Page 9 of My Masked Savior
“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” He turns back to his screens. “Though based on those dark circles under your eyes, not much is helping in that department lately.”
He doesn’t understand. This isn’t just about attraction. It’s something deeper that started when I saw that terror in her eyes and recognized it.
“Just find everything you can on Delacruz,” I say, forcing my voice to sound normal. “Standard procedure.”
Ethan types rapidly but throws me a sideways glance. “Nothing standard about the way you’re acting, D. But hey, I get it—she’s hot, you’re single, playing hero might get you laid.”
If only it were that simple.
5
MORGAN
“Sheesh, More” Basia says, elbowing me in the ribs. Or, well, she would have elbowed me in the ribs, but my arms are wrapped tightly around me, protecting my torso. “Why are you hunched into yourself like that? It’s all gonna be pretend.”
We’re doing practical scenarios at the self-defense class today, and I’m already sweating bullets just imagining being pinned down, hands grabbing my body, grasping onto my exposed skin. I feel so self-conscious in my leggings and sports bra. I haven’t shown this much skin since before…him. I’m hyper-aware of my body, reflected at me from every mirror. My brow, revealed by my tight ponytail, shines with sweat under the bright fluorescent lights, and my eyes are wide with panic. What if I end up having another attack? In front of all these people, just like at the work party. Fuck, why did I even agree to this?
But I don’t have time to run away. Basia’s friend Danielle introduces her very tall and very male partner, who’s going to be helping us learn how to react if assaulted. My breathing picks up speed as I watch them demonstratethe holds and escapes—it looks so freaking easy when they do it. Just a twist of the arm, a step back, a smooth break of contact.
“Simple,” he says. “If someone grabs you, don’t fight strength with strength. Redirect. Use leverage.”
Simple, my ass. Why is it so hot in here? Shouldn’t it be air-conditioned?
Breathe, Morgan.
My EMT’s voice sounds in my head, a mantra I’ve been shamefully indulging in all too often these last couple of weeks. My shoulders drop the tiniest amount in response. Pavlov’s dogs ain’t got nothing on me. At least they didn’t imagine the bell.
When the instructor gestures for us to pair off, Basia immediately links up with Danielle, leaving me with a stranger. One of the volunteers. A guy. He gives me an encouraging smile, but all I can see is his hand reaching for mine.
The moment his fingers close around my wrist, I lock up. It’s like ice spreading through my veins, pinning me in place. Though my mind knows it’s a controlled drill, my body doesn’t get the memo. My pulse spikes, hammering in my throat, and my lungs squeeze tight.
“Okay, now just twist out,” the man prompts gently.
I can’t. My muscles won’t move.
When the instructor passes by, he crouches slightly, speaking calmly. “You’re safe here. It’s just a drill. Try a breath in… Good. Now exhale. Let your body follow the motion.”
I manage a jerky nod, but my skin crawls when I try again. This time, when the man’s hand circles my waist to demonstrate another hold, it’s too much. The sudden pressure at my side triggers a rush of adrenaline so sharp I feeldizzy. For a second, the gym tilts and I’m not here anymore—I’m back in Madison, trapped under a body heavier than mine, breath tearing in my lungs as I beg for space that never comes.
My hands tremble. My throat burns.
“Easy,” the instructor says, instantly pulling the man’s hand away. His voice is steady, grounding. “You’re in control. You set the pace.”
I nod again, though my chest feels like it’s bound in iron bands.
If it were Damien’s hands on me, I wouldn’t be this frozen. If it were his voice telling me to breathe, my lungs would obey.
Heat prickles up my neck, humiliation mixing with something darker. God, what is wrong with me? This is supposed to be about survival, about taking my power back. Not about imagining the EMT who saved me pinning me down in ways that make my thighs squeeze together.
I force my attention back to the drill, desperate not to let anyone see the war inside me.
When the class ends, I’m soaked in sweat, exhausted from more than just the physical exertion, and thankful this was the last lesson before the holiday break. Maybe I can find an excuse not to come back? I don’t think this is helping me reclaim my power. If anything, it’s reminding me just how weak I feel, that I still don’t fight or run—I most certainly fawn.
My heart is still racing when I reach for my bag, and that’s when I see him. Sweat-slicked short blonde hair, many colorful, intricate tattoos revealed by a black tank top, gym shorts clinging to impressive thigh muscles. My man doesn’t skip leg day.
Your man? You wish, More.
Damien is here. I recognize that neck tattoo. I imagined kissing it more times than he’ll ever know. He’s lifting what looks to be an insane amount of weight on the barbell, and though he’s facing away, I can see his reflection in the mirror. He has earbuds in, his lower face is covered by one of those masks that reduces oxygen flow and makes him look like Bane from Batman, and he doesn’t seem to notice the crazy woman gawking at him. Am I drooling?
