Page 113 of Traces Of You

When she got to the basement, she saw boxing bags, weights, mats, a wall with knives sticking out of it as if he had target practice down here too.

Good lord, she didn’t want to learn to throw a knife.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said in her ear.

“I hope not.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black Swiss Army knife. She recognized it easy enough.

“This is for you.” He showed her how to open it and the few tools on it. It was more about the blade and she got that. “Keep it on you. Slide it inside your pants and it won’t be seen.”

There was a metal bar on the side that allowed her to have the knife at her waist inside, the bar the color of denim to blend in, but her shirts would always cover it anyway.

“Thanks, but I’m not sure I could use it for anything other than cloth or something.”

“Small and swift,” Clay said. “That’s your advantage and you need to use any tool you can. Remember that. It’s you or them.”

“Clay’s right.” Ford reached for her arm and pulled her sleeve up. “You found the strength to do this.”

She closed her eyes, her tongue coming out to wet her dry lips. “I was almost chanting to myself to get it done.”

“Whatever does it, you need to pull inside yourself to make it happen,” Clay said.

She went to put the knife in her pocket, but Ford took it out of her hand and slid it inside her jeans the way he wanted her to wear it. “If you don’t put it there, do it in the bottom of your pants. Get into the habit of putting it on like you do socks and shoes daily.”

She just hoped she never needed it.

“Ford and I are going to show you some moves and then you can try them on us,” Clay said.

“You think I’m going to get away from you two?”

“I’d rather you came toward me,” he said softly, “but if you practice on us, you’ll be good against most men. The chances of someone being as big as us are slim.”

“Good point.”

She watched as the two brothers took turns throwing each other to the ground. She felt it had more to do with them wrestling and one upping the other rather than trying to show her anything.

At least it started out that way.

Maybe she should be upset over the violence, but that wasn’t the case.

These two guys never hurt each other, more like had this dance going where they were out maneuvering the other.

If she could learn to do a fraction of that, she’d never be afraid again.

No. That was wrong.

There would always be the frightened little girl inside of her. There would be no freedom for that person. Not when she’d been beaten down as much as she had.

The two brothers taught her how to jam her heel on an attacker’s toe, then an elbow to the gut and run.

She wasn’t so fond of the move where she should slam her head back against theirs. That would hurt, but she was almost positive she could fight back if she had to by the time they were done.

Who was she kidding? If she could have done it before, wouldn’t she have?

She would have left Oliver long before she had to.

“What’s going on in your head?” Ford asked her.