Page 95 of Unhinged
He watches me. Serious. Focused.
I move slowly, showing him how it’ll feel—one arm tight across his chest, locking down his arms.
“If this happens, you don’t pull away. You’re smaller, they’re stronger. Don’t fight stupid. You go down. Drop your weight. Get low. Hit ‘em hard in the ribs with your elbow—fast and mean.”
I feel his little heartbeat under my arm. It’s fast. Nervous energy, not fear.
I step back. “Try it.”
He nods and sets up. Face scrunched with effort. I reach for him again, and he stiffens instead of dropping.
“Nope,” I say. “You froze. Again.”
We go over it. Again and again.
I adjust his stance, tap his elbow where it should hit. “Here. Use this like a weapon. No half-assed jabs.”
“I’m not half-assing!” he shouts, cheeks red.
“Then prove it.”
This time when I grab him, his elbow slams into my side harder. Still not enough to knock the wind outta me, but enough to get my attention.
“Better. Again.”
He starts sweating, breathing heavily, but I don’t let him quit. We go until his hair’s stuck to his forehead and his shirt’s clinging to his back.
“One more,” I say. “No warning this time. Close your eyes. You won’t know when someone’s gonna grab you in the real world.”
He shuts his eyes tight, arms loose at his sides, trying to be ready.
I wait. Let him get bored. Let his body relax. Then I move.
Fast.
I grab him from behind, hard and sudden. He jerks and lets out a startled noise, elbow flying back.
It catches me in the ribs—dead-on. I grunt, impressed, about to tell him he nailed it?—
And then everything shifts.
A flash of scent hits before anything else.
Jasmine, bright and bitter. Orange sliced clean through copper. Not perfume. Not pretty. Primal.
A growl rips through the air, and then I’mfucked.
A petite but strong arm wraps around my neck, while a knife slides cold and deadly along my ribs. Her body’s pressed up behind mine, all fury and instinct.
“Let him the fuck go, asshole,” Brydgett snarls into my ear.
My heart lodges in my throat. I raise my arms, palms open.
Fuck.
“I’m letting go,” I mutter.
Judge stumbles out of my grip and spins around, eyes wide as dinner plates.
