I bare my teeth in his face. His eyes are wide.
“You’ve never—”
I growl. “Stop talking.” I cup his cheeks more roughlythan I need to and mime digging my fingers into his eye sockets.
“Like this, girls. Don’t be afraid to pop an eye out.”
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, jerking his head back.
“Don’t you dare drop me.”
“Bailey, if you like it violent, all you had to do is ask.”
I shove back, heat gathering in my stomach as I slide down his body.
He steps back, eyes gleaming, chest heaving, like he knows exactly what he does to me.
“Okay. Imagine your attacker has a knife.” I turn to the girls. None of them are lying down now. All of them are staring at me, and something fires inside me. “What do you do if that happens?”
Sasha raises her hand. She’s the shyest and the newest member. Her skin is blotched with pink on her cheeks and throat, and I’ve noticed she can’t even look at Tristan. I smile at her encouragingly.
“Um, you run away?”
The other girls snort, like they’d never run, but I nod.
“Very good. Everything I’m showing you here today is a last resort. De-escalating a situation and running away is always safer, okay?”
The girls look skeptical. “Do you run?” Malika asks. Her face is wrinkled and I nearly laugh. Emory is looking fondly at her. Malika is practically Emory’s mini-me, with two curly braids instead of blond waves. But the attitude is the same.
“All the time,” I say seriously. “My job is to protect him at all costs. Nine times out of ten my best bet is to get away because it means he’s away and he’s safe.” My throat constricts, the way it always does at the thought of Tristan not being safe.
“And if you can’t?”
I sigh. “Then I might use some of what I’m going to show you today. I might pull my weapon.Alwaysas a last resort.”
The girls’ eyes are wide now.
“Has he ever been hurt?”
I shake my head.
“She’s very good at what she does,” Tristan says quietly. “The best, actually.”
My face heats. The girls are staring at me like they’re meeting me again for the first time.
“But he can’t even fit behind you,” Rosh says.
Malika giggles.
I catch a chuckle from behind me.
I turn to Tristan. His grin is way too arrogant. “Tristan,” I say silkily. “Want to spar?”
“I don’t know,” he drawls. “Should I let you win?”
I grin at him. “Don’t worry. You won’t need to.”
The energy in the room is electric. Tristan and I face off in the center of the mat.
