Page 37 of Damascus & The Wildfire
She managed a tight smile. “Callie.”
“You picked the best group, Callie,” I whispered, nodding toward Merrick. “He’s basically the beast fromBeauty and the Beast. Looks like he’s a brute that could break you in half, but he’s actually the kind of guy who brings you flowers.”
Callie’s lips twitched, showing just a hint of a genuine smile.
Merrick stepped forward. “All right, ladies,” he rumbled. “First, we’re going to learn how to break someone’s grip if they grab your wrist. Kenna, come here.”
I stepped up, heart thumping, but trusting him completely. He wrapped his hand around my wrist—gentle, but firm enough to show the move. “If someone grabs you like this, don’t panic.” He demonstrated, guiding me in twisting my body to show the group how I could break free.
He looked down at me with a grin. “Good. Show them again. This time faster and with a bit more force.”
As Merrick walked our group through more techniques, I glanced over at Hatchet’s corner of the park. The two sorority girls giggled as he wooed them. A flare of annoyance sparked in my chest. This was supposed to be about empowerment, not a live-action dating app. I caught Hatchet’s eye and shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through his charisma. He blinked, straightened, and immediately dialed back the flirting, his tone suddenly all business.
Satisfied, I drifted over to Fuse’s group, where the trio of forty-something women peppered him with questions. Fuse stood tall, tattooed arms folded. The man was the picture ofconfidence and command. He surveyed his group like he was about to lead them into battle, not a self-defense drill.
“Kenna, help me out,” he ordered.
I stepped forward, earning a round of applause from the women.
“It’s a situation that nearly every woman has been in. It’s dark, and you’re alone, and someone is coming up behind you. Are you prepared if they put their hands on you?”
Fuse adjusted my position with a businesslike touch.
“Don’t second-guess. Don’t hesitate. As soon as they make their move, you make yours. An elbow strike will do in this situation. It’s simple, effective, and you don’t need to be a bodybuilder to make it hurt. Kenna’s small, but she has sharp elbows. Kenna, I want you to hit as hard as you can as soon as I touch your side.”
I felt the brush of Fuse’s hand across my side before I moved exactly as he’d shown, hammering my elbow back into his ribs. Fuse grunted and staggered, making the group laugh. “See? She’s fierce. That’s what I want from all of you. Never hesitate. Never apologize.”
The women echoed his energy as they practiced the strike. Fuse moved among them, correcting stances and offering encouragement.
“You’re stronger than you think,” he told one woman. “Trust yourself.”
He caught my eye and winked.
“Confidence is half the battle,” Fuse continued. “The other half is making sure your attacker regrets ever picking you. I want you to leave me with bruises. Make sure I remember you tonight with every breath.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Fuse made sure everyone in his group felt powerful—and maybe even a little dangerous.
I made my way over to Archer’s group, where the energy felt instantly lighter. Where Fuse taught like a commander of armies, Archer acted like a big brother.
“Perfect! That’s exactly it,” Archer said as a petite woman with a pixie cut nailed a move.
I snapped a few photos on my phone, framing the shot as Archergently corrected another woman’s posture, his hand hovering just above her shoulder to guide her without ever making her uncomfortable. He caught me taking pictures and flashed a wide grin, then turned to the group.
I caught a candid shot of the group mid-laugh, Archer in the center, arms outstretched. It was perfect for the Mavericks’ social feed—community, strength, and a little bit of joy in the middle of all the seriousness.
I grinned, feeling the warm, encouraging energy ripple out from Archer’s group.
I wandered over to Coast, where things were quieter compared to the others. He listened intently as one of the women shared a story about an experience she’d had walking home from the bar one night.
“That sounds terrifying,” he said, voice carrying a genuine weight. “My daughter’s nineteen now, and the stories she’s told me … same shit. I shouldn’t have to ask her to text me when she gets home safe, but I do every time because I’ve seen what some men are capable of.”
He demonstrated a simple escape move, letting the women try it on him as I captured snapshots with my phone.
When one woman struggled to break his grip, Coast never looked frustrated. “Let’s make it smaller. It’s less about strength, more about leverage. My daughter’s barely a hundred pounds, and she can use this move to take me down.”
On her second try, the woman slipped free and grinned wide. “Hell yes, that’s it. Any fight at all is more than most guys expect.”
I snapped another quick photo, catching the way Coast offered a reassuring fist bump after each woman attempted the move.
