Storm

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “Did they come after you?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “I chased them off.”

  “How?” His voice was even.

  “First with my car. I just kind of ... um, drove at them.” She had to be blushing. Her face felt like it was on fire. “But then they came back, and one of them grabbed me, so I did some self-defense stuff, and they bolted.”

  Now he smiled. “Some ‘self-defense stuff’?”

  “Don’t tease me! It’s true.”

  “Okay.” He sobered. “Show me.”

  Like she needed to make a bigger fool of herself. “No. It’s silly.”

  “Silly? You chased off two big guys. I’d like to see this ‘self-defense stuff.’ Maybe I could use your techniques.”

  “I’d just taken a class the school offered,” she said. “It was fresh in my mind. I couldn’t do it again.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  Ugh. She folded her fingers the way Paul had told her, and did a halfhearted swing.

  Hunter caught her wrist. “Stand up. Show me. For real.”

  His eyes held that challenge again, like they had in the car. She pushed to her feet and stepped off the blanket, feeling the sun on her face. When Hunter joined her, Casper shifted forward to nose at the abandoned box of potato wedges.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

  Hunter grinned. “Now that’s funny.”

  Oh, he wanted to get cocky about it? She didn’t even warn him, just folded her fingers and swung.

  He caught her hand. He was quicker than she’d expected. Stronger.

  It stole her breath for a second.

  “Not like that,” he said. He gently pried her fingers loose and refolded them, making her thumb more prominent. “Like this. Do it again.”

  Holy crap. “You know about this stuff?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m a ‘self-defense stuff’ expert.” His tone was wry, but it didn’t sound like he was kidding.

  “Really?”

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “I know a little. You’re stalling.”

  She swung. He caught. His hand was warm, wrapping around her knuckles.

  “Try again,” he said.

  She remembered the way he’d grabbed the paper clip out of the air, that first day. “I’ll never be faster than you.”

  “The point isn’t to be faster than me. The point is to mean what you’re doing.” He took a step closer to her, until there wasn’t room for her to take a swing at him. “Try again.”

  She backed away and started to swing, but he caught her wrist and took another step. “Try again.”

  She took another step back. He came after her.

  And then, just for an instant, she felt a flicker of fear. She didn’t even think. Her hand shot out, aiming for his eyes.

  Thank god he was quick. She almost got him. But he ducked to the side and deflected her blow with his forearm.

  Then his face broke into a smile. “Hey. Nice.”

  She flushed, pleased despite herself.

  “What else you got?” he said.

  Becca had a pretty strong feeling she should quit while she was ahead. She could barely remember half the stuff Paul had shown them in class. But Hunter’s closeness left her a little breathless, a little euphoric. Her heart was still kicking like they’d been running.

  She shook her hair back from her face and looked up at him. “What else you got?”

  His eyes widened—just for an instant. Then they filled with resolve. He looked fierce and gentle, if such a combination was possible. He moved until he stood close enough to share secrets, to dance. To kiss.

  “Choke me,” he said.

  She jerked back. God, she’d been staring at his mouth.

  She coughed to cover her nerves. “I’m sorry—what?”

  He smiled, not fooled for a second, then reached out to take her hands and place them on his neck.

  The warmth of his body reached across the space between them. She could smell whatever detergent his mom used, something fresh and soft, like baby powder and lavender. With her hands against his skin, she felt the beginnings of stubble under his jaw, the muscles in his neck flexing under her fingers.

  The position reminded her of those silly dances in middle school, the way girls would hook their hands behind a guy’s neck and kind of sway to the music.

  “Now what?” Her voice almost cracked.

  Breathe.

  “I’m going to make hooks with my hands—” He demonstrated. “—and catch your wrists to spring your hands free. Don’t let go.”

  Becca nodded, gazing up at him, thinking his eyes were exactly the color of the grass here.

  Now they flickered with challenge. “Don’t. Let. Go.”

  She tightened her grip, but he reached into the gap between her wrists and snapped her hands free.

  Hey! Her eyes narrowed. “Do that again.”

  He did it again. And a third time.

  She felt warm, her breaths coming quickly again.

  “There’s no counter leverage,” he said. “I’m just using your strength against you. Want to try?”

  She nodded before thinking of how his hands would be around her neck, strong and secure, his thumbs brushing her chin, reminding her too much of the way a guy would pull you close to kiss you.

  Touch was funny like that. How one movement could choke you and kill you, but another meant nothing more than a caress and an invitation. How sex and rape were just a few motions apart.

  “What are you thinking?” He’d stopped moving, his hands loose now, almost on her shoulders instead of her neck. She couldn’t figure out his expression, but she didn’t want to try too hard.

  Becca shook her head and looked right back at him. “Nothing. Do it. I want to try.”

  He did. She broke his hold on the first try.

  She grinned, pleased. This was a bazillion times better than learning from Paul. “I did it.”

  He smiled back, but his eyes were serious. “Don’t let go this time. Break free, but hold on to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Keep me close so you can hurt me. So you can knee me in the stomach.” Now he gave her a rakish smile. “Or lower.”

  They practiced breaking choke holds until she mastered that. Then he showed her how to pin an attacker’s forearms to her chest, to control his movement so she could be the aggressor. He showed her the strength in her joints, how an elbow or a knee in the right place could cause more damage than she’d ever thought possible.

  Sweat collected under the spill of her hair. At first she’d thought Hunter was going easy, but then she saw the sheen of sweat on his forehead as they moved faster. This was nothing like the self-defense class—she felt sharper, fierce in a way she’d never anticipated.

  For the first time in a long while, she felt powerful.

  Darkness crept up on them, sneaking over the hill to throw Hunter’s features into shadow. She couldn’t hear children on the playground anymore. Casper had long since fallen asleep on the blanket.

  “It’s late,” said Hunter.

  “What, did you run out of things to show me?”

  He grimaced and bent to shake out the blanket. “I might have to show you how to walk back to the pet store. Do they gate the entrances to parks around here?”

  Becca gathered their trash. “I think we’ll be okay. It’s not full dark yet. They usually drive around and warn people.”

  She was right. The gates were still open, but they got a stern glare and a warning from the gate attendant. “Sundown means sundown, kids.”

  “It’s her fault,” said Hunter, pointing at the passenger seat. “She had me in a choke hold.”

  Becca laughed as he drove off, loving the feel of the wind in her hair, the sudden chill in the air cooling her cheeks. Loving the easy company by her side.

  This is what it’s supposed to be like.

  She turned her head to look at Hunter. “Thanks.”

  He glanced away from the ro
ad long enough to meet her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  “You know more than just ‘a little,’ ” she said. “Are you, like ... a black belt in karate or—”

  He snorted, and it sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “No.”

  “Then how do you know all that stuff?”

  He was silent for a moment, air whistling through the open cab of his jeep.

  “People used to screw with me,” he finally said. “When I was younger, I got a lot of crap. My father—he told me there were two options: I could learn to defend myself, or I could suck it up.”

  Harsh, she thought.

  Hunter must have seen the look on her face. “No, Dad was right.” He hesitated. “He taught me.”

  Becca held her breath, unsure how to proceed. His words didn’t seem broken as they had a few hours ago. Maybe doing something physical had loosened something in him, too.

  “Is it martial arts?” she said.

  “Not really.” He glanced over. “It’s called Krav Maga. Heard of it?”

  She shook her head and whispered the phrase. Krav Maga. It sounded exotic and violent and lethal.

  “It’s for self-defense,” Hunter said. “With the purpose of taking your enemy down instead of running away.”

  “I love it.”

  He looked over. “Me too.”

  The pet store wasn’t far enough away. He was pulling beside her car well before she was ready to get out of his jeep.

  Hunter didn’t turn off his engine, but he unclicked his seat belt to turn and face her. He brushed some hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Thanks for going with me.”

  She flushed and looked down, wishing time would slow so she could memorize the passage of his fingers along her jaw. They’d grappled in a field for hours, but this tiny stroke of his hand on her face felt like the most intimate thing she’d ever done.

  The thought made her freeze.

  Would he kiss her now? Would that change everything, turn this ... this courtship into a chase? She’d always hated how guys measured goals with a girl like bases in baseball. First base, second base—but when you hit a home run, you go back to the dugout and wait for your next chance. She liked this, when there was no game, no ball in play.

  “I’ve kept you out too late,” he murmured, and she could tell he’d moved closer. His breath brushed her temple.

  Her lips parted. She wondered what his mouth would feel like, what he would taste like.

  She wondered if she’d let it get that far. Her hands were sweating again.

  Keep me close so you can hurt me.

  Hunter stroked her hair back again. She leaned in to his touch.

  “Do you have your keys?” he said.

  Her keys? She nodded.

  His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, but he didn’t move closer. His voice was rich and warm and gentle. “It’s late.”

  She nodded again, feeling her heartbeat, her breathing. She held still, her face against his palm. He didn’t move.

  Then she figured it out.

  Do you have your keys? It’s late.

  She drew back, unable to look at him now. She thrust her hand into her purse, praying the keys would find her shaking fingers. “Thanks for dinner, Hunter.”

  “Hey. Easy.” He caught her wrist and pulled her back. This time when his fingers found her chin, they lifted her face so she could meet his eyes. “Look at me.”

  What was this going to be, some ease-his-conscience letdown?

  “Becca,” he said. She loved the sound of her name on his lips—and she hated herself for it.

  His eyes were wide. She looked right back at him and willed her voice to be steady and quiet. “What?”

  He moved closer, until a breath would bring their lips together. “You deserve better than a first kiss in a deserted parking lot.”

  She couldn’t breathe. She almost kissed him anyway.

  But then he was shifting away, making sure she found her keys, waiting to be sure her car started and she got out of the lot safely.

  She wasn’t sure how she drove. Maybe the car propelled itself, fueled by her euphoria. This was how it could be: no games, just simple chivalry and kindness. Gentle strength, the way a man should come to a woman.

  Giddiness got her home. She hadn’t forgotten Chris and his brothers, but their troubles had drifted to some distant part of her brain.

  But they snapped to the forefront when she pulled into her driveway.

  There on the door, shining in the beams of her headlights, was a shiny brand-new pentagram.

  CHAPTER 22

  Chris slouched in the back of the classroom, drawing a pattern along the margin in his notebook.

  He’d forgotten she was supposed to be his History partner.

  Maybe he should ditch. He still had time before the bell. He’d seen her in English Lit, the way she sat across the room and avoided his eyes. Her shoulders had been hunched, her torso twisted deliberately away from him.

  Good.

  The thought made him wince. She’d looked exposed, moving like someone had a sniper rifle trained on the center of her back. His fault—all of it. It made him want to take her by the hand, lead her into a corner, and offer reassurance. But keeping his distance was better. She’d be safer. The last thing she needed was to be seen whispering with him.

  But maybe he could talk to her now. She’d be close, a captive audience for an hour. He remembered the way she’d smelled on Friday, like almonds and vanilla, from lotion or shampoo or something.

  Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely ditch.

  But she appeared in the doorway of the classroom, dark hair pouring across one shoulder. Her movements were still tight and controlled, but some of the tension had leaked away.

  That Hunter guy was walking behind her.

  No, wait. With her.

  Whatever. Chris dropped his head and sighed, sketching a cube on the lined paper. He’d just started a pyramid when he felt someone watching him.

  He looked up. Becca was headed his way, her jaw tight, looking anywhere but at him. Chris shifted his gaze. Hunter was glaring at him, his eyes dark.

  Chris could read that look like a book. The guy’s posture had a whole monologue going. Don’t screw with her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even breathe in her direction. Get me?

  Chris gave him the finger.

  “Mature.” Becca dropped into the seat next to him and flung her backpack to the ground.

  A lot of force hid behind that movement. It made him pause. “You all right?”

  “I’m great.” She yanked a notebook out of her backpack. Then a pen. All this aggression was throwing spots of pink on her cheeks.

  She didn’t turn her head. “Stop looking at me.”

  He jerked his eyes away. Now his cheeks felt hot.

  Beamis swept into the room. “Good afternoon, class. Thank you for your patience. Today we’ll be comparing the Treaty of Versailles with the Treaty of Paris, and how they immortalized the fall of two of the greatest powers in Europe’s ...”

  Chris felt his attention drift. He couldn’t look right, because Becca was sitting there.

  To his left, Tommy Dunleavy was sneaking glances at Becca, a smirk on his lips. A piece of paper was folded between his fingers. He glanced furtively at Beamis, clearly waiting for his chance.

  Chris gave him a wordy glare of his own. Try it, dickhead.

  Tommy glared back—but he backed down and crumpled the piece of paper when Chris didn’t look away.

  Typical.

  A pen knocked against his knuckles, and Chris swung his head around. Becca was staring straight ahead, at the board, but she tapped her pen on her notebook.

  He looked down.

  There’s another pentagram on my door.

  He didn’t doubt it. She could paint over it twenty times and they’d put another one up there. He wrote the only thing he could think of.

  Sorry.

  She stared at that word for a
long time. What was she thinking about?

  Then she put her pen to the paper again.

  Lilah came to the pet store.

  Chris froze. He’d thought for sure that Tyler and the others would leave everything to the Guides. That’s how these things worked.

  Are you OK?

  She very deliberately rolled her eyes.

  What do you care? You lied to me.

  Then she went back and underlined lied again.

  He studied the words on the page, feeling his chest tighten. He almost spoke out loud, but then took a quick glance at Beamis, who was scrawling all over the board.

  Chris drew a question mark, then circled the word lied.

  Becca turned her head to look at him. Her eyes always reminded him of the ocean after a storm, a gray so dark you just knew there were secrets in there. Just now they hid some kind of pain that he didn’t understand.

  She dropped her gaze, letting her hair fall across her face while she wrote. The scent of almonds and vanilla was making him crazy.

  Then he saw the words across her notebook.

  You killed Seth’s parents?

  Chris stopped breathing, staring as if just looking at them would rearrange the letters into another sentence.

  Her breathing was quickening, and he knew she was assuming the worst since he hadn’t denied it.

  Chris lifted his pen and forced himself to write.

  Not what you think.

  She practically knocked his hand out of the way to write more.

  Did you try to kill Tyler last week?

  After I saved you?

  What? He started shaking his head. She wrote furiously.

  Arrested?