of hair and shifting it back behind my ear. When he did it, the lock stayed, as if afraid to defy him. “Ready to get started?”
“What do I do?” I asked, feeling strangely out of place. They looked professional in their gear.
“Let’s see what you can do,” he said. He jerked his head at Nathan, doing that wordless communication.
Nathan took a few steps back, kneeling on the floor by the wall. He planted his palms on his thighs, waiting and watching.
Kota tugged me by the arm until we were in the middle of the wide space. The karate posters and displays of colored belts along the walls, plus the open doors with the drift of pool chlorine were distracting.
“Okay,” Kota said, nudging his glasses up. He stood by, his hands by his sides and his feet shoulder width apart. “Pretend I’m not a nice guy and try to hit me.”
My face radiated. I knew he meant well, but I felt really awkward striking out at him. “I don’t know ...”
“Sure you do,” he said. “Do what you did in those fights.”
I chewed my lip, wanting to push my finger to my mouth but knowing Nathan would probably say something about it so I forced my hand back.
“Peanut,” Nathan said, “while you’re waiting, he could have hit you a bunch of times.”
“You’re not going to hurt me,” Kota said, although he hadn’t moved, still standing still without even a hand up in defense. “Try punching me.”
I swallowed, made a loose fist and swung it toward his chest.
His hand shot up, cupping my knuckles before I made contact. “That’s not a punch. Throw another one.”
I pulled my hand back, turned my body a little to swing my fist stronger at his chest.
His hand shot up again, stopping me before I struck. “Better, but stop aiming for my chest. Try somewhere else.”
I chuffed, still feeling weird about hitting Kota. I knew under his almost nerdy persona he was actually muscular, almost as much as Nathan. I wasn’t worried about hurting him, but the act itself felt bizarre.
I pulled my arm back, aiming this time for his stomach.
He slipped a grin, stopping my fist again. “Stop doing it so softly. I’m not a china doll. You’re not going to break me.”
“It’s awkward to hit someone.”
“It didn’t stop you during the fights.”
“It’s easier when someone is swinging back.”
“Practice will make it easier to swing first before they get a chance to hit you.” He pushed my fist back. “Now pick up both hands and swing at me.”
I picked up both hands, unsure of what to do with my left hand. I swung out at Kota’s stomach again, trying to do it quickly.
He caught it again. “Aim for different spots. Don’t throw punches all in the same way or it becomes instinct to do it that way and it might not be the best place to hit every time.” He let go of me, putting his own fists up in front of his face. “Try this.” He demonstrated by punching the air to the side. He jabbed with his right, and did a hook follow up with his left. He did it two more times before he backed up and put his hands down. “You do it.”
I did, although with loose fists and slowly, aiming at his chest.
“You’ve got the hang of it, but stop trying to hit center mass.” He captured my hands and pressed my palms to his chest. “What do you feel here?”
I blushed, not really sure what he meant. “Muscles?”
Kota’s mouth tripped with a smile. “There’s ribs. Bones. Bones are bad. You want to avoid hitting them. You’ll do a lot of damage to your hand. You don’t want to hurt yourself, you want to take down your opponent.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Sweetie, if you get to the point where you’re having to throw punches, you aren’t looking to hurt. You’re looking to incapacitate.”
My eyes widened.
He seemed to recognized my surprise and nodded, his face turning solemn again. “This isn’t for fun. If there’s trouble, your first job is to run. If you can’t get away, you strike out at them until you can get away. You do that by knocking them out, getting them from standing to on the floor in the shortest amount of time possible. You hit hard, hit fast and don’t stop until they’re down.”
“Can’t I just push them? Trip them up or something?”
“No,” he said, his mouth tightening. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t get to give warnings. If someone’s close enough that you can’t run, and they won’t let you get away, you’re done
. Kick, swing, whatever you have to do.”
“It sounds mean.”
“Ugh,” Nathan groaned behind us. I glanced back at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor. His elbow was on his knee, his head propped up on his hand. “Peanut, will you just listen? If someone isn’t letting you run away, he’s not a nice person. Beat the shit out of him.”
Kota let go of me and took a step back. “Try again.”
I sucked in a breath, holding up fists and aiming at his stomach.
“Better,” he said, “but don’t aim for all the same spots.”
“Where am I supposed to aim?”
“Anywhere there aren’t bones.”
I paused, recalling the fight and how I’d struck out at Greg in the throat and how quickly he went down. I slowly swung out, aiming for Kota’s throat so he knew it was coming.
He grinned, cupping my fist. “Stop playing with me. But the throat is a good spot. One good hit can take a guy down pretty quickly. It doesn’t matter where you hit them in the throat, just avoid the face and the collarbone. The face isn’t bad, but there’s bones and with your small hands, you’ll likely break your fingers first. You can hit the nose if you can reach, but since you’re shorter, you’ll have an easier time aiming for the throat. Pick another spot.”
I blinked at him, outside of his stomach and his throat, there was only one last spot I could think of and I for sure didn’t want to try.
“Kick him in the crotch, Sang,” Nathan said as if reading my mind.
“Will you let her figure this out?”
“She was never going to do it.” He stretched his arms over his head, bending them around to tighten his muscles. “She’s too nice to try.”
He was right. It had come to my mind, but I didn’t really want to try it. It was embarrassing and since he’d said throw punches, I wasn’t sure if I should try it like that.
Kota rolled his eyes. “But yes, he’s right. Three spots you should be aiming for are the groin, stomach and the throat. Strike out where you can, of course, but if you aim at those places, the bad guy will go down quickly so you can take off. Try again.”
I swallowed, swinging this time at Kota’s throat. He caught it. I aimed at his stomach, and he caught it again.
I zeroed in on his groin, blushing and trying to figure out how to attack.
“Front kick,” he said, seeming to read my mind.
I did, again slowly. Before I made contact, he took a step back out of the way.
He popped me with his palm sharply against my thigh. “Faster.”
I swung at him repeatedly in those spots. He showed me where to hit him in the solar plexus in his stomach for something more substantial to aim for. Every time I tried to kick him in the groin, though, I did it slow and he popped me on the thigh.
“Sang, if they see you coming, they’re going to take you down first. You need to move faster.”
“It’s awkward,” I said.
He blinked at me. “What?”
“It doesn’t feel natural. I think it’s because I’m shorter. I’m on my tiptoe trying to get close and I feel like I’m about to fall over when I kick before I get there.”
“It’s because you’re doing it slow,” he said, the power he had slipping into his voice. “Do it faster. You might be on your toe, but if you strike quickly, you can put your foot down again. You want to catch the person off guard, not try to warn him off by going slow.”
No warnings. I tried a kick again, a little faster but still wobbling on my toe.
“Faster.”
I did it again, he blocked it.
“Faster.”
I chuffed, doing it again. He forced me to repeat it several times, occasionally popping me on the leg when I was too slow. By then, I was building up a light sweat. Swinging punches was tough.
“Good,” he said. “Nathan’s turn.”
Nathan jumped up from the floor coming over to us. “About time.”
“Sang, attack Nathan.”
“But ...”
“Now. Hit him.”
The order seemed to roll off of his tongue so easily that it struck me. This was Academy training. The realization sent jabs of excitement through my heart. He’d told me before he didn’t want me in the Academy, and here he was barking orders at me like he did when they were working. Is this what it would be like? Is this what I thought I wanted? They weren’t always fighting, I knew, but something Derrick had told me the other day came back to me. They were always working. I’d noticed that, too. They were always moving forward, and now I was rolling with them as they were trying to catch me up to speed.
I struck out at Nathan’s stomach, almost as slow as I’d done with Kota at first. Nathan snatched my hand by the wrist, tugged and let go and sent me stumbling.
“You’re too slow, Peanut.” He stood by casually, his arms at his sides.
“Do it again,” Kota demanded.
I tried kicking him. Nathan cupped a hand under my calf and yanked, sending me to my knee before letting go.
“Not so hard, Nathan.”
“She’s being soft.”
Kota took my hand, helping me up. “Watch this, Sang,” he said. He approached Nathan in a casual stance. He started with slow strikes. “Hit here in the solar plexus first. When he drops his chest forward,” he did this, demonstrating and with Nathan pantomiming being hit, “grab his neck, lift your knee.” He demonstrated kneeing him in the face. “If he’s still up, try kicking him the crotch or punch him in the throat. But first you have to get faster at hitting him with that first strike. The first strike is the most important for you. They can easily take you down with one hit, so you’ve got to make yours count.”
I sighed, pushing a palm across my forehead to clear away some sweat. I stood again in front of Nathan. Nathan’s blue eyes held that serious expression.
I bit back my resistance and tried a swift punch toward his stomach. He stopped my fist, but didn’t grab for it again, instead he lurched forward like he’d done with Kota. I pushed his head down, bringing my knee up. He blocked it easily with an arm. This time he popped me in the thigh. “Too slow.”
I grunted. He stood up again and I did all the same moves, trying to go faster. This time when I almost kneed his face, he blocked but backed off like he’d been hurt. I kicked out, aiming for his groin and he stopped it, grabbing my leg but held it instead of yanking.
“Better,” Kota said. “You’ll get better with practice. We should set up a training schedule.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Nathan said.
I’d have to do this all the time?
“Let’s try something else,” Kota said. “Let’s work on getting you out of sticky situations. This type of practice we’ve been doing is nice if the guy is standing still in front of you, but more than likely that won’t be the case.” He nodded toward Nathan.
Nathan approached Kota from behind, wrapping his arms around Kota’s shoulders and pinning Kota’s biceps down to his chest. Memories of Silas doing something similar to me, asking me what I’d do in a situation like that flooded back to me.
“If you can’t get away,” Kota said, “and they grab you, what do you do?”
“Stomp on a foot?”
Nathan laughed behind Kota.
Kota grinned. “That works in movies, maybe. It can work but there’s too many circumstances, like your aim, his ability to move his feet and depends on what type of shoes the guy is wearing and how tall he is. If you have to fight, it’s risky to waste time on stuff that might not work.”
“What do I do?” I asked, unsure how to figure this one out. He had his arms pinned. If the feet stomp didn’t work, what was left?
Kota smiled at me. He raised his arms up, grabbing over his shoulder for Nathan’s head. Kota shoved his body forward, yanking, and flipped Nathan over his shoulder. Nathan crashed, sprawled on his back at Kota’s feet.
“Wow,” I said.
Nathan laughed, coughed and
sat up. “Fun times.”
“The head, if you can reach it, is a good place to start,” Kota said.
A buzzing noise sounded. We all reacted at once. There were cell phones in the corner of the shed on the floor. Nathan got up, crawling over to it. “Aw shit. It’s my dad. Hang on guys,” he said. He got up, hopped out of the shed toward the pool to answer his phone.
The call surprised me. Nathan’s father. Nathan had said he was mean. He was never there so to me it was almost like he didn’t even exist. I wondered what he would have thought of me and Silas and North sleeping over, or how a lot of my clothes that I hid from my sister were in Nathan’s closet.
“Come on, Sang,” Kota said, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Let’s practice.” He curled his fingers at me.
I approached him, unsure of what to do. He twirled his hand, indicating that I should turn around. I spun on my heels, exposing my back to him. His hand clutched my side to pull me into him.
My core quaked under his touch. I knew I probably wasn’t supposed to, but my mind drifted from thinking about self-defense to solely about Kota. The scent of sweet spices from his body drifted to my nose and my heart thundered.
He slipped his hand across my stomach, and his other arm wrapped around my shoulders, holding on to me. His breath fell against my hair. “When someone has you like this,” he said, “do what you can to grab at the head. Aim for the ears so you get a good grip. Try it with me.”
I forced out a slow breath, lifting my arms up and feeling for the sides of his face. I felt the shorter strands of his neatly trimmed brown hair against his scalp by his ears. I cupped my hands there.
“Good,” he said. He shifted behind me, bringing his powerful chest against my back. “From here, you want to push back with your hips.” His hand slid down from my stomach, over my side and to my hip.
My fingers moved of their own will, stroking at a spot behind his ear.
A very short, very deep start to something like a growl escaped his mouth. The hand on my hip clutched tighter. “Focus, Sang,”
His strong hands and commanding tone sent my mind spiraling out of control. I admired the way he took over situations, but it never made me so excited before. “I’m trying,” I breathed, but my tone revealed way more than I could say out loud. I was trying, but I was failing fast.
