“Peighton. Nice to meet you.”
We shake hands.
The instructor’s whistle blasts, sharp as a gunshot.
“Drill one. Escape your partner.”
I barely register the words before I’m trampled onto the mat and this beast of a man is pinning me down, crushing me under his weight. I gasp and wince. Around me women groan or yelp as they meet similar fates. Some already look done for the day.
Brutus rises and stands over me, grimacing sympathetically as he offers a hand.
“Sorry,” he says in his soft Siberian accent. “Instructor wants real force. I do what I’m told.”
I take his hand, slightly dazed. “I know. It’s fine. It’s your job.”
He helps steady me as I stand, and for a second his gentle smile makes something in my chest loosen. He’s kind. Not like the others. Not like my boorish husband.
Another whistle.
“Drill two,” the instructor calls. “Escape a chokehold. Or tap out.”
Before I can brace, Brutus locks his muscular forearm across my throat from behind, a clean, practiced motion. I grab at his arm, try to duck, twist, even bite his flesh, but his hold doesn’t budge.
Blood rushes hot to my head. My vision fuzzes. I tap. Hard.
As soon as I do, he releases me instantly and steadies me with both hands.
“You okay?” he asks, brows drawn.
“One woman passed out,” someone mutters behind me.
Another girl fixes her hair with shaking hands.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m fine. I think.”
He gives me a small, relieved smile.
I shouldn’t like that smile.
Another whistle.
“Drill three. Surrender, run, or fight.”
I inhale sharply.
Chaos erupts.
Brutus lunges before I finish breathing. I’m grabbed by the waist, lifted, and thrown again. The mat knocks the air from me so violently tears spring to my eyes. I’m scrambling to inhale when a foot kicks my back.
Women sprint, shriek, get caught and thrown back. One tries to fight by biting her partner’s ankle and gets pinned instantly. Others surrender with trembling hands raised.
I surrender too.
Running never works. Not in real life. Fighting is dumb. I’ll always lose without a gun.
The whistle stops the madness.
A line of dizzy, shaken women forms again.
