Page 143 of Kings & Corruption

I glared at him. “Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary if we didn’t have to worry about men killing us.”

“I agree,” he said. “I fucking hate that you have to think about this shit, that any woman has to think about this shit, but I’d rather deal with that reality and keep you safe.”

His easy agreement threw me off balance. I was still getting used to the fact that the Kings — Rock and Oscar anyway — weren’t quite the sexist dickheads I’d assumed them to be.

Plus, he looked hella hot in gray sweats and a black tank top that showed off his bulging biceps and gave me a peek of the perfect chest I’d been aching to run my hands over since we’d had sex Friday night.

Sometimes I forgot how big he was, not as big as Neo — no one was as big as Neo — but still huge, looming over me by at least seven inches.

“Fine,” I said grudgingly.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s start with something simple. You’ll be the asshole trying to hurt someone the first time, then we’ll switch.” He stepped closer and held out his arm. “Grab my arm.”

I took hold of it and a second later found myself on my knees, my arm twisted behind my back. I tried to get up, but the downward pressure on my arm prevented me from moving. “What thefuck?”

He chuckled behind me. “Again, and I’ll explain.”

I stood and he held out his arm. “You don’t think I’m going to be stupid enough to hold out my arm so some douchebag can grab it, do you?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” he said, flipping a lock of silky dark hair out of his eyes. “You could be swinging your arms while you walk, or someone could just grab one of them to get you into an alley or something. If someone wants to grab you, they’re most likely to grab your hair or your arm. Let’s do it again, but slower.”

He showed me how it worked — clamp my hand down on the attacker’s hand on my arm, sweep upward, put my other hand on their forearm to drive them to the ground — and we did it twice more.

“Your turn,” he said, grabbing my arm.

I repeated his moves and he went to his knees on the ground, although it was obvious he was working with me.

“You were a very compliant attacker,” I complained.

He laughed and got to his feet. “You’re learning. The goal is for these things to become second nature. We’ll move faster as you get more confident.”

We did it a few more times, then worked through several other basic movements — how to bring someone down if they grabbed me by the shoulders, how to twist away if someone grabbed my hair, and even how to drop someone if they grabbed me from behind.

By the time we were done, I was sweating and breathing hard, but I had to admit, I felt empowered.

“What if someone has a gun?” I asked.

“We’ll work on that next week,” Oscar said. “And Rock is going to take you to the shooting range and make sure you know how to fire a weapon.”

Three months earlier, I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with a gun. Now, I had to ask myself if I would have fired a gun to save Emma. To save Nikki. To save any of the girls who’d gone missing.

It was an easy answer: in a fucking heartbeat.

“Are we done?” I was desperate for a shower.

“Not quite,” Oscar said. “The last thing I want you to do is scream.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Scream?”

“Yes, scream. Women are told to scream, and they’ll claim they’d scream if faced with an attacker, but their programing prevents them from doing it when it counts,” he said.

“Programming?”

“Being told to be nice and all that shit,” he said. “It’s one of the things that compels women to get in the car with a stranger when they know they shouldn’t or help some psycho asshole who says he needs directions right before he stuffs her in his trunk.”

He wasn’t wrong. Would I scream if someone tried to grab me in public? I wanted to think so, but I wasn’t arrogant enough to be sure.

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want me to scream?”

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