Page 5 of Scarred Sacrifice
His friend soon sits back down. “What the fuck do you want, you crazy bitch?” he pants through gritted teeth, his face red in pain.
“Now, that isn’t how you speak to a woman, is it?” I growl in warning.
“You’re playing with fire. I will fucking have you, bitch,” he sneers the threat, but I don’t miss the hint of fear in his eyes as I shift my boot slightly.
“Now, we both know that isn’t true, because if you lunge forward now, my pretty little stiletto heel will drive right into your precious little testicles. What is going to happen is you will behave, you will show all women the respect they deserve, and you will not speak of them like they are objects for your enjoyment, and you will not touch a woman without permission. All are very simple rules to live by, and you may even find a lady liking you in the future. But you know what no woman likes? A misogynistic prick with a tiny dick and one testicle,” I say with a grin. He swallows.
“Do we have an understanding?” I ask.
He gives me a brief nod, his face looking like a scolded child.
“Oh, and don’t call women crazy for standing up for themselves and for what they believe in. You wouldn’t do it toa man. Do yourself a favour; go and read a book on feminism and female rights. In fact, add that to our understanding. Educate yourself and your little chums here,” I add before slowly removing my boot from his crotch. He groans and immediately cups his dick.
I smile brightly, the encounter lifting my spirits. The ladies sitting on the other side stare at me in awe. I pull out a card and hand it to them. “Women’s self-defence classes. You should come along.”
CHAPTER TWO
MORRIGAN
“You needto throw all your weight behind the hit. Remember to follow through with your fist,” I instruct as I slam my fist into one of our dummies.
A woman with curly red hair raises her hand. “Er, I thought this was self-defence. It kind of feels like we are attacking.” She shrugs.
I notice a few of the other women looking at me, clearly thinking the same. “Okay, raise your hand if you have ever been attacked by a man?” I ask the class of twenty women. Over half of them raise their hands, but the curly redhead doesn’t. I place my hands on my hips. “Listen up, because I will only say this once. You are here to defend yourself if you are attacked. For those that are fortunate not to have been attacked, there is no reasoning with an attacker. You cannot plead with them. They are there for one reason only: to either mug you, rape you, or beat you.”
“Or kidnap you,” a woman states quietly, her cheeks turning crimson as she averts her gaze from me. Her honey-brown hair drapes over her face, as if she is trying to hide away. That’s when I notice the scars on her arms.
“You’re right,” I affirm, looking away from her to the rest of the group before continuing. “You could have one attacker, two, three, or more. I’m here to try and teach you the best way you can put up a fight. The world is dangerous, especially for women,” I state, pausing.
The redhead huffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s dangerous anyway, not just for women,” she argues.
I fold my arms over my chest. “To a point, you are right. Let me ask you a simple question: do you have kids?” I ask.
She nods, smiling. “I have a fourteen-year-old daughter and a seventeen-year-old son.”
“That’s great. Now would you allow your daughter to go out at night when it’s dark? It doesn’t have to be late, but when it’s dark and you walk home alone?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Of course not!” she states with horror at the mere suggestion of it.
“Okay, same time. Say it could be eight pm at night; it’s winter, so it’s dark. Your son walks home alone. You okay with that?” I counter.
She opens her mouth to answer, but quickly closes it. “I’d still track him on the app,” she answers.
I nod. “And that’s because you care, you love your kids, and you want to protect them. What you said proves my point. A woman should feel safe to walk home at night if she should choose. Instead, we can’t. If we do, we go in pairs or a group, or we are escorted home by male friends or parents. We are living in 2025, and even now if a man wanted to rape us, he would probably get away with it.” I pause. “If a woman goes to the police to report a rape, she is asked if she was drinking alcohol, she is asked what she was wearing, if she led him on in any way. Without DNA or other evidence, it’s our word against theirs. So, use this class to train, learn how to defend yourself. Put an end to being vulnerable and start fucking fighting back,” I snap. Iturn and stand back in front of the dummy, ready to show them another move. “Any more questions before I continue the class?” I ask.
They shake their heads no and copy my stance, ready to learn the next move.
At the endof the session, I grab a towel and dab the sweat off my face before grabbing my water bottle and taking a long glug. I spot the shy woman from earlier, bagging up her towel and water bottle.
“Hey,” I call out before walking over to her. Her head snaps up, her hair shifting slightly to reveal a thick scar above her eye trailing down to the top of her cheekbone. She quickly moves her hair to cover it again. I give her a soft smile. “When were you kidnapped?” I ask bluntly.
She blanches at the direct question. “On my way home from soccer practice,” she states. “I was seventeen, and they kidnapped me for six days.”
I nod, hating how cold her tone is before I hand her a card. “If you need anything, then just call that number,” I state, pointing to it.
She looks down and reads it, frowning. “I-is this a club?” she asks. “I don’t ride a bike.”
I grin. “Just call if you need anything. We don’t discriminate if you can’t ride a bike.” She gives me a small smile and walks away.
