Page 45 of 1 Last Shot

I’m frozen, unable to move or look away from his gaze.

“Put your hand out straight and tell me to stop,” he says.

I extend a hand, albeit shakily. “Stop,” I say. “Don’t come any closer.”

Kane nods approvingly. But then he takes another step, and now he’s close enough to bump against my hand.

His heart beats rapidly under my hand, the only sign that he’s just as affected by our proximity as I am.

“Tell me again,” he says quietly.

I swallow and force out the words, “Step back. Move away from me.”

My words sound unbelievable, even to me.

“Good girl,” Kane praises, those two words doing more to me than my first boyfriend managed to do in an entire year. I think Kane knows it, too, because his lip twitches when I feel my cheeks flame.

He steps back again, and the distance is like a fan blowing against my heated body. I suck in a shaky breath and remind myself that this is a self-defense lesson, not… Kane’s version of foreplay.

“Ideally, that’s enough to make someone back off,” Kane says—but only after he straightens and seems to refocus. “But if it doesn’t, there are some moves you can easily learn to do. They’re nothing crazy, no flashy ‘technique’ I need to teach you, it’s just a matter of doing enough reps that they become a natural response to somebody crowding your space.”

“Hailey said Jax taught her how to bitch slap,” I tell him. “She said it’s safer than learning how to punch?”

Kane thinks about that for a moment. “She’s probably right. Punches can often break your hand.” He doesn’t seem to realize that he starts to flex his hand as he says it. As if remembering what a broken hand feels like.

That, and the reminder it brings with it that Kane has been forced to fight multiple times in his life, is like a bucket of ice-cold water.

“I want you to practice reacting to being grabbed,” he continues. “The easiest is a knee to the balls, so I just want you to do that. Okay?”

I nod. I’ve never raised a hand to anyone in my life, but I’m pretty sure I can handle throwing a knee.

Except that when Kane presses forward, when he forces his way past my outstretched hand and grabs my arms, my rational brain goes out the window and my panic takes over.

The mugger's hands grab me, his fingers tightening around my muscles and squeezing so hard, I know they'll leave bruises. I smell his stale, disgusting breath in my face and I know I’m in trouble. He's going to hurt me, maybe even kill me, and there's nothing I can do—

I'm snapped out of the flashback when the grips on my arm go from bruising to comforting. When I hear my name murmured in a soothing tone.

"Isabella," I hear in a quiet voice. "It's okay. Isabella."

When I come to, I realize Kane is standing in front of me. Gently rubbing my arms and calling my name. And yet, when he sees my attention settle on him, he lets me go and steps back to give me space.

"I'm sorry," I blurt. "When you grabbed me, I… I mean, I thought…"

"It's okay," he reiterates. "I get it, trust me. I—” He hesitates before he admits the next part. "I get flashbacks sometimes, too. They're totally normal."

For some reason, his comment soothes me—makes me feel like I'm not alone. So much so that I find the courage to ask, "Do—do they get better?"

"Over time, yeah. But it helped a lot to learn self-defense. It’s more of a mental exercise than a physical one, but I swear it helps."

I look down at my clenched fists. "So… do you see your opponent and then picture them when you train? Or how does it help?"

It seems like he identifies something in my expression because he moves forward and steps into my personal space.

"Let's do this," he starts. Then he gently grips my forearms and lifts them up so they're not hanging by my side, but guarding the center of my chest. "I'm going to rush you, and when I don't respond to you holding your space, react the way your body tells you to. Slap me, kick me, do whatever yourbodytells you to do when dealing with a threat. Don't worry about me, just react the way you think you should. Andtake controlof the memory."

His words are so empowering that I find myself giving a firm nod before I can think too hard.

Seeming pleased by my quick capitulation, he takes a few steps back to start from the normal—and safe—stranger distance. Then, as soon as he senses I'm ready, he slowly starts to move forward.

---