I grinned at Bones in response, reveling in the novelty of getting to know the man behind the intimidating biker.
On the ride back to the MC compound, Bones let me roll the windows down so I could feel the wind in my hair as I screamed-sang along with old ’70s rock songs on the radio. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy and free.
Another week went by with little to no drama. Bones left to work at the garage every day and often took Prospect with him. Pyro was finally all healed up from his ass whooping, but I avoided him when I could, and he was never assigned to my babysitting duty. Not that I even needed babysitting. I was an exceptionally well-behaved guest. Since Pyro’s smackdown, I had only punched one guy when he grabbed my ass, and he was a friend of someone in the MC, not a real member. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t included in Duke’s “no violence” rule.
I went on a daily run to get my cardio back where it should be after my hiatus, and at some point during the day, Lennon and I met up in the gym to continue her training.
Lennon took classes at a local community college to earn her cosmetology license. She practiced hair and makeup at beauty parlors in the area, and I had seen her occasionally giving some of the ole ladies haircuts and dye jobs in the clubhouse kitchen. She definitely had an eyefor it, and I was a little jealous at how effortless she made it seem to look drop-dead gorgeous. Uncle Roark always told me I looked like a drowned rat, and when creeps catcalled me, it never made me feel pretty. Some people might like being told they look fuckable or have dick-sucking lips. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d just like someone to tell me I looked pretty.
Lennon had the afternoon off today, so we practiced in the gym. After warming up on the treadmill and a little light stretching, Lennon headed over to the new heavy punching bag someone had installed shortly after our badass bitch training sessions began. She started with a jab/cross/hook combo and eventually transitioned into a jab/cross/uppercut combo. Her form was better than before and improving every day; I was so proud of how hard she was working. It wouldn’t be long before we could galivant around as a femme fatale vigilante crime-fighting duo! After a water break, we did some lower body work, giving us a chance for girl talk.
“Lennon?” I asked as I puffed out a breath and did another weighted squat.
“Yeah?” She grunted, looking up at me through strands of sweaty hair as she did sets of mountain climbers.
“I’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.”
Lennon collapsed on the mat, out of breath. “Of course,” she panted. “What is it?”
“I need to know….for when we start our merry band of lady mischief-makers…what is your favorite weapon?” I looked down, suddenly feeling very shy. I’d never tried girl talk before, and I was so worried I wasn’t doing it right. I snuck a peek at Lennon’s face just in time to see her expression shift from wary to amused.
“Girl”—she chortled—“here I was preparing myself for you to ask me who in the MC was a good lay. Thank God you just want to know my preferred method of injuring others.” She was full-on giggling at me now, and I felt kind of grumpy.
“Well, I just didn’t want us to look silly! I figured it was kind of like when two girls wear the same dress to a party. Our girl band has to have unique and individual members, which means signature weapons.”
“Okay, Crazy Spice, don’t get mad. I’m just glad you’re not panting after all the guys. Too many of them are like family. I don’t want to be asked about their peens.” Lennon shuddered. “The club girls are bad enough with their skankiness. To answer your question…a gun, I guess? My dad taught me the basics of shooting and cleaning a handgun. It’s the only weapon I’ve ever used, so it wins by default.”
“Guns are useful for sure. They’re the missionary sex of weaponry, though. They’ll get the job done, but they’re not the most fun or exciting option. If I had to pick a favorite… it’d have to be blades.”
Lennon wrinkled her cute little button nose. “Aren’t blades just as basic as guns? If guns are like missionary sex, blades have to be like pumpkin spice lattes.”
I scoffed, mildly offended. “No way. Knives can’t run out of ammo or get jammed. You can throw them, stab, slice, cut things like rope and zip ties when you’re being restrained…” I sighed. “They’re just so versatile! I can’t tell you how many times a blade has saved my life. Not just in a fight either! One time, I used a knife to pry open the window in a park bathroom so I could escape a horde of angry geese. I shudder to think of what would have happened if those cobra chickens had gotten their evil beaks on me.”
Lennon looked intrigued. “Why were geese chasing you?”
“Oh, we disagreed on who would get the popcorn someone had left on the park bench. Victory was salty and slightly stale that day, but I loved it. Anywho, once we cover some self-defense basics, I’d like to start on weapon training. If Daddy Crow doesn’t mind, that is.” I made a mental note to ask Duke what his policy was on weapons for guests.
“Ew,” Lennon muttered, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Never say Daddy Crow again.Barf.”
We rose from the mats and faced each other, her gagging and me laughing at her expression. “Noted. Okay, the last thing we’re going to work on today is ways to get away from an attacker so you can escape.”
Lennon tightened the tie holding her hair into a high ponytail. “I thought I was getting ass-kicking lessons, not run-away lessons.”
“Everyone wants to be badass like Wonder Woman,” I explained. “There are so many times when escaping with your life is the best possible outcome in a scenario, though. You’ll be a tough chick, but youhave to be alive to fight another day, yeah?” I held my arms out. “Take me for example. Can I destroy my enemies? Sure can. Have there been times when escape was my only option? Abso-fuckin’-lutely. Have I failed to escape and suffered the consequences?” I shuddered. “Definitely. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
Lennon was so nice and feisty and kind; I didn’t want her to shatter like I had done so many times before when escape wasn’t possible. I could put my broken pieces back together again, but once you’d been broken, those pieces never quite lined back up correctly. The chips and gaps and jagged edges where the pieces didn’t quite fit back together? Well, those were the places where the darkness and hurt leaked out. My throat tightened up with emotion.
“Come on. You can punch now, and I absolutely can’t wait to see you in your first fistfight, but I need to know you can get away if someone grabs you.”
Lennon nodded at me, and we began. “Let’s say some jerkoff grabs you from behind like this.” I stood behind Lennon, wrapping my arms around hers and clutching her close to me, like a bear hug. “What should you do to get away?”
Lennon scoffed. “Easy.” She mimed stomping on my foot as she threw her head back, trying to hit my nose.
“Basic, but a good start. If someone grabs you, don’t worry about anything other than getting away. Go absolutely feral if you have to. Bite, scream, scratch, go bug nuts. See how I have your arms pinned down? Rotate your wrist and go for the guy’s balls. You may not get a good handful, but it might give him enough pause for you to get free. Or you can drop all your weight, throwing his center of gravity off enough to get his grip to falter.”
I released Lennon, who turned to face me. I grabbed her wrist, and we practiced her getting out of that hold. Going over pressure points, blocks, holds, and my own hard-won experiences in getting grabby hands off me made the time fly by. The next thing we knew, Lennon and I were sweaty, exhausted, and had a few looky-loos doling out tips and advice. We tried to ignore the guys working out—Bones and Priest at the free weights and Cricket on the treadmill.
“The first rule of not dying is never let someone take you from your location. If someone tells you they won’t hurt you with their gun to your head if you cooperate and go with them…it’s most likely a lie. If they had good intentions toward you, they wouldn’t be threatening you in the first place. They want to take you somewhere no one can hear your screams. You’d be better off letting them shoot you in the head then and there and being done with it. They want you to be cooperative and complicit in your own abduction. Understand?”
