Page 37 of Healing Creek
She wore her own trousers paired with one of his shirts. She tied one side of the hem into a knot to keep the whole thing from hindering her movements. Creek wore a sleeveless pullover in a cerulean blue that looked amazing on him, coupled with soft loose pants. She enjoyed the view of his muscled posterior moving beneath the black fabric as he led her to a brightly lit back corner.
“This is the sparring square.”
Grace had rarely been in a gym and those visits were very different from this. Mats covered the floor. Along the wall, an array of punching targets hung from the ceiling or were mounted on poles. Weights were neatly stacked along the adjacent wall, as well as an emergency med kit.
They walked to the center of the mat and turned to face each other. “You believe yourself defenseless but that’s untrue,” he said, his voice echoing off the unadorned walls. Grace fidgeted with the knot in the shirt as she took in the space. He lifted one of her hands and traced the visible bones of her wrist with the scarred tip of one finger. She suppressed a shiver of pleasure. “While you train, we’ll wrap your wrists to protect your tendons and ligaments. You’ll also wear training boots to protect your ankles.”
He went over to a rack along the wall and selected a pair of adjustable boots and helped her into them. As he applied the spray wrap to her wrists, she followed his instructions on how to get it to set properly. After a minute of drying time, they were ready to begin.
“Now, go ahead and make a fist for me,” Creek instructed. Grace curled her slender fingers inward, her knuckles protruding as she clenched a tight fist. Creek gently corrected the placement of her thumb outside her fingers. “That’s right, just like that,” he said with an approving nod.
“You won’t build any muscle without working with the weights, but I can teach you some simple techniques to break away if someone tries to grab you.” Grace planted her feet on the mat, ready to learn how to unlock the strength Creek seemed so sure she possessed. If he believed she could do this, she would believe it, too.
“The most vulnerable parts of the body are the eyes, throat, and groin,” Creek said. “If you need to defend yourself, aim for those areas.”
Grace nodded, concentrating intently on his instructions. She’d been so helpless and afraid when Patel grabbed her. But Creek’s reassuring manner made her more confident.
“Let’s start with some basic punches,” Creek said. “Make a fist and extend your arm, rotate your hand as you land the punch.” She copied his motion. “Good, now do the same while rotating your hips and shoulder into it.” He held the punching bag steady as Grace mimicked his form. She swung hesitantly at first.
“Don’t push with your arm,” Creek advised, stepping around behind her. He held her hips, guiding her movements. His hands were warm and large and distracting on her body. “Drive the punch from your back foot, putting your body weight into it.” Grace tried again, this time pivoting her hip as she drove her fist into the bag. It swung satisfyingly.
“Good!” Creek said. “Now focus on keeping your wrist straight. We don’t want any fractures.” As he moved back, Grace continued punching, each hit sounding louder as she gained momentum. Creek adjusted her elbow and footwork, seemingly unconcerned with her occasional off-target strikes. Touch after touch her heart beat faster.
Next, he taught her another punch with her opposite hand. After a few minutes, Creek stepped behind the swinging bag. “Okay, now I’ll hold it. Give me some real power behind your punches.” Bracing himself, he gripped the bag’s tether. Grace narrowed her eyes, adrenaline pumping through her as she landed a solid punch. She fell into a rhythm, striking again and again, envisioning Patel’s face.
“Nice work!” Creek said. “Now try some kicks.” He demonstrated lifting his knee and thrusting his heel out in a quick snapping motion. Grace imitated the move but struggled to keep her balance. “It’s okay, kicks take more coordination,” Creek said. “Try again but only tap the bag at first, then build power.”
Soon Grace was landing forceful kicks, the bag denting under her boot’s impact. As she found her flow, she thought about the times she’d been helpless and afraid. Now she felt a rush, knowing she could fight back.
The moment Creek called time she let her joy take over. She threw herself against him and his arms closed around her. “That was great,” she said. She let herself glory in the solid strength of him pressed against her.
“You did well,” he said softly. His hands stroked along her spine and settled at her hips. “With practice, these techniques will become second nature.”
Grace was sore but the pulsing pain felt earned and she felt bereft when he stepped back, putting space between them. Stoic and stiff, he passed her a container of water. She gulped it down, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Thank you for teaching me,” she said. “I know I’m not strong, but—”
“No,” said Creek, his stern face softening. “Never allow yourself to feel helpless. You have an inner strength, Grace. I can give you these lessons, but you must believe you can succeed. The mind is always your strongest weapon.”
Grace nodded, understanding. She would believe in her own capabilities and that would give her the power to act when the time came. That and a lot of practice.
Chapter Sixteen
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Creek went from teaching Grace to the small room off the corridor to the slave hold. The other Dogs had been questioning Patel for an hour or so. He was late and battling a lot of frustration. Watching Grace gain confidence had been sexy as hell. He’d given her as much time as he could handle. When she’d jumped into his arms, he’d had trouble remembering why it was a bad idea to claim her. She was already his.
Diablo slouched in the hallway, propped against the wall.
“Why are you not inside?”
The Dog shrugged. “Not intimidating enough, I guess.”
Creek scoffed. More like he might not be controlled enough. Or that was his reputation, though Creek hadn’t seen much sign of a temper.
