Page 23 of Broken By Silence
I moved without question, grounding my stance the way I’d seen Archer do so many times before. “What now?” I ask.
“Now, we keep this between us,” Claire says happily, smirking. “Will understands my need for this space. He created it for me, knowing what I needed, but he’s a different man when it comes to you.”
I raise a brow. “What do you mean?”
She doesn’t answer at first. Her smile fades, and her expression turns serious. “Will is…protectiveof the people he loves. He grew up with a father who was cruel and a mother who deserved more. When he found me…” She swallows hard, a lump forming in her throat that I can hear in her voice. “I was in the basement of some club. Beaten. Collared. Shackled like an animal. I had a shard of glass clutched so tight in my hand I nearly sliced my tendons in half.”
Claire holds out her palm, and I see the scar—long, jagged, healed but still there. Silver-pink across her skin like a ribbon of memory. “My father sold me after my mom died,” she adds, voice low and slightly broken. “He didn’t look back. Just counted the money and vanished.”
My throat clenches. I hate it. Hate that someone would do that to her. Hate that I knew exactly what that kind of betrayal feels like, but then I watch her straighten, her shoulders rolling back as the vulnerability she was showing before vanishes.
“Men like the ones who hurt us, they don’t stop. They take and take until there’s nothing left, and even then, they’ll squeeze the lastbreath from your lungs just to feel powerful. I’m going to train you until you can stop them… until you become your own weapon.” Her eyes hold mine. “You’re going to beg me to stop. I won’t. You need this, Lottie. Just like I did.”
I nod before she can say another word because she’s right. I need this. I need to be more than what I am now… more than what Lorenzo once knew me as.
The first hit isn’t hers. It’s mine… or it’s supposed to be.
I swing wide—sloppy and impatient. She dodges it like she’s seen it coming before I even decided to move.
“Again,” she calmly instructs, moving back into place.
I pivot, trying again. My second strike is faster, aimed at her side.
She catches my wrist midair, twisting it behind my back so fast my knees buckle and I fall to the ground.
“Again,” she barks.
Sweat beads at my temple as I take a breath, trying to ground myself. “Wait,” I plead, desperate for a break.
“No.” Claire circles me. “They wouldn’t wait, and I promised you I wouldn’t go easy on you.”
I can already feel the bruises on my body appearing, aches that I haven’t felt in a long time making themselves known as I move in ways I never have before. “I just need a small break.”
“Nope. Again. You need to stop relying on your emotions when you strike. Rage feels powerful, can even make your hits harder, but it clouds your judgment. You’re sloppy, precision is off, andthatis how you lose.”
I launch forward, this time channeling control. Left jab, right elbow, knee. Claire blocks the first two but steps back on the third. A small win, but at least it was something.
Her lips twitch, not a smile, but a ghost of one. But then she’s serious again, lunging for me before I’ve even had a chance to catch my breath and tackles me to the floor with athud.
We train for what feels like hours. My muscles burn, mylungs ache, but I don’t stop. Not even when I fall to my knees on the mat, arms trembling, or when the sting of her arm connecting with mine nearly makes me beg her to stop, or when my shoulder cracks back from one of her holds.
Claire doesn’t yell, but she doesn’t coddle me either. She corrects me with firm, direct orders.
“Lower your stance.”
“Follow through, or you’ll get knocked off balance.”
“Stop hesitating.”
She moves like water—fluid, fast, and powerful. Every motion with a purpose, and when I mirror her, something seems to click. I wasn’t perfect, I don’t think I will ever reach Claire’s level, but I’m not fragile either, and for the first time ever, I truly feel like I could fight back.
After what feels like the hundredth repetition, I slump to the mat, panting. Claire crouches next to me, a proud smile on her face, and tosses me a bottle of water.
“You did good,” she proudly tells me.
I look at her, chest still aching. “You didn’t give me a choice.”
Chapter 9
