by Rhyll Biest
‘Hi.’ Stacey approached, smile wide, gym bag slung over one shoulder. Her smile faltered as she neared. ‘What happened to your face?’
‘I had a fall.’
Stacey gave her a dubious look. When Stumpy wriggled in the sling Stacey’s gaze shifted to him. ‘How’s the sling thing working for you?’
‘Better than I thought it would. Between the sling and doggy diapers, we’ve been getting along fine.’ Hopefully the sling wouldn’t hurt Stumpy’s growth in any way. Kat eyed Stacey’s jeans and linen shirt before glancing at her own far less glamorous t-shirt and leggings. ‘Did I underdress?’
‘Huh?’ Stacey glanced at her. ‘Oh, no, I wore these for choir practice after. But I’m going to get changed for pro-wrestling practice in a second.’
Pro-wrestling. Kat felt all her inner strings draw tight at the thought of Officer Belovuk wrapping his giant arms around her and forcing her face first into a mat with just his body weight. Make polite conversation before you pass out. ‘What’s the choir working on?’
‘Gotye’s ‘Somebody That I Used to Know’.’
That was far more modern than she’d expected. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Last practice was a clusterfuck.’
The earthy answer was enough to make her forget all about the prospect of Luka pinning her beneath him.
Stacey grinned. ‘Heh, Evert didn’t warn you, huh?’
‘About?’ Her mind raced with possibilities.
‘I’m ex-Army and still swear like a sergeant.’
‘Oh. No need to apologise for that. Were you a vet in the army?’
‘Yeah, I used to treat the detector dogs trained to find explosives and gun caches, as well as scout, rescue and sentry dogs. But I also worked with an IED dog.’
‘Oh, I was a dog handler too, with a quarantine detector dog.’
‘Yeah, Nick said. We’re, like, twinsies.’
They grinned at each other and Kat felt a sense of belonging wholly alien to her. Well, not completely alien. She’d felt the same way about some of the airport staff and the other volunteers at the animal shelter she’d worked at in the outer suburbs of Sydney. But she hadn’t expected to find that sense of belonging here. Had hoped for it, but not expected it.
Kat scanned the empty gymnasium hall to make sure no one else was around. ‘Hey, what do you know about the local greyhound racing scene?’
The vet raised her brows. ‘Not a lot, except that I’m not a fan of the sport or the people involved. Why do you ask?’
It sounded like Stacey didn’t have a clue about the hornet’s nest that Mark had poked.
‘Do they pay a vet to be in attendance on race days?’
Stacey nodded. ‘They’d hire an official track vet. Why?’
‘You don’t know who that would be, do you?’
‘No, I don’t.’ She frowned. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Just following up on something.’ She looked away. Her gaze rested on the white lines marking out a basketball court. A complex weave of red and blue lines marked out what could be Satan’s desk calendar for all she knew. She knew shit about team sports.
She eyed the pile of blue vinyl gym mats stacked in the corner. ‘Should we start setting up?’
‘Let me get changed first. Be back in a sec.’
‘Sure.’
Stacey disappeared and Kat looked around. Climbing ropes trailed from the lofty ceiling and she had to wonder who would have the nuts to shimmy up that high with nothing more to hold onto than a thick bristly rope. Probably not her. Well, unless there was an animal in need at the top of it.
She pulled a gym mat off the pile and laid it on the ground against a wall for Stumpy before removing him from his sling. ‘Do not piss on that,’ she told him as she placed him on the mat.
His blue eyes widened.
‘Don’t give me that look. Like you haven’t peed on almost everything I own already.’
He had the grace to look abashed.
She heard men’s voices in the parking lot and a second later Belovuk and Evert walked in side by side, instantly diminishing the size of the gym.
Belovuk’s t-shirt, a worn thing two shades lighter than the cloud-grey of his eyes, looked to have survived at least a thousand washes. The short-sleeves revealed a dark, jagged scar at the back of one arm and there were at least a million things she would have given to gain access to the full deal blooming over his skin. But it was as hidden as his private persona, that submerged mix of dark humour and sensual intensity that he only revealed when it was least expected.
Belovuk spotted her first, his laser stare palpable, but it was Evert, beard and hair freshly trimmed and wearing blue t-shirt and black cargo pants, who waved to her.
Half lumbersexual, half SWAT wet dream, he smiled at Kat in a way that made her wish she had simpler tastes, and that she didn’t suspect he’d prefer something a little more than just friendship with the lovely Miss Stacey.
The closer the two men drew the shorter she grew, morphing into some kind of cute mascot brought along to watch the grown-ups do their thing.
Except in this case the cute mascot was expected to wrestle these big-arse, scary men.
Unease rolled through her like a heavy bowling ball, scattering resolve like pins before dropping with a thud into her belly.
What had made her think that she could undertake self-defence training with them? They were orcs and she a hobbit.
‘Hey, Stumpy. Hey, fresh meat, extra points for punctuality.’ Evert gave her an evil grin.
Belovuk’s face remained sombre, revealing no hint that they’d once enjoyed a fierce snog at her house. Someone needed to explain to Officer Frowny-face that there was no tax on smiling. Still, maybe he considered himself ‘on the job’ still. Her old man had kept two different personas in his police locker. One was the public persona, stern and reserved, polite and calm. And then there had been the private persona, not so polite, far more unpredictable, and obsessive about controlling ‘his’ family. Lateness had been a major transgression and her lifetime habit of arriving everywhere five to ten minutes early was his legacy.
The fucker.
Belovuk nodded at the stacked gym mats. ‘Spread them out in a large square in the centre.’
Kat settled Stumpy in the corner of the gym with a chew toy before helping to drag the surprisingly heavy mats to lay them flat on the gym floor. Thick and unwieldy, they resisted movement, wanting to sag into a heavy U-shape. The PVC covers were gritty with dirt and hard to get a grip on—a bit like Belovuk.
‘Hey, Brick. Evert.’ Two more men arrived, tossing greetings to the men—and sideways looks at her—before joining in setting up.
Great, de-escalation training was a sausage party and she and Stacey the only Team Oestrogen players.
By the seventh mat her left bicep began to cramp. As she paused to rub it, Luka passed with a mat in each hand, each bicep a taut ball of muscle, like some animal coiled to attack. He dropped them to the floor, muscles flexing under his t-shirt in a way that should not have absorbed her attention for half as long as it did.
Holy fighting fish in a fanny-pack, now she was swooning at muscles. Somebody pass the smelling salts.
She swallowed and gathered her thoughts. There looked to be about ten people in the group, all men aside from Stacey and herself, all different builds and ages, but none as massive as Belovuk.
Despite his lack of uniform he still looked like a cop. Was it her imagination or did even the drawstring of his tracksuit pants carry the suggestion of authority? Though any attention she paid to his track pants was merely a desperate ploy to ignore the way he wore them, the way they hugged his narrow hips and flirted with washboard abs. And damn him if those splendours weren’t nearly eclipsed by the powerful flare of his shoulders.
Damn him to Alice Springs and back.
It was his fault her ovaries were fan-girling because the landscape of fabric from one shoulder to another stretched as wide as the Gre
at Dividing Range, and early explorers had probably perished between one shoulder blade and the next.
Galenka was suspiciously quiet, no doubt thrilled that Kat was getting with the sex-with-Belovuk program.
Don’t look at him, she told herself.
But her eyes displayed a will of their own, soundly voting her sense of propriety down. The way he moved was too fascinating to miss. Calm, centred and self-assured. Economical. Focused. Manly in that unself-conscious way he had. She’d bet he moved that way whether scouting for trouble or fucking. He would be a purposeful lover, as intent on chasing down his partner’s pleasure as his own.
Mmmm, Officer Sexy, Galenka whispered. We want to see his gun.
Shut. Up.
And yet her gaze kept finding him in the room again and again as he lifted and carried and threw things, back muscles sliding and shifting under his t-shirt, things bunching and bulging. Hard not to picture all that magic beneath her hands.
His glance grazed hers and enough heat welled in her cheeks to threaten blisters. Oh, lord love a duck, recite the import permit conditions for pork products before your face catches fire.
‘Oooh, what was that?’
Kat glanced at Stacey who’d returned in leggings and an oversized t-shirt.
Deny everything. ‘What was what?’
‘That look from Luka. Like you have a hidden choc centre.’
‘I think you’re imagining things.’
Stacey’s brows rose. ‘Sure. Forget I opened my mouth.’
I’ll try. Kat turned her back to Stacey with gratitude as Belovuk addressed the group in his sinfully deep voice. ‘Okay, listen up, folks. It’s good to see so many here today, I know it can be an effort to make the time to practise your skills regularly.’
A breath stirred the hairs on the back of Kat’s neck.
‘Are you banging him?’ Stacey whispered. ‘I won’t tell.’
Sweet pork balls in a Prada purse, the vet was persistent. Kat pretended not to hear.
‘Most of you have heard this before but it’s always worth repeating. What we do is mostly about reducing the level of arousal in the person you’re dealing with so that discussion becomes possible.’
Did he just say ‘arousal’?
His gaze swept the group. ‘Keep two things in mind. The first is that de-escalation techniques are unnatural, that’s why we need to rehearse them. Our natural response when scared or challenged is to fight, flee or freeze when scared. However, in de-escalation we do none of these things. Instead we regain control of ourselves in order to help others regain control of themselves. That means we must appear centred and calm even when we’re frightened. And for that we need practice. Same goes for the techniques you learn to avoid injury and to prevent others being injured. We want both your calm demeanour and your responses to become second nature.’
Good speech. Very masterful and all that. She lowered her eyes to stare at the back immediately in front of her as his gaze swept her way.
‘When a potentially violent situation threatens to erupt on the spot and no weapon is present, verbal de-escalation is appropriate. But reasoning with an enraged person is impossible. Your first and only objective is to reduce their level of arousal.’
There was that word again. Had he looked at her when he’d said it or had that just been her imagination?
‘Now, remember, something that’s true for all of us here is that what we do is unnatural. We ignore our fight or flight reflexes in order to help others.’
She was having trouble ignoring a different type of reflex, the urge to lick the triceps visible when he folded his arms.
‘By really listening, and using body language as well as words to convey that we want to help, you can take away the other person’s need to escalate the situation. A lot of the time verbal de-escalation works and if I haven’t given you my notes on that yet, please ask after class.’
Hmmm, that all sounded very politically correct and sweet, but unless she used the notes to shield her eyes from pants-down bikers she didn’t think they were going to help her much.
He surveyed the group. ‘Okay, let’s pair up for demonstration and practice.’
Why was he looking at her? And with such purpose? She bent at the knees, hoping to hide behind the man in front of her.
‘I’m going to kill two birds with one stone …’
An idiom that had always bothered her because what kind of sicko went around killing birds with stones?
‘And introduce you to our newest trainee, Kat. As you can see from her bruised cheek, she’s a bit of a scrapper, so I’m really risking my life by asking her to pair up with me.’
Several male heads turned to stare at her and there were a few chuckles.
Nooooo, what was happening?
‘Kat, give everyone a wave, and then come over here and I’ll demonstrate a softening technique.’
Fuck, fuck her life. Fuck. It. And no prizes for guessing that there wouldn’t be anything soft about a softening technique.
Belovuk cracked a smile as she trudged towards him, feet heavy with unwillingness.
‘I hate you,’ she whispered as she reached his side.
‘Stop flirting.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder and she had to apply every weapon in her arsenal to conceal the way it lit her up like an emergency flare.
She gave the group a finger wave. Stacey gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up in return.
Officer Awful continued his speech. ‘We use softening techniques to loosen an opponent’s hold and they’re particularly effective if you lack the physical strength of your opponent. Softening techniques include groin strikes and foot stomps. For obvious reasons we don’t want to practice or use eye gouges or other techniques that can cause serious physical harm.’
Oh, good, he wasn’t going to cause her any serious physical harm.
‘Alright, class, let’s start with the foot stomp.’
Oh, yeah, let’s. Foot stomping fun with Robocop. It sounded like a bad exercise video.
Belovuk glanced down at her before addressing the group. ‘Now, this isn’t something you’d use unless you’ve been grabbed by someone who won’t let go. But look at Kat. If she knocked on my door to talk to me about my pet corgi, and I were pervert of the year, would I want to let her go? No, sir, I would not.’
She almost burst with the strain of holding her glare in, galled by the snickering of the mostly male group.
‘So the foot stomp is perfect for someone like Kat who’s been grabbed because it doesn’t take a lot of strength, just a good pair of shoes with solid soles. It works well because the human body has two hundred and six bones, and twenty-six of those are located in the foot. Kat’s in luck because they’re mostly delicate bones that break nicely.’
She eyed his enormous trainers. They didn’t look like they contained any delicate bones to her.
‘The trick with the foot stomp is to aim it where the shin joins the foot. You want to use the outside of your right foot to strike the middle of your attacker’s kneecap, slide it down his shin and then smash it down where the shin joins the foot. Let’s demonstrate.’
Air leaked from her lungs and an ominous pressure built in her ears. Oh, shit, was this the bit where he grabbed her and everyone realised how much she wanted to bang him?
One palm settled lightly on her shoulder as he stepped behind her. A jerk of that innocent-seeming palm brought her up hard against his chest while his other arm slid under her chin and something hard pressed against her carotid. Sweet—
He addressed the group. ‘Right now I’m holding a pen, but it could be a knife or some other sharp implement.’
Heat seared her cheeks. Self-loathing, for example?
His chest pressed hard and confident against her back, triggering discomfort and anxiety. But she almost embraced those harmless emotions in comparison to the something far less acceptable she felt, a tightening of her body that telegraphed a readiness for something other than just battle.
No, no, no, no, no.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, Galenka insisted.
Are you kidding me? You want to play Fifty Shades with Paul Bunyan? He’ll make mince meat of us, eat us alive.
And make it worth it, Galenka purred.
I don’t believe you, you’re completely nuts. But beneath the fizz of alarm in her veins, other things persisted. Things that undulated. Urges.
Cackling, Galenka raised a middle finger to safety. Wrestle! So much sexy wrestle.
Belovuk said a bunch of other stuff she failed to hear over the rush of blood and crazy thoughts.
‘Okay, Kat, stomp me. Not too hard.’
Head muzzy from the hard body pressed against hers, she hesitated. Could he feel each breath she took, her crazy pin-wheeling pulse?
‘Kat?’
Before he could steal all the air from the room she gingerly tapped his knee, slid her trainer down his shin and bumped the spot where his shin met his foot.
He raised his brows at her ghost of a touch. ‘That’s it. And if you want to practise with a little more force, use a post or a pole.’
Her flush deepened because, yes, she had foot-stomped him with all the force of an anaemic fairy, so her humiliation was now complete. Plus the whole group had seen it.
And then she was free.
Air, sweet air, she could breathe again.
‘Just remember that being off balance will greatly reduce your stomping power, so work on doing it with balance. Everyone have a practice, remembering to not do it too hard.’
He looked her way.
What did she do now? ‘Would you like to stomp on my foot?’ It only seemed polite to offer after she’d fake-stomped on his.
‘How about we practise something different?’
Oh, god, like what? And why did only around a million dirty suggestions come to mind?
‘Like what?’
He smiled. ‘What do you think you might need?’
Something for bikers who dropped their pants. ‘I don’t know.’ Uncertainty washed through her.
‘Focus.’
‘I am.’ But it was hard to focus when her breath and pulse had both grown slippery at the prospect of him either holding her down or wrapping his strong arms around her in some kind of restraining move.
