Two seconds and he already finds me lacking. I come up short no matter which angle he assesses me from, and I despise it. My entire life I’ve been weak, doing nothing more than surviving. Maverick may hate me, but at least once, I’d like him to look at me with something other than utter disappointment.
Shaking out my hands, I exhale and try to get out of my head. “Fair points,” I concede. “What do you want me to do first, boss?”
He snorts, a bit of amusement settling on his face. “I’m nobody’s boss. Mav is fine.”
Tipping my head in acknowledgment, I wait for instructions. He mulls it over for a second before surprising me by asking, “Would you rather I get you pissed off, or spend some time running through blocks and techniques?”
I blink. “Not sure why you’re asking me; I have no clue what the fuck I’m doing.”
This time, his lip definitely twitches with humor. “Not out to dredge up old wounds and traumatize you. Just let me know what you can handle.”
His consideration throws me for a loop, but I’m not about to spit on the gift. “Maybe run me through a few of the basics first? That way if you try to goad me into lashing out, I won't make an absolute fool of myself or break a hand.”
Nodding in agreement, he unfurls his hands from his chest and stalks around toward my back, using his foot to kick mine into a better stance and wraps his arms around me from behind. “Like this, you have a couple of options. You could try to drive your heel into my groin, but it’s easy enough for me to kick your legs apart and throw you off balance.” I try to ignore his breath on my ear and keep my focus.
He tightens his grip, pulling my head back into the game. “But I’d recommend you smash your head back in an attempt to break my nose. Reflexively, whoever’s holding you will slacken their hold and you can use that to slip free if you’re lucky and quick.”
He holds the position, waiting, and I realize he actually expects me to do it. “I’m not going to actually try to break your nose! I don’t want to hurt you.”
Chuckling, he tightens his arms until my breath hitches in my chest. “Trust me, I’ve taken much harder hits and lived. Go for it.”
Reluctantly, I slam my head back, though I’ll be the first to admit my heart isn’t in it. I don’t put much force behind the effort, and he dodges easily. Adjusting his hold so that he’s clutching each of my biceps across my chest, I hiss in a sharp, pained breath. He releases me instantly, coming around to face me with a frown.
“Sorry, I didn-“ his confused words cut off as he notices me rubbing at the bandage on my arm.
I bruise like a banana, and the pale skin surrounding the injection already has a bit of purple mottling in with the angry red. Since it’s on my inner arm, it’s been concealed by the side of my chest thus far. Now that he’s seen it anyway, I don’t bother restraining myself from peeling back the bandaid to get a better look at the irritating spot, mildly curious and poking at the hard rod just beneath my skin.
“The fuck happened?” he demands, gripping my wrist and turning my arm to see it from a better angle.
“It looks worse than it is. Pretty sure a harsh breeze would leave a mark, in all honesty.”
He growls, and I clamp my mouth shut on instinct. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
I almost reply without thinking before the words stick on my tongue, recalling Julian’s warning about turning his men against him. Rewording, I carefully state, “Julian was nice enough to have a doctor swing by this morning to set me up with some birth control, that’s all.”
He doesn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he tightens it as he whispers, “Don’t.”
My heartbeat is loud in my ears. “Don’t, what?”
His glare is enough to make me want to take a step back, but with his unyielding grip, I’m not going anywhere. “Spin things to make him look benevolent. He didn’t give you a choice, did he?”
My throat feels suddenly dry, his words still fresh in my mind as I croak out, “It’s for the best.”
He scoffs, dropping my arm and running a hand through his dark hair. “Let me guess. Threatened you?”
When I neither confirm nor deny, he walks over to the punching bag, driving a fist into it. I gravitate closer, not sure what to say or do. For as volatile and eccentric as Grave is, I know how to handle his moods. But Maverick is an unknown entity, and I just have a feeling that anything I say to try and calm him down will only succeed in pissing him off even more.
“I fuckin’ told Ev to get his shit together or something like this would happen. What did he say?” he demands, splitting his knuckles with his next hit.
When I don’t immediately respond, he pins me with a look so cold that I’m not even sure who the biggest threat in the house is anymore. The words are out of my mouth before I consciously decide to fill him in, but once I start, there’s no point in stopping until I’ve rehashed the entire encounter this morning.
By the time I’m done, his lips are twisted into a snarl and he’s back to beating the shit out of the punching bag. “You just going to watch me, or are you going to get on the treadmill?”
Confused, I step away before heading over to the machine and start it up. I’ve worked my way to a steady jog before Maverick joins me, knuckles a bloodied mess that he’s focused on wrapping up.
“I thought you were going to teach me to stop flinching?” I ask between panting breaths.
He grimaces. “Didn’t want to touch you until I burned off some energy when you’re already so twitchy. So when we’re not working on that, I want you on here.”
