Page 73 of Scorch

“Alright, so let’s go over what you’ve learned.”

I’ve given her a crash course in basic self-defense that Kolya taught all of us: escape holds and grabs, situational awareness, defense maneuvers, and the use of everyday objects. There’s no time to teach her to shoot.

“Okay,” she says, standing in front of me in a fighting stance. She’s wearing a hot-pink tank top, black leggings, and sneakers. She’s lucky I need to teach her, or I’d tear those off and fuck her right up against the side of the house. “Use the flat of my palm or a hard kick against vulnerable areas if I can—eyes, nose, throat, and groin.”

I nod. “Go on.”

“Don’t lose my shit if someone’s got me in a hold but focus on escaping. Pay attention to the surroundings and use what I can to my advantage.”

I don’t want her to have to use the skills I taught her. I want her self-defense moves to be an absolute last fucking resort.

Still, she needs to know.

“Like?” I test, my eyes boring into hers.

“Like if we’re near the fire pit. Push them off kilter so their foot hits the drain grate, then shove them into the fire like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel.” Her eyes gleam, and she grins at me.

I grin back. “You’ve given this some thought.”

“Yes, sir,” she says in a seductive purr. Good thing she just talked about kicking the groin, or I’d be hard as fuck right now.

“Go on about escape.”

“Stay calm. Shout for help as loud as I can. Use my screaming voice.” She winks. “Strike if possible, lower my center of gravity, turn, and face my attacker.”

“Excellent.” Pride swells in my chest. “That’s my girl. What else?”

“Use everyday objects if possible. Pens, keys, my handbag weighted down with the latest spree at Sephora.”

I nod. “Excellent.”

Nikita paws at the back door, jealous of the attention I’m giving to Lydia.

“Take a walk?”

“Mhm.”

I get Nikita’s leash, and we walk downtown, Nikita obediently heeling by my side. We stop at a stoplight, and Lydia bends down to scratch Nikita's ears.

I thought I loved Lydia before she moved in here. But now that she loves my dog, I’m fucking gone.

“I was thinking of making chicken parm for dinner,” she says casually.

“That makes me fucking hard,” I tease her.

She grins at me. “I never met a man who was turned on by the food he ate.”

“Not turned on by the food I eat. I’m turned on watching you cook it.”

“Oh, I get it. Satisfying all the appetites and all that?”

“Mhm. That sounds delicious. On Friday night, when we’re planning the final details, we’ll go out to dinner. Sound good?”

I don’t cook. I eat. And if I’m not with someone who can cook, I order in. I had a private chef for a while, but I didn’t like it. I don’t like anybody in my space except Lydia. It’s her space too.

All of a sudden, Nikita's ears go back. Her hair bristles, and she lets out a low, dangerous growl.

Lydia stands up straight. “What did I do? I thought she loved me.”

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