The Savage Gentleman

by Harlan, Christopher

  “You’re still under medical suspension, right?”

  “Nah, those passed a while back. I’m good. It was only six months.”

  There are protocols when a fighter is knocked out—usually mandatory amounts of time where you’re medically suspended and can’t get licensed again until that time is up. I set a reminder on my phone because I knew Matt would ask about it. He wanted me to take even more time off because of the knockout, but I can’t wait any longer.

  “I need this, Matt. I need it so bad I can taste it. And I need you to help me find an opponent.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that already? That was a bad knockout.”

  “Yeah it was. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I need a chance to make it right. I need to make another run at that title.”

  Matt hears the urgency in my voice. He’s heard that tone before and he knows that there’s no talking me out of it. “Alright. I’ll work on it, okay? But I need you to do something for me in exchange.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need you to do a private tomorrow.”

  “Oh, fuck, not another one?” I ask. “I worked with that kid again today, now another? Enough of this shit.”

  “Yeah, asshole. Now another. Kaitlyn was supposed to do it but she had something come up. I need you to cover for me. It’s an important one—a favor for a friend of my wife.”

  “Okay. Who is it?”

  “A woman. Her friend’s bringing her in for some self-defense Jiu Jitsu. I told her I’d give her an intro class for free, and if she likes it I’ll let her take a few more privates. From what I heard she’s kind of delicate.”

  “Delicate?” I repeat “Are you sure I’m the right guy for someone like that? I’m not exactly Mr. Sensitivity.”

  He laughs on the other end of the phone. “Like you had to tell me that. You are many things, kid, but sensitive is not a word I’d use to describe you. But you are a great teacher, the kids and their parents love you in the anti-bullying classes. Plus, there’s no one else, so I need you to step up for me.”

  “Fine.” I tell him. “I’ll step up, but I’d really appreciate if you could do the same and make some calls tomorrow about a match?”

  “You got it. I’ll do it right after I make up for all the sleep you just deprived me of.”

  “You’re an animal, Matt, you’ll be up at five, don’t lie.”

  “You’re not wrong. And goodnight. Thanks again for taking the private tomorrow. Be gentle with this one tomorrow, alright?”

  “Of course,” I joke. “Gentle is my middle name. Oh, speaking of names, what’s hers?”

  “Mila. Now go to bed.”

  Mila. I like that. I wonder if she’s as beautiful as her name.

  Chapter Eight

  Mila

  Saturday Morning

  I don’t know why Holly dragged me to this place.

  I mean, I do know why. She means well, and I know that she wants me to get over what happened with Brett, but I’m not sure this whole thing is really my speed.

  My body’s healed up—mostly—and now the battle is for control of my mind. It’s my mind that’s still covered in bandages and lying in traction. I never thought that Brett would be capable of something like that—and I sure as hell never believed that I’d be the type of woman stuck in a situation like that. But he was, and so was I. And now here I am, in the passenger seat of Holly’s car, parking in front of a martial arts gym, of all places. The awning reads:

  New York Fight Club: Mixed Martial Arts

  “I don’t get it, why do I have to do this?” I sound whiny. I hate the tone in my voice because I sound like a kid being dragged shopping by her mom.

  “I told you. I’ve been taking classes here for over a year. They have an amazing self-defense program for women and kids. I’ve taken like three different types of classes and I’m practically a badass.”

  “I’m scared of you.”

  “You should be.” She jokes. “But seriously, they have great instructors, and this isn’t that old school self defense where they tell you to yell and stab the guy with your keys—this Jiu Jitsu stuff really works. It really helps with your self confidence, and I know that’s just what you need that right now.”

  “I’m not a karate fighter, Holly. I’ve seen those movies and trust me, none of that flying stuff would have helped me when Brett was on top of me, slamming his fists down.”

  It upsets me to even say that. This is maybe the second or third time I’ve ever said anything directly about what happened, outside of my police report, testimony in court, and to Dr. Chase. That testimony—plus the injuries I was still nursing at the time—was enough to send him away for a few years. Not nearly enough, in my opinion. But Brett has a lot of money and a great attorney. My lawyer wasn’t able to meet the burden of proof necessary for a charge of attempted murder, which is what he should have been charged with. So instead we got him convicted of the lesser crime of aggravated assault. They played the mental health thing up as much as they could.

  Holly takes my hand gently. “Sweetie, you’re thinking of Bruce Lee movies right now. Or maybe Jean Claude Van Damme—he’s the guy with the accent who does the splits, right?”

  “I have no idea, Holly, you know I’m bad with movies.”

  “I do know. I don’t know what I was thinking. It doesn’t matter—if you’re thinking of some guy in robes doing spinning back kicks and flying through the air then you’re thinking of the wrong thing. First, this isn’t a karate school, it’s a Mixed Martial Arts academy.”

  “Wait, what’s the difference?”

  “There are a lot. Karate is… well, it’s karate. It’s a traditional Japanese martial art that has an academy on every corner and strip mall in the United States.”

  “So, what’s this place, then?”

  “You have so much to learn, Mila. But that’s kind of why we’re here,” Holly says with a slight chuckle.

  “I really don’t know about this. What am I going to be doing, exactly? Maybe if you walk me through it so I don’t feel like I’m walking into something weird.”

  “I have a better idea,” she tells me. “Why don’t we go in and meet a guy named Matt. He’s the owner and also the head trainer of the real fighters. I went to high school with his wife. We’re not close or anything—basically only slightly more than Facebook friends at this point, but he treats me like I’m family and gives me a great discount. He’s good with finding people the right trainer to work with. I called him the other day to see if he was able to find you someone.”

  “And did he?” I’m starting to warm to the idea a little. I trust Holly and I know she has my best interest at heart. If she says this place is legit then I’m going to trust her.

  “He said there’s a retired female fighter who does private lessons and training stuff now. Should be good. Thing is, we have to actually go inside to find out.”

  “Shut up,” I joke. “I’m going to go in. I just feel stupid. How is this going to help me?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to find out. Can we get out of the car now? I scheduled you an introductory lesson that starts in ten minutes and you need to get changed.”

  “Fine, I’m trusting you,” I tell her. “But if I hate it, I don’t want you to drag me back a second time. Deal?”

  “Deal. Now get your lazy ass out of the car.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  My heart is racing again, just like it does now whenever I’m forced to be around people. Travel is one thing, but when I’m in a confined space with a group of people my anxiety comes back full force. I never thought that I’d be that person—the agoraphobic who lived their life terrified that something bad was going to happen. What sucks is that I was never like that—I’m an extrovert by nature—I used to love parties, talking to people, going out dancing—whatever it was. It wasn’t until my attack that I developed all these fears and insecurities. I hope this will help me get over all of that.

  As soon
as we step inside I hear a man’s voice yell out. It startles me a little, but it’s a friendly voice. “Holly! How are you?” She runs over and hugs the man who I assume is. . .

  “Matt! I’m great!”

  After they separate, they both turn towards me. Matt’s a big guy, and his ears looks like he’s fought a few times in his life. He’s got those things—I forget what they’re called—but it’s like when it looks like there’s a big tumor on the inside of your ears. I had a boyfriend in college who wrestled and he had them. I’ll have to ask Holly what they’re called later on. Speaking of my best friend, she waves me over and Matt goes to shake my hand.

  “And this must be the one and only Mila?”

  “That’s me.” I shake his hand, and he really shakes my hand. It’s the first thing I notice—a lot of guys will lighten their grip when they shake a woman’s hand, but not this one. He gives me a good squeeze.

  “Welcome to my gym. Holly’s told me about your. . .situation. I’m happy to help you in any way that I can.

  “Thank you. I’m glad to be here, I really appreciate you taking the time to have your people work with me.”

  “It’s my honor. And just so you know, just for privacy reasons, I didn’t share your information with your instructor just yet, in case you didn’t want your business spread around. He’ll be here in a minute. He’s on his way, just running a little late.”

  He? Did Matt just call my instructor a he?

  “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the anxiety rise again. “Holly told me that I’d have a woman instructor. Is she not here?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to text Holly. That instructor had to cancel last minute—she got sick last night with some bad food poisoning. Instead I’m giving you over to Lucas. He’s a pro fighter—maybe you’ve heard of him? Lucas ‘The Ghost’ Esparza?”

  “Can’t say that I have, no, I’m sorry. I don’t really know fighters.”

  “That’s okay. If you feel like it you can look him up while we wait if you want. He should be here any minute.”

  As soon as I hear there’s going to be a man putting his hands all over me I feel uncomfortable all over again, but I feel like there’s no turning back now. I hope this isn’t a disaster.

  While I wait for the very late Lucas Esparza, I take out my phone and go on YouTube. I type in ‘Lucas The Ghost Esparza fight’ into the search and watch the first video. It’s titled ‘Viscous KO’ – I turn the volume down and click on the video. It’s only twenty seconds long, but in almost no time I see a guy who I think is my instructor get kicked in the head and fall to the floor. He lies there while the other guy celebrates. It’s hard to watch, and I flinch when I see the blow.

  “Holy crap!” I yell without even thinking.

  “What is it?” Holly asks.

  “Nothing. Just saw something weird online.” I close my phone and try to cover what I just saw.

  “Isn’t everything you see online weird in one way or the other?”

  “I guess.”

  We stand and talk to Matt for about five minutes before Holly convinces me to sit on the floor with her and stretch a little bit, so that’s exactly what I do. We stretch for another five minutes before I see a guy walk in the front door with a bag slung over his shoulder. I don’t think my eyes are going to leave him for a while.

  The first thing I notice is his size—he’s so big—tall, really muscular, and hot as all fuck. His body is one thing, but it’s his face that really catches my attention. His cheekbones are high, and they frame his entire face. His looks are a mix of gentle and rugged—like if a Versace model and a really tough athlete had a baby. The contrast intrigues me. He’s like a beautiful photo that’s just slightly out of focus—and I stare at him as he approaches us. When I stand up to greet him I have to angle my neck to look up.

  “Hey,” he says. His tone is curt, and more than a little bit cocky.

  “Hey, Lucas,” Holly says. “This is my friend Mila. She’s all yours today.”

  “Right. Great.”

  He really couldn’t sound more disinterested. Does he not want to do this?

  “Hi,” I say, putting my hand out to shake. “I’m Mila.”

  I’m not a hand-shaker, but I don’t know what else to do. When he doesn’t shake back and bows at me instead I get the message. I try to bow, but end up looking down at the ground. That’s when I feel his two fingers underneath my chin, lifting it up to meet his piercing green eyes.

  “Here,” he says, pointing to his own eyes. “Always here. Never look down when you bow.” His eyes are captivating—and I stare a little too long. “And nice to meet you, Mila.”

  “Oh, okay, sorry.”

  “Be gentle with her.” Holly says. “I was telling her before you came in that she’s in good hands with you.”

  “Stop lying to your friend.” He says. When he speaks I can’t tell if he’s being dry and sarcastic, or just really rude and dismissive. “Now leave us alone.”

  Holly gives me a hug and walks away, and when she does I feel naked, like a kid who’s been abandoned by his mom in a crowd. I’m in the middle of a strange gym, surrounded by sweaty men making weird grunting sounds while they hit things, and now this big guy is looking at me like I’m supposed to know what to do. Should I, like, bow again or something? How does it work?

  “So, you’re here to learn self defense?” he asks.

  “I think so. I mean, that’s what Holly thinks I should do.”

  “Is Holly your mom? Do you always let her make your decisions for you?”

  Did he really just say that? Is he being a dick to me? “Uh. . . no, definitely not my mom, and what I mean is that she suggested that I come here.”

  “And you disagree? You don’t want to be here?”

  What the hell is this guy’s problem? “I. . . I ’m honestly not sure.”

  “Okay, well then why don’t you leave? I have other things to do that aren’t a complete waste of my time.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I train people who want to learn. If you’re not into it then go do something else. I’m a busy man, I fight for a living.”

  I don’t remember the last time someone spoke to me the way he’s speaking to me. He’s brash, arrogant, and he has a really bad attitude for a teacher. But at the same time, I can’t stop looking at him. It’s weird.

  “Look, I’m into it,” I tell him. “I just don’t really know what it is exactly. Since you’re the instructor and all, and since I’ve never done this before, how about you explain it to me.”

  “Well, it is a type of martial art called Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. It’s a grappling art.”

  “Grappling?”

  “No punching or kicking. It’s more about manipulating other people’s bodies and using their strength against them.”

  Speaking of bodies. . . even though this guy is being really obnoxious, he has the body of a Greek god underneath that gi. The lapels are slightly open, and he’s not wearing a shirt underneath. Every time he shifts his weight to one foot the flaps open, and his pecks are staring at me—well defined, and sitting over the most perfect six pack—shit, it might be an eight pack—that I’ve ever seen on a man. Holy shit.

  “Oh, okay. So, show me something that’ll save my life.”

  “Gladly. Let’s start with me mounting you.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes wide open and my body secretly intrigued by what he just said. “You want to mount me?”

  “Not until I get to know you better,” he jokes. I don’t react at all. “But for real, that’s the name of a position. It’s called ‘full mount’.”

  “Oh. Right. Sure.”

  “Lie down.”

  Yes, sir. Gladly.

  I do what he says, and I take in just how he says it. I know he’s showing me a technique, but in the back of my mind I imagine him really telling me to lie down—and I don’t hate it. I fall to my back, and he literally mounts me, throwing one leg over me until his cro
tch is pressing down on my stomach and his hips are above mine. He has to weigh over two hundred pounds, but he moves like a gazelle and is barely putting any weight on me. I’m helpless underneath him nonetheless, and I just lie still and wait as he explains the position to me.

  “This is the full mount. It’s one of the worst positions you can find yourself in if someone attacks you, do you know why?”

  “Because I’m helpless.” I force the memory of Brett on top of me from my mind.

  “Right. I can hit you from here.” I try to hide my involuntary flinch as he makes a fist and extends it down towards my face, his knuckles just barely touching my chin. “But you can’t hit me. Try to reach your hand up.” I do what he says, and with my arm fully extended I’m still a few inches from his face. “Plus, I have control of your body.”

  “Okay, so how do I get out of it?”

  “Ah, good, now you’re asking the right question. Let me show you.”

  And he does.

  He shows me how to escape—a move called the ‘trap and roll’, and after that he shows me some more quick self defense moves—things to do if a larger person like him grabbed me from behind, or put their hands around my throat. I’m really interested in everything he’s showing me, and now I get why Holly thought this would be a good idea. These are things that every woman should know, whether she’s experienced what I went through or not. Hopefully not. Hopefully never—but it’s good to know these moves, just in case.

  We go for about twenty minutes more before he decides to test me. “Alright, you did good. But the question is, how well do you think you remember what I just showed you?”

  “Everything? I’m not sure. . .”

  “Imagine you walked out of here today and someone grabbed you. Someone big, like me.” So, someone just like my ex? Got it. “What would you do?”

  “Hopefully I’d do what you just showed me.”

  “Let’s see.”

  When Lucas was teaching me those moves, he was humble. Beyond. He was patient, showed me my mistakes, broke everything down step by step, and repeated himself as many times as I needed him to. But right now—and like before—he’s back to being his cocky self. I’m not sure which version I like. Part of me hates arrogant men, but there’s something about Lucas’s type of cockiness that has me looking at him like I haven’t looked at man in a long time. He seems like the opposite of me—like nothing could rattle him.