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Lesson one: self-defense is not only defending against physical attacks. It’s defending oneself against the mind, too. You can be your own enemy if you don’t value yourself. Others can take advantage of low self-esteem. It’s a weakness.
Lesson two: before you can defend yourself, you have to know what constitutes as yours. Your mind, your personal space, your body. Anything and anyone can be a threat to you; not just the obvious dangers. You have to defend what’s yours with a passion. Your time, your aspirations. A weak mind and the inability to say no makes you a target.
I thought I’d struggle with the physical element the most, but it’s the mental training which proves to be my biggest challenge. Breaking self-defeating habits and conditioning your mind to change a certain thought pattern is damn near impossible.
We defend our way of thinking, even when we know it’s flawed.
It’s our comfort zone. What we know. What we’ve relied on our whole lives…and it’s why Quinn is struggling so hard with what he did. How he retaliated against everything he believed to defend me.
In spite of his nature, he made a split-second decision to pin evidence on Ryland Maddox, Attorney at Law with Lark and Gannet, and he’s been waging a war with himself ever since. Maddox is no innocent, but Quinn didn’t make his decision based on justice; he felt he had no other option. The alternative was that I be questioned in connection to the death of Price Wells. A death that went on record as an accident, when it was anything but.
The Alpha knows my sins. I helped Sadie cover up the murder of the man who tortured me by falsifying the death record. I don’t know how he knows, but uncovering the how is what will lead us to the Alpha.
Only, Quinn and I can’t do that if neither of us is on the case. It’s a selfish quest, I know. Regardless of how much I want to eliminate the Alpha’s threat from my life, I want Quinn free of blame more.
I want Sadie to walk away from all this horrid darkness.
I have a price to pay, but it won’t come at the expense of those I care for. I’ll pay the devil his due when my time comes.
And the only way any of that can happen is if I learn how to stop being a victim.
With renewed determination, I windmill my hands and knock Quinn’s forearms aside, breaking free of his grasp, and sweep his leg. A move he taught me. I take him down to the mat.
He releases a grunt as I climb atop him and pin his shoulders. “What happened to ‘always being on guard’, sensei?”
A smirk curves his mouth as he brings a hand to my face. My breathing is labored; Quinn barely broke a sweat. My eyelids feel heavy as his rou
gh fingers stroke my cheek, his thumb traces my lips. I no longer pull away when he touches my scar. The thought to do so rarely enters my head when I’m with him.
I part my lips, letting my tongue trace his thumb. His thick groan rumbles against my chest, then he jerks his knees forward, pushing me against the hard bulge in his pants.
Before I’m able to react, Quinn rolls on top of me and has my wrists restrained. “Don’t mistake my desire to have you on top of me as not being on guard.”
I arch my back, pressing my chest to his, and wrap my legs around his waist. “Ditto.” I love the way the muscle in his jaw feathers, the heated look in his eyes.
He begins closing the gap between us when a throat is cleared in the gym.
Quinn’s head snaps up, and I angle mine to see Carson leaning against the wall. “Sorry to interrupt your…lesson,” he says, a grin tilting his mouth. “But Special Agent Bell has called a meeting. Figured you’d want to be there.”
“Thanks,” Quinn grits out, but he doesn’t move. “You can wait outside now, Carson.”
“Got it, boss.”
“And you can let me up now,” I say, deliberately wriggling my hips.
He pushes out a deep breath and grinds his thick length against the seam of my thighs. Heat blooms in my core, and then Quinn is there to taste my neck, the rough stubble of his chin grazing my skin and heightening my arousal. I suddenly regret that we’re in the middle of the ACPD gym.
That same regret registers on Quinn’s face as he pulls away with strained effort. He sits back on his heels and adjusts the tent in his pants. As he stands, he offers me his hand. He brings me against his chest and steals a quick kiss before releasing me.
“I guess you shouldn’t be late. Don’t want to get reprimanded.”
“I’ll get reprimanded eventually,” he says. “It’s bad enough I can’t keep my hands off you at work, never mind what else I’ve touched.”
His joke should ease some of my anxiety, but I know Quinn. This dark humor only proves the pressure he’s under, loathing himself for his actions.
I move closer and reach out, but he rolls his shoulders, working out his muscles, then heads toward the bathroom. “We’ll pick up again tomorrow.” He turns around to add, “Even if I do enjoy your method of distraction, you’re not getting out of this.”
I let a small smile grace my lips. I don’t take it personally. I mean, I’m a woman, and his brushoff still smarts, but I’m too consumed with guilt on my part to take offense. Quinn is suffering because of me. His attempt to lighten the mood is too forced, regardless if I appreciate the effort.
