Page 32 of Last Man Standing

I fuckin’ like it.

“I’m in here.” She circles the bag and bravely gives me her back, all so she can avoid revealing puffy red eyes. “I’ll be done in twenty minutes, then the place is all yours.”

Such a silly girl. How could she think turning from me is a good idea?

I stalk forward and fist her ponytail, holding on so tight that a banshee scream rips along her throat and treacherous tears splatter against the dirt.

I pull her in until her back presses to my chest and her scrambling feet stop moving, then I tug her ponytail just a little harder. “Hair like this, Princess? So long and pretty and smells so fuckin’ good?”

She trembles violently in my arms.

I was coming in here to piss her off, to trick her into sparring with me. But the fear pulsing from her pores makes it feel almost like she’s stuck back in Colorado with her abusive ex, and I’m the asshole who put her there.

“W-what are you doing?” she whimpers. “Why are you⁠—”

“How do you escape this hold, Princess? A man’s got you pinned like this, he’s controlling your head, because even if you wanted to, you can’t possibly tear all of these pretty locks out without seriously hurting yourself. He’s probably bigger than you. Stronger. And he’s already decided he wants to fuck you up.” I place my free hand on her belly and hate how her breath stutters and stalls with panic. “Tell me how you get out of this.”

“Is it because I swore at you?” she cries. “Is it because I said I wouldn’t sleep with you? Because I⁠—”

“Don’t do that,” I grit out. “Don’t run back to that weaker version of you. She’ll let your fear get you killed.”

She chokes out a desperate sob. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to show me that bad bitch you’ve been parading around for three weeks already. I saw you in here beating the shit out of the bag. I saw your kicks, Princess. Somebody trained you.”

“I…” She gulps. “I…”

“Go back to those lessons. Revisit them in your head. Whoever taught you that sexy axe kick absolutely taught you how to escape a pair of grabby hands. So…” I lick my lips and taste her in the air. Fuckkkkk. “How do you escape this hold?”

“I don’t know.” Whimpering, she collapses forward so my hand on her belly is the only reason she doesn’t drop to her knees. “I don’t know how⁠—”

“Yes, you do,” I croon. “You know, Scarlett. Stop being a victim and start being a fuckin’ winner. I’ve got your hair, which means my arm is my control. So you…?”

Her panting breath fills the shed, bouncing from wall to wall. Her heart-wrenching cries follow and make it so I’m almost tempted to let her go. Almost. Her thundering pulse is like waves in the air. But slowly, so fucking achingly, she claws her way back from the edge of a panic attack.

Pride blossoms in my chest. Growing and pulsing.

There you go, beautiful. You made the right choice.

“I-I have to break your arm.” Her voice crackles and aches. “Break your control.”

“Good.” My lips curl into a lonnnnnng fucking grin. “How?”

She twists, hurting herself because of how I grip her hair, but the fact that she’s so much smaller than me works in her favor as she turns easily and peeks into my eyes. Hers are soaked and swollen. Grieving and so damn pitiful, I kinda wish I could go back ten minutes and leave her the hell alone. But the way she takes a deep breath and strengthens her resolve? That’s the shit that keeps me exactly where I am.

Bolstering her bravery, she brings her elbow up and aligns it with my arm. But that same size she benefited from a moment ago lets her down now, because she can’t even reach me. Not really.

I lower my stance, bend my knees to provide her with a platform, then with my free hand, I slap my leg. “Use the momentum of what we’re doing, use my size against me, Spiderman your way up, then bring that elbow down.” I grab her thigh and surprise a delicious gasp from deep in her throat, then I drag her leg up and force her to set her foot on my thigh. “Doing it slow makes it tricky. But—” I release her leg and trade it for her hips instead. I lift until her second foot digs into my thigh, then I let her use my restraining arm as a kind of seat belt. “In a real-life situation, you’ve gotta react instantly. You spin, run at him, climb him like a tree, and then you bring that elbow down over his arm. Or—” I point at my nose instead. “Here. Shatter his face and knock him out.”

She stands over me, her pulse pounding in her throat a mere foot from my tongue. Hesitantly, she carefully brings her elbow to the bridge of my nose.

I’ve been such a prick the last three weeks, I wouldn’t even get mad if she went for the kill shot. But she’s gentle, just as I’m gentle.

And she doesn’t cry anymore.

“Better yet, carry a knife with you everywhere you go. Instead of using your elbow to make him hurt, you try this same move, climb him, and then sink that blade right here.” I tap the inside corner of my eye and grin. “Give it a wiggle and make soup of his brains.”

Horrified. Curious. Cautious. A little fuckin’ turned on. She gulps and drops her chin in a nod.