Page 149 of Saving Her

It’s no use. He’s too strong.

I raise my knee, my attack on his junk blocked with a swift slide of his thigh.

“That’s a good start.” He wiggles his arms. “You could put pressure on my wrists in the hopes of bringing me closer. The harder the better. Yank or pull my arms down.”

I attempt to do as instructed, not achieving all that much when I’m pitted against a wall of muscle.

“Then what?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” I grow frustrated, the lingering panic mingling with helplessness. “You’re too strong. There’s no point.”

“Stop sulking,” he growls. “There’s always a point. Hand-to-hand combat is difficult for everyone. The only winner is the guy whose buddy turns up with a gun. What I’m trying to teach you are ways to buy time. Or enough freedom to run. So go back to basics.” He rubs his fingers along the sensitive part of my throat. “What are the best places to attack?”

I can’t think. Can’t concentrate between the memories and that delicately gentle brush of his thumb. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Focus. Don’t let the fear take over.”

I’m trying. Failing.

“Come on, Pen.” He leans in, meeting my gaze at eye level. “You did good when you tried to launch an attack at my dick. But what would you do next? Eyes? Nose? Ears? Remember the basics. The throat is a good target, too, if you can get to it.”

“Okay.” I nod and go through the motions, gently thrusting and punching and swiping.

“Another option is where you grab my wrist with your left hand, then raise your right arm high and twist your hips toward me. This makes your shoulder act as a barrier, but you’re also going to bring your raised arm down with a hard strike at the same time to break the hold against your throat.”

I blink rapidly as I try to take in the instructions—raise arm, twist, hard strike.

I run through the steps in slow motion. Gently.

“Good.” He nods. “That’s real good. Now do it again, but this time properly. Pretend this is real.”

His grip increases, the restriction on my throat becoming a living, breathing nightmare.

My pulse goes crazy. My sharp inhales sound like a freight train.

“You’ve got this, shorty.”

I don’t think I can.

I can’t.

Visions blind me. There’s Luther. Robert. Chris. Their hands. Their grip. Their unyielding strength. The black spots. The rush of blood to my head.

“Focus,” Luca repeats, the soothing balm of his voice doing nothing to ease my mania.

“No.” I yank his wrists, trying to break his hold. “Stop.”

“It’s okay. Just do it one more time with force.”

Monstrous ghosts chuckle in my mind, loving my suffering. There’s only the threat of rape. The ongoing torture of my pitiful existence.

“No,” I repeat. “Stop.”

He removes his hands, the liberation bringing relief, but not freedom. I still feel trapped in the past. The threat is right there, darkening my vision, making it impossible to get air.

I stumble backward, my throat drying to the point of torturous pain.

“Talk to me.” He follows. “What’s going on?”

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