Grace swallowed.
She could feel the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his fingers. Her body remembered his touch in a different context—gentle, wanting, intimate.
“Now,” he said softly, “most people try to pull straight back. That’s the hardest way to get free.”
He shifted her arm slightly. “Instead, look for the weakest part of the grip—right here, between my thumb and fingers. You pull toward that.”
She tried it.
Nothing happened.
Luke’s grip didn’t budge.
Grace gave him a look. “So helpful.”
“You’re thinking too much,” he said. “Don’t try to be polite about it. Yank. Hard.”
She did.
This time, her arm slipped free with a jolt.
Luke nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
Grace flexed her wrist. “What if they don’t let go?”
“Then you hurt them.” His tone was serious now. “Use your elbows. Your knees. Go for the soft spots.”
She looked up at him. “What if it’s not enough?”
Luke’s jaw worked for a moment before he spoke. “I’ll be coming. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
There was a weight to that. A tightness in his voice that made her chest ache.
"What if they use both hands?" she asked. “Like this?” Grace reached out and gripped his wrist with both hands.
Luke's arm came up fast, breaking her hold before she could blink. Then he was stepping into her space, one hand catching her wrists, the other bracing her shoulder, and suddenly she was off-balance, guided down until her back hit the mat.
Not hard. Controlled.
But unmistakably trapped.
Luke loomed over her, one knee beside her hip, his weight keeping her pinned without crushing her.
Grace's heart hammered. She could feel every point of contact—his hand around her wrists, his thigh pressed against her side, the solid wall of his chest blocking out the light.
It should have felt wrong.
It didn't.
"What do I do?" Her voice came out breathier than she meant.
"You don't panic," Luke said. His eyes were dark, focused. "You stay smart. You've still got weapons—your head, your teeth, your legs."
He shifted slightly, showing her. "Bring your knee up hard. Aim for anything soft. Or—" He released one wrist, demonstrating. "Get your thumb in their eye. No one can hold on through that."
Grace tried to focus on his words instead of the heat of him, the familiar weight, the muscle memory of having him over her like this in a very different context.
"Try it," Luke said.
