“Kiki” finishes his meal and starts winding around Raelynn’s ankles.
“I think he wants one.”
She snorts. “He’s gonna have to make do with kiki. I ain’t adopting a cat.” Despite her words, she crouches down next to me and runs her hand over the animal’s back.
“Why not? You’ve been feeding him since Christmas. If he were feral, he wouldn’t let you pet him like that.”
The way she looks at him, I think she’s about to scoop him up and take him inside. For all of two seconds before she jerks to her feet and makes a beeline for the door. “He shouldn’t stick around. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
She’s back inside before I can say another word. Kiki paws at my leg, whining until I pick him up and settle him in my lap. “Give her a little time. I think she needs you as much as you need her.”
Sanchez leads the beginner class through the last of the cooldown stretches, and I stagger off to the corner, spent. Coming tonight was a mistake. Though my head stopped throbbing after lunch, my hip sports a deep purple bruise. My wrist isn’t a hundred percent either.
But after being around Raelynn all day, I needed to work off some steam. Or…something.
Dropping down onto the mat, I cross one leg over the other, my foot planted firmly on the outside of my knee. The spinal twist feels like heaven.
At the back of the room, West works with a small group of women teaching advanced self-defense.
I’m mesmerized as he lets one of them wrap duct tape around his wrists.
“Tighter, Marisol. I’m a Navy SEAL. You won’t hurt me.”
The petite dark-haired woman finishes two more rounds, and then steps back.
“Duct tape and zip ties are a lot weaker than you think. If you know what you’re doing. Leverage and force are your friends. Spread your fingers wide, extend your arms in front of you, and then drive your elbows back as hard and as fast as you can.”
West demonstrates, and the tape rips easily. He grabs one end with his teeth and pulls it from his skin. “You will lose some arm hair. But you’ll be free.”
As I finish my stretches, he asks another woman to tie him up again, this time with a length of rope. But she can’t get it tight enough, and after three tries, he calls, “Nash? Can you come help us for a minute?”
I shuffle over to the group. “What do you need?”
“As tight as you can.” He passes me the rope and holds out his wrists, totally at ease. “The rest of you, watch closely.”
As I pull the ends of the rope—hard—West balls his hands into tight fists. Finishing the knot, I step back. It looks painful, but the former SEAL is smiling.
“Anyone catch what I did?”
The redhead next to me clears her throat. “You made yourself bigger.”
“Right answer.” West relaxes, and the ropes, which looked inescapable, loosen. He twists his hands enough to capture the ends, then starts to work them toward the knot. In under thirty seconds, he’s free. “Angle your fists, force your hands apart—even a quarter of an inch makes a difference—and tense your muscles. Then, when you’re alone, relax.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Thanks for the lesson.” I head for the lockers, retrieve my backpack, and escape into the crisp, evening air.
Maybe it was a good idea to come tonight. West gave me a hell of a discount on the eight-class package—Adam’s doing, I suspect—and I always leave feeling better than when I walked in.
I didn’t think about the car accident once. Or worry I should get the hell out of town. No time. Not with Sanchez repeatedly throwing himself on top of me so I could learn how to escape something called a “mount.”
Passing the Siren Roastery, I inhale the rich scent of coffee. Before I came to Seattle, instant was my go-to. Now, I’m spoiled forever.
My toe catches on the uneven sidewalk, and I stumble, shaking loose a thought that’s been rattling around in my head all day.
“You live around here?”
The man who ran into me yesterday…his accent was from Chicago. The home of the DeLuca family.
