Day 125 with Briar

Lucas

Briar looked around the workout room that weekend, her expression confused when she realized no one else was joining us. “Is the driver picking someone up?” she asked as she continued to look at the large, open space in the middle of the room I’d created for today.

“No, but he’ll be here eventually with lunch and to see how it’s going.”

She rubbed at her sore wrist from the other training we’d been doing the last two nights as she finally looked up at me. “I thought you said someone was training me how to defend myself.”

I glanced down at myself, letting my gaze flick back up to her. “I’m training you.”

She immediately stopped rubbing her wrist, her eyebrows shooting up as she realized the depth of what I was saying. “Are you afraid the other men would find out if you hired someone?”

“No.”

With William probably hiding out in his home now, plotting out his next attack, I wasn’t worried about anyone bothering to pay attention to our home life.

“Then why?” she asked, drawing out the last word.

The corner of my mouth tipped up in amusement. “Why not me?”

Every night that week, Briar and I had been training in other ways. We’d sat on the floor talking about anything to keep her mind off what I was trying to do—get her comfortable with guns. As we talked, I made her load an empty magazine into a handgun I’d given her, only to drop it, over and over again until she was no longer holding the gun between two fingers or cringing whenever I placed it in front of her.

The night I’d handed her the gun with a loaded magazine, the cringing had returned, and it had been even worse when I’d made her rack the slide to chamber a round. But I’d just kept talking to her about mundane things, every now and then prodding her to continue until she was doing it without thinking.

Load. Rack. Drop. Rack. Load. Rack. Drop. Rack.

Finger always off the trigger. Barrel always aimed away from both her and me.

Along with working to get her comfortable holding and loading a gun, the past two nights we’d spent hours at a range, teaching her how to shoot. She wasn’t the best, but I hadn’t expected her to be, and I didn’t need her to be. I just needed her to be able to defend herself if it came down to it, and now she could. I needed her not to be afraid to hold and use the weapon that might save her life, and now she wasn’t. After less than a week, I couldn’t ask for more.

When the adrenaline had faded from the first night at the range, she’d broken down in the back of the car. Tears had streamed down her face, her body shaking so badly I’d had to hold her tight against me to calm her.

Once she’d finally been able to speak, she’d started rambling about the smell and the sound, and seeing people bleeding out in alleys and on sidewalks and in bedrooms. But the next night, she’d been ready to go again and had done better than the night before. On the way home, I’d massaged her aching wrist from the recoil of the handgun and had frozen when she’d mumbled, “I don’t think I could shoot someone. I wouldn’t know how to live with myself after.”

I hadn’t responded . . . partly because she’d seemed to be talking to herself, but mostly because the answer was that every day was a struggle, and she didn’t need to be reminded of that.

But now Briar stared at me with a mixture of confusion and surprise, like she didn’t understand how I didn’t already know the answer to my own question. “B-because,” she finally said, stumbling over the word, “how am I supposed to learn anything? I won’t be able to concentrate with you, and I won’t feel comfortable hitting you—don’t you have any padding?” she asked suddenly and looked around the room again.

“An attacker won’t have padding, Briar. Besides, I’m not worried about you hitting me.” I took a few steps toward her, closing the distance between us so I could grab her hand and start massaging the wrist she’d forgotten about. “If you want me to hire someone, I will. He’ll teach you techniques that would make a drunk man who doesn’t understand the word ‘No,’ stop and think twice about coming after you. But if someone really wanted you, they wouldn’t care what techniques you know. And they won’t coddle you and release you when you land the correct hit.”

I hadn’t asked before because I knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle the images it would give me—of someone trying to take this girl from me—but I needed to know.

“What did you do when William’s man tried to take you?”

She flinched, and her eyes slipped closed like she was trying to block out the memory, but after a few seconds, she started talking in a numb voice. “I bit the hand that was over my mouth. I slammed my head back into his face.”

My hands paused on her wrist, and my chest filled with shock and pride.

“When he didn’t let me go, I turned in his arms and started clawing at him. I kicked him . . .” She trailed off then and shrugged.

“You’re incredible,” I whispered in awe.

“Did I do it right?”

I fought back my smile and continued to massage her wrist. “You are incredible, and you fought harder than I expected you to.” The excitement in her eyes started fading, so I hurried to add, “Briar, you fought for your life, there’s never a wrong way in fighting. I’m proud of you. But tell me what the man did when you did those things.”

She only thought for a second before answering: “He tightened his arms around me. I got away once, but he grabbed my hair and pulled me back.”

Rage flooded me instantly, and something like a growl sounded low in my chest—but the man was already dead, so I couldn’t do anything about it now.

I swallowed thickly, pushing back that anger and need to hurt a man for hurting her, and nodded. “What you did when you fought is a lot of what an instructor would teach you. He would add in a couple stomach jabs and foot stomps, but the result would be the same—if the attacker really wanted you, he would tighten his hold instead of releasing you.”

“Then what’s the point of training?” she asked softly, her shoulders lifting in the barest of shrugs.

I dipped my head so my face was directly in front of hers and held her eyes. “Because I know exactly how someone would attack you, Blackbird. I’ve been that man.”

Her face paled and a shuddering breath fell from her lips. “Right,” she said, sounding breathless. “Right.”

“I know exactly how someone would fight, and I know exactly how the attacker would respond.” I forced back the memories that threatened to resurface. “And I know how to get away.”

Briar was silent for so long that I started to ask if she was okay before she suddenly asked, “You mean her, don’t you? The other girl you loved?” There wasn’t a hint of jealousy in her voice now, just numb curiosity.

I stilled then nodded slowly.

“Tell me how she fought.”

“Why, Briar?” I asked warily, worried that knowing would only scare her.

“I need to know.” Her head was shaking, almost absentmindedly. “I need to know how she fought.”

I swallowed past the tightness in my throat as those memories pushed through and swallowed again. “She kicked,” I began, releasing Briar’s wrist to fold my arms over my chest. “I was dragging her out of a closet, and she was clawing at the carpet, trying to stay in there. She just kept kicking, even when I forced her onto her back so we could knock her out. I dropped onto her to make her stop, and then one of my brothers brought a rag covered in chloroform. When she woke up, she fought harder. She punched and kicked and bit, so I sat down and held her in my arms. With each hit and bite, my hold tightened until she wore herself out.”

Nearly a minute passed in silence. Unease slowly crawled through me as the girl in front of me continued to watch me thoughtfully, before she whispered, “My first day here with you . . . it was like your first day with her.”

I hesitated for only a second before reaching out to cup her cheek in my hand. “In the beginning, I hated myself. I hated that I couldn’t continue carrying out my role with you. I hated that the time with you felt too much like my time with her—that it had all felt the same. I tried telling myself over and over it wasn’t, until I finally accepted it was. Then I fell in love with you and realized only the situation was similar—not you. And then you decided to stay . . .”

The corners of her mouth curled in a soft smile, and she turned her head to kiss my palm. When she looked at me, that smile had transformed into a smirk. “I’m glad she hit you.”

A surprised laugh burst from my chest.

“You deserved it.”

My amusement immediately drained from me, and my hand fell away from her. “For all I’ve done, I’ve deserved a lot more than that.” I took a calming breath and said, “But like I said, she fought, and my hold tightened. You fought, his hold tightened. I need to make sure that never happens again.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked lost in that moment. “I won’t be able to do this the way you’re hoping I will. I’ll be afraid of hurting you.”

“Don’t.” I turned and walked back toward the door of the room to flip off the light, talking as I went. “I want to start by seeing how you react when I grab you—to see what you do instinctively. Then I want to go over all the different ways someone will come after you. Running with you, dragging you, walking with you—all of it. I’ll teach you multiple ways to get away.”

“So no biting?” she asked as I walked back to her.

“If you bite, you don’t bite to hurt. You bite to rip out flesh.”

Briar shuddered then held her hand up to stop me when I neared her and pulled a bandana out of the back pocket of my jeans. “Wait, what are you doing?”

I paused from reaching up to place it over her eyes and lifted an eyebrow. “If I grabbed you right now, would you defend yourself?”

“No,” she said with a laugh that hinted at her frustration. “That’s why I think this is pointless.”

“You were abducted four months ago,” I began gently, “and someone attempted to take you just last week. If you can’t see me, those memories are going to resurface and that fear is going to grip you, and you’re going to react. Trust me,” I said, the word almost a plea as I placed the material over her eyes, wrapped it around her head, and tied it in a knot. I pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and then her lips, and whispered, “I’m sorry I have to force you to relive those days, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

I stepped away from her and moved soundlessly to stand at the opposite side of the room so I was lined up with her shoulder.

I watched and waited as minutes passed, until her body began trembling and her lips began moving, like she was trying to keep a song from leaving them.

“Briar,” I murmured, just loud enough for her to hear me.

Her head whipped to the left, but I was already silently slipping up behind her.

I forced myself to be calm, telling myself repeatedly that she needed this, until neither Lucas Holt or her devil was standing behind her—but a man I swore I would never be again.

Her trembling was increasing and her song was now a whisper when I leaned closer so that my breath stirred against her neck.

And it was the Reaper’s voice that demanded, soft and low, “Fight me.”