Page 85 of Falling Too Late

“It’s done.” He pocketed his phone and patted his suit. “God dammit.” He started to frantically look around the car.

“What?” I glanced at him before focusing on the road again.

“I think that fucking Foster’s goon stole my pistachios,” he grumbled.

I snorted, finding slight amusement in it.

“What’s the deal with you and Foster anyway?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

“Oh, you know. She hates me, I love her.” He shrugs,grinning. “It’s complicated.” He waved his hand, ending the conversation. “Where are we going? I need more pistachios.”

“One more stop, then we will get you your damn pistachios.”

“You know, when you are done handling your business, you should come work for me.”

“Doing what?” I watched him from my peripheral.

“I’m sure we could find something for you to do in the business.”

CHAPTER 32

WREN

I pulledthe hem of my shorts down, adjusting my clothes. We were grappling today, and loose-fit clothes weren’t allowed. I tied my hair back then slid on fingerless gloves. The people who were taking our class today were all dressed similarly.

We all went through the motions of stretching, warming up. Mario and I paired each student up with someone who was sized similarly, giving them places on the mats to spread out. None of them were newbies, and we worked our way through the class, watching and critiquing their positioning.

I got in the rhythm of the day. Staying busy enough so my mind didn’t wander away from what was right in front of me. This was a coed class. Sometimes we had all women’s days and all men’s days. We liked to mix them together occasionally, and only if everyone was up for it.

“There is no way I can take him down,” Pam said, pointing at Daren.

“Why can’t you?” I walked toward them, my hands clasped behind my back. Pam wasn’t new to the class, but she wasn’t consistent either. She had shown up maybe twice a month for the last six months.

“Because he’s a man,” she stated blandly.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Not that he was bigger thanher, not that he was potentially stronger than her, just because he was a man.

“So, because you are a woman, you don’t have the strength to take him down?” I countered.

“Men are biologically stronger than women.” She said it like it wasn’t something I had known my entire life.

It was an argument I had heard before, time and time again. I couldn’t help the expression on my face and turned to Adam.

Adam was a good six inches taller than me, and he was built like a linebacker. He had only recently started grappling class.

“Okay, Pam, step off the mat. Adam, I want you to put me on my back.”

“You want me to do what?” He gaped at me.

“Put me on my back. Take me down.”

The pairs surrounding us were faltering in their moves, their curiosity getting the better of them. Good. I wanted them to see.

I stepped up on the mat, my hands still clasped behind my back, relaxed. He stood at the edge of the mat before he rushed me. He crossed the mat in five steps, and just as his hands went for my shoulder, I spun away from him, stepping behind him and gently kicking him in the back of the knee, causing him to stumble.

My steps were sure. I never stumbled.

“See, Pam, he may be stronger, but I’m faster.” I raised my voice for all to hear. “Your attacker may be bigger than you, but you could be faster. Kicking them in the side or back of the knee can get them on the ground. In a life-or-death situation, once they are on the ground, you grab the heaviest object you can get your hands on, I don’t care if it’s a rock, a solid ashtray, a candle—you hit them on the head.”

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