Page 21 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)
Clara
L earning self-defense while hungover isn’t something I’d recommend to anyone. Although, if I get through this, as shitty as I feel, then at least I know I’ll be able to keep myself safe in less-than-ideal situations and not just when I’m in peak form.
Having Trips watch from the sidelines makes my skin tingle, and I struggle to pay attention to RJ.
The brute hasn’t looked at me all week, and now I can feel his gaze hot against my skin, like I’m sitting too close to a bonfire.
But every time I turn to catch his eye, he’s investigating his pants, or staring at the rack of practice swords.
We go through all the things we practiced last time, my knees and elbows tight and pointy, the snap of the pads making me feel more powerful than it probably should.
RJ even lets me practice a few punches, knowing that I haven’t been wandering into Trips’ room this week at all.
Not that I haven’t woken up. But I’m working on falling back asleep instead of letting the terror win.
The dark circles under Trips’ eyes tell me he’s up whether or not I’m with him, and for the millionth time this week, I wish things had happened differently.
But they didn’t. And here we are.
RJ sets me loose to get some water, and I know this is the end of my reprieve. Now we have to figure out how to not have me panic when cornered. Or at least, not panic so badly that I pass out. That’s the opposite of defending yourself.
“So, I have an idea,” he says once it’s clear I’m done hydrating my poor hungover body.
“Love it. Tell me.”
“Tickling.”
I burst out laughing. “What?”
“When I’m chasing you, my goal is to tickle you, not grab you, not to pin you. Maybe that’ll let you practice instead of freezing.”
Trips huffs out a breath, and I turn to him. “Do you have a thought to share with the room?” I ask, both annoyed at the interruption and glad for his participation.
My mind and heart are all messed up right now.
“I just had an image of some asshole grabbing you, and then you giggling while you kicked him in the balls.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes, RJ stuck in the same begrudging chuckle. “Well, it’d freak them out doubly,” I say.
“I’d be extra careful around a woman who’s gleefully kicking balls, that’s for sure,” he agrees, and for a moment, it almost feels normal.
But then the mirth fades, and we’re still a collection of people with hurts and fears that make it impossible to be at ease with each other.
“So, we’re tickle fighting,” I say, pushing myself to my feet and moving to the center of the room.
RJ smirks, then, without warning, sprints after me. I shriek, dashing away, yelling the first thing that pops into my head, my dad’s training apparently taking precedence over everything RJ’s taught me. “You’re not my mom! You’re not my dad!”
This has both guys laughing, my own choked laughter making me almost trip and face plant before RJ’s on me, tickle hands out. And this time, giggling so hard my legs are half jelly, I pop my knee up into his waiting palms, then pantomime going for his eyes as he fakes falling forward.
And there’s no panic. Not an ounce. Just a case of the giggles.
We do it a few more times, each time a bit more serious, and by the time sweat is dripping down my back, RJ stops, a soft smile on his face. “Are you ready for the next step? I think you are, but how are you feeling?”
Not caring about how sweaty we both are, I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his chest. He holds me tight, something about the intensity of it starting a flutter of fear the exercise has been missing. “I love you,” I mutter against his shirt, and he presses his lips to my head.
“Same,” he says, and my heart takes flight.
It’s not the words, not yet, but for RJ, this is big. He could hardly even talk to me a few months ago. Being so vulnerable has to be nearly impossible. But he’s working on it, for me.
Our breathing matches for a moment, both of us sighing into the hug before he steps back, his gaze still soft, but lined with the intention to teach me more. Keeping me safe to the best of his ability.
“Trips?” he calls, his lips pressing tight, like he doesn’t like the taste of Trips’ name on his tongue.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to do what I just did.”
He pushes to his feet, kicking off his shoes and socks, then comes over to us. “Why?”
“You’re bigger.”
My heart skips a beat. “You want him to loom?”
“Yup. Do you think you can start there, or should you start with tickling again?”
Tapping my fingers against my thigh, I think, Trips waiting a little to the side of us, his whole demeanor tight. Even with four feet between us, he can loom. Trips was built to loom.
But I can’t be a weakness; not anymore. I have to have the strength to keep myself safe before I can keep the rest of them safe, too. “Let’s start here and see what happens.”
RJ nods, then tilts my chin up, forcing me to look into his golden eyes. “If it’s too much, say it. The goal is to learn, not make things worse.”
“I want to try.”
His gaze slips to my lips, and I step into him, taking the kiss he was debating, the heat between us not just from running across the mats. It’s quick but thorough, a strength and a claiming, hot and wet.
When we separate, the weight of Trips’ gaze tugs at me, but I force myself not to look. It would hurt too much. The hollowness is bad enough. I don’t want to fill it with impossible longing.
RJ steps back, and I head to the middle of the room, working up the courage to look at Trips. But then, he’s there in front of me, and both of us have no choice but to meet each other’s eyes.
“Ready?” he grumbles.
“As I can be.”
He takes a step forward and I’m off, yelling and sprinting to the back corner, his thundering steps behind me more ominous than RJ’s familiar footfalls, and my heart stutters in my chest, my palms growing damp.
Once I’m cornered, I spin, Trips nearly on me, big, blocking out my view of the rest of the room, of RJ across the way, of any illusion of safety.
For a second, my mind turns blank, but then he reaches for me, and my knee flies up without me having to think about it, slamming into Trips’ palm harder than I did with RJ, satisfaction digging into my gut as Trips’ lips twist. He fakes falling forward, his head above mine, his shoulders cutting the ceiling lights from my view, and I blank again, this time not recovering, instead letting his hands fall heavy on my shoulders.
We freeze there for a moment, my breaths coming in tight pants, my heart racing so fast it’s a whooshing sound in my ears.
I don’t faint as Trips gets closer, his face right above mine.
Instead, some part of my brain breaks free from my freeze, and I move without conscious thought.
Reaching up, I dig my nails into his forearms, his eyes going wide as I use his grip on my shoulders to support me as I pop onto my toes and dig my teeth into his bottom lip, hard.
Neither of us moves, my hold tight as I lower back to my heels.
I don’t let go until the copper tang of his blood hits my tongue.
The shock of it has my mouth dropping open, my fingers flying free of his flesh.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I stammer, blood dripping down Trips’ chin, his eyes shiny with some unknown emotion.
I lick my lips, getting more blood on my tongue, and Trips spins, cursing and storming across the room to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.
RJ inches up beside me, his hands out like I’m a feral animal. “Sweetness?”
Blinking rapidly, my heart still whooshing in my ears, I try to focus on something outside of whatever the fuck I just did. “I’m fine. I think I’m fine, at least.”
Opening his arms, I flee into them, needing him to remind me I’m here, not wherever it was my mind just went.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I froze. But he kept coming. I, shit RJ, I bit him. Until he bled.” And I liked it.
He holds me, not saying anything. If this were an actual attack, he’d be proud that I broke free from my freeze. But this was practice, and I drew blood. Drew blood and then licked myself clean like some vicious predator would after a kill.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I ask.
“Do you have rabies?”
I scoff. “No.”
“Then he’s fine.”
We’ve packed and cleaned the dojo by the time Trips joins us again, somber. No one mentions my actions, and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse.
The drive home is silent, RJ putting me in the back of the car, as far from Trips as he can, joining him in the front. Almost like he wants to be the barrier between us.
I know he thinks he’s protecting me from Trips.
But maybe it’s the other way around.