Page 148 of Saving Her

I remain hunched over, my blood chilling despite the sweat coating my skin.

Flashbacks steal my breath. My focus. Memories clench at my heart.

“Stand up,” he instructs. “I’ll run through the basics.”

I can’t straighten.

Here I was demanding more vicious attack strategies and I can’t even handle the thought of his first suggestion.

“Come on.” He claps me on the shoulder. “It won’t take long.”

“Just give me a minute.” My voice cracks, the gravel coating my throat climbing higher and higher.

“You can rest after this.”

“No.” I look up at him, his hulking frame looming over me. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

He raises a brow. “You said the same thing about exercising. Yet it made you feel better, didn’t it?”

I shake my head, unable to find the words to explain without increasing my pathetic state of mind.

This triggers vicious memories. Lingering nightmares.

“Don’t shake that head at me, shorty.” He waves me forward. “Get your ass moving.”

My heart pounds beneath tightening ribs. My stomach churns. “Please go slow.”

He frowns. “Of course. You’ll be fine.”

I inch forward, my body acting autonomously because I have no capacity to think. Only panic.

Luca raises his muscled arms, placing his hands delicately around my throat. The graze of calloused skin brings a wave of sickening remembrance. The pressure is barely felt. Featherlight. It steals my breath regardless.

“Are you okay?” His voice provides a temporary distraction, the sound giving me the opportunity to latch onto those deep hazel eyes.

I focus on him. On the familiar comfort. The picture of protection.

I don’t want to disappoint him.

I can’t let Luther win.

“Yes.” Memories continue to haunt me from my mind’s eye. The digging, scratching fingers. The choking fear.

I refuse to let panic take over. Each time I face my demons I get one step closer to my reunion with Tobias. If I can’t do this for myself, I need to do it for him.

“Breathe through it.” Luca’s hold remains loose. Even kind. The gentle brush of the pad of his thumb is a coaxing reminder of the here and now. “Tell me how you’d get out of this.”

His grip tightens almost imperceptibly. But the restriction increases my panic.

I breathe deeper. Shorter. My oxygen lessens as the flashbacks build in force.

A face so close to my own, twisted in sickening glee.

Pressure—so much pressure.

“Focus, Pen.” He strokes his thumb faster. “How would you get out of this hold?”

I swallow and force myself to channel my emotions away from fear. “I don’t know.” I grab his wrists and attempt to push his arms away.

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