Page 109 of Captive Omega

“It’s not a bad place to hit, but it’s good to mix things up a bit.” Blaine pulls his left hand from his pocket and points at each area as he speaks. “A throat punch will make someone choke and let you go. Eye gouges are better. They can’t see you run or where you run.” His hand lowers to his belly. “A hit to the solar plexus can be debilitating. Get someone there and suddenly, curling up in a ball and wheezing takes priority to grabbing you.”

I stare at him.

I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

“It’s probably for the best we take things easy,” Blaine continues.

After I wound up in the clinic, he doesn’t want to push me so hard that I start bleeding again. And I agree. My hand flutters to my belly and I chase my dark thoughts away. I’m okay now. My baby is okay, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not interested in being super fit or running a marathon. I just want some tools to defend myself.

When the clinic visit—and the terror that led to it—isn’t so fresh, I’ll think about improving my level of fitness. Until then, I don’t want to do anything that might hurt my baby.

“We’re going to teach you to aim for maximum pain and you get out. Fast. Hit, hit, and run.”

“But I’ll have my knife,” I remind him.

“Weapons are good.” Blaine nods. “But weapons can be taken away and used against you.”

I kind of wish he hadn’t told me that. I needed to hear it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t gulp at the thought.

“You do anything to create an opportunity to get away. That is the goal,” he says calmly.

“Anything?”

His eyes glint with ferocity. “Anything. If it means pulling someone’s hair like you’re in fifth grade, you pull it. If someone is wearing an earring, you tear it out. If they grab you, you break their wrist. And you run at the first opportunity. There are no rules.”

Yeesh, maybe Blaine is the one who should have the bloodthirsty nickname. Not me.

I inch back half a step so I’m no longer in the direct line of fire of Blaine’s ferocity, yet a tingle goes down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s excitement, fear, or a heady combination of the two. But you know what? I’m up for this.

I lick my lips. “This doesn’t sound like martial arts.”

“This is survival. We’re going to teach you to identify weak, vulnerable areas to exploit, but the main goal is always to get away.”

“You said hit, hit, then run. Why can’t I just hit someone in the throat and run?” I ask.

“Because one blow is rarely enough. It’s good to have something else in reserve.”

“Like an eye gouge?”

He smiles. “Like an eye gouge. Or a kick in the groin.” He turns to Vaughn. “Are you ready to play dummy?”

With all this talk of eye gouges and hair pulling and debilitating hits to the solar plexus, I expect Vaughn to point to the punching bag in the corner and say, use that, not to grin at me. “I’m ready when you are, bloodthirsty omega.”

Blaine captures my gaze, stepping forward. “We’ll work on just the body for now. Another day, we can focus on holding and keeping onto your knife so no one can take it away. Weapons can be tricky.”

I have another one of those tearful moments I had in the clinic when I found a knife on my bedside table. No one is trying to take my knife away from me. They are thinking of ways I can keep hold of it for even longer. Ways I can make myself safe.

And that, to me, is… priceless. Absolutely priceless.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “How so?”

“If you have a weapon, your opponent is more likely to pull out their weapon, and that complicates our main goal to get away.”

I guess that makes sense.

Over the span of an hour, I learn eye gouges, throat jabs, how to punch, and how to grab a wrist and twist until I break it.

Vaughn literally just stands there and lets me use him as a dummy. Occasionally, he’ll lift my hand slightly and say, “Maximum pain, bloodthirsty omega. Hit me here.”

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