Part 5 (2/2)

Quickly, she brought up her arms to block his attack. Each hit hurt, even though she antic.i.p.ated them, and she'd have bruises later. ”I'm trying, dammit.”

”Curse all you want,” Jordan remarked, unrelenting in his a.s.sault. Though they were for practice and not for real-much-the impacts still made Lacey ache all over. ”You're giving me poor performance. Now buck up!”

She was growling now in frustration, but she refused to give in or give up. Jordan avoided her face and focused on her body, trying to attack her torso or force her off balance by kicking her feet from under her. The moves themselves weren't difficult, as they were just a simple series of continuous motions that could be used to daze, incapacitate, or even seriously injure an opponent. It was sort of like dancing, only the other guy didn't want to dip her but throw her down.

Lacey gave the practice her all, even though her body cried out for a break. She was a violinist, after all, not a martial arts expert. She didn't go to the gym or do the kind of rigorous training Jordan and Bro did, although for different reasons. Yet she wanted to excel in this. Not to find something to brag about, but to hold her own against any foe.

Even if the foe was her father.

Lacey's damaged cheek hurt as blood thundered through her system with the exertion. Though the throbbing was d.a.m.n near blinding in its intensity, there was a cleansing effect within as she relaxed and fell into the flow of the string of movements. Though Jordan was way better, she felt in control of her body, her choices, her life. She felt strong and capable.

”Your left hand is dragging, Lace. Pick it up!”

And then Jordan's words reminded her she still had a ways to go. She redoubled her efforts, keeping her feet moving, never sticking too long in one place. She kept her arms up but close to protect her upper body and her face. Whenever there was an opening, she took advantage. She doubted Jordan was really that vulnerable or exposed, but these moments gave her confidence.

She had fighting gloves on, not the heavy boxing kind. Her hands felt fragile, as though the small bones there might break or shatter at any second, when in truth the fighting gloves were designed to prevent any such injuries. Her tennis shoes were well used, so they didn't chafe, but she had been bouncing around on her feet for nearly two hours.

”Jordan, I'm tired.”

”Not yet. Fifteen minutes more, Lace. Come on, honey, you can do it.”

It was such simple encouragement, but it renewed her strength. Well, her strength of will anyway.

The gym Jordan had built in one of the larger rooms in the loft was s.p.a.cious and airy, and Lacey felt comfortable there, free of pressure and tension, free from the feeling of the walls closing in on her. For the first hour, Jordan had shown her how to take a swing at or how to kick a punching bag, and that had relieved her stress and anxiety quite a bit.

With a live opponent, it was another matter. Jordan wasn't squeamish about any of his actions, even if it meant she learned something through trial and error, and with a swarm of bruises to boot. Lacey knew, however, that had Jordan been able to see the bruise on her cheek underneath the concealer, it would have been a whole other ballgame. Thankfully, the makeup had lasted even through the two hours of exercise.

”Come on, Lace. Front kick.”

Growling, Lacey aimed a hard kick at Jordan's groin but missed. She did hit him just above the knee, and he grunted, backing off. ”Ha!” she gloated, lifting her hands in triumph.

”You got lucky.” Jordan's movements didn't slow or waver despite the impact. Lacey was certain a real attacker wouldn't either, so she carried on.

”Remember what I told you?” Jordan asked imperiously while circling her. ”Disorient, incapacitate, flee.”

Lacey nodded. Jordan had shown her, among others, some basic Krav Maga moves. Disorienting an opponent was a simple matter of attacking the senses, like blinding with a finger in the eye socket or deafening with a harsh slap against the ear or temple. Incapacitating meant using the extremities to hit vulnerable spots, like groin, knee, or abdomen, and as the attacker doubled over in pain, then making sure they went down permanently, for example with a punch on the back of the neck. Once the enemy was down or distracted by pain, the only thing left to do was run out of range to a safe harbor.

While she went over the instructions in her head, Jordan had managed to sneak attack her rear, giving her a.s.s cheek a pinch. Crying out with indignation, Lacey gave his s.h.i.+n a rear kick and then finished with a hard elbow strike back, straight in the gut. Grunting, Jordan doubled over, holding his belly.

”Good one, Lace.” The compliment stroked her ego like no other comment before.

”I think you've done enough for the day.” Jordan straightened slowly, rubbing his belly, which must have hurt at least a bit, but he was grinning. Lacey was certain this was because Jordan took pride in his achievements, especially if they were designed to help someone he valued or cared for.

”So do I.”

Startled, both Lacey and Jordan turned to the new voice.

Bro was standing in the open doorway, his eyes narrow with irritation, his lips a thin line, his feet apart, and his arms crossed over his chest.

Lacey winced, then bit her lower lip. This was not how she had planned this encounter to go down. ”Bro, I....” Then she ran out of words, knowing an explanation of her reason for training with Jordan was only going to make matters worse. The alternative would have been to lie to her lov-boyfriend. And she couldn't do that either. So Lacey ended up standing in place, fidgeting, and opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish.

Bro wasn't stupid, and he caught on pretty quick. His narrowed gaze hit Jordan square in the eye, asking a silent question. Jordan exchanged a glance with Lacey, who was well aware she was pleading with her expression, and then he sighed.

”This was my idea, Bro. Lace dresses up like a girl. I thought it would be a good idea if she learned a few basic self-defense moves.”

And that was the extent of his explanation. Take it or leave it, and Lacey swallowed hard, praying Bro wouldn't question it. For she had no other answers to give him right now, certainly none that would defuse the level of tension in the room, let alone the tension in the set of Bro's broad shoulders.

But then there was none. Bro's rigid stance eased, and he let out a breath, giving Lacey a concerned look with a hint of sadness and pity. ”Why the f.u.c.k didn't you tell me?” There was no vehemence behind the words as Bro closed the gap between them and laid his hands on Lacey's hips, gently pulling her closer.

Emotions constricted Lacey's throat. ”I... I didn't want to worry you. You already think I'm in danger from every shadow in the streets.” She shrugged, reluctant to continue.

”Babe....” Bro let out an exasperated huff but said nothing more, only hugged Lacey to his chest.

Lacey protested weakly. ”I'm all gross and sweaty.”

Bro chuckled then, and the knot twisting Lacey's gut unwound. ”I've seen you sweaty before, babe. Lots of times.” And his arms grew tighter around her. Taking a deep breath of spicy cologne and male musk, Lacey circled Bro's waist and buried her head in his neck, feeling safe and happy again. Bro seemed to have that effect on her every time.

”Lace?” Jordan spoke from behind them, his tone neutral, not giving anything away. ”It is late. Wash up, change, and I'll drive you home.” Bro must have been about to argue, because Jordan cut all protests short. ”The only place you're going, little boy, is to bed-by yourself. Now hop to it.”

”Sir, yes, sir,” Bro grumbled, and Lacey giggled against his chest. Bro peered down at her, smiling. ”Why wouldn't I obey? The sooner I get to bed, the sooner I can dream about you. Lewd, dirty things.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Lacey burst into laughter.

”Sounds like a plan,” she said at last, winking. Bro's eyes darkened.

”Now, please,” Jordan cut in, impatient yet clearly amused.

”Bully...,” Bro mumbled and then cussed a blue streak under his breath. Lacey was the only one who heard the long line of obscenities, and she snickered behind her hand, blus.h.i.+ng. Her guy sure had a potty mouth.

With a much too quick kiss, Bro let Lacey go. ”I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

”Duh.” Lacey gave him a lengthy good-night kiss of her own before das.h.i.+ng into the changing room. It wouldn't do for her father to find out what she had been doing. If she smelled too sweaty, he would suspect the worst. If she smelled of soap and water, he would really go berserk. It was a fine line. She used a warm, wet washcloth to clean up most of the sweat and then added some deodorant, hoping that would be enough to mask any bodily odors. Besides, if he was drunk, maybe all he sniffed would be alcohol anyway.

At least Bro had retreated to his room when she came out. One less distraction.

Five minutes later, Lacey sat in Jordan's monstrous, pimped-out SUV once more as he drove her home. Only... it wasn't home. It was just a house she lived in right now. It had never felt less like a home, no matter what she did to spruce up her room to make it cozy. A home was a place that housed the people one loved. Lacey loved her dad, but a little less every day, and that saddened her. She felt alone, exposed, and vulnerable, naked and visible to the whole world, a wreck without a safety net. She felt more at home with people not her kin, like Bro, Jordan, and Sebastian, Audrey and Bradley. Her friends were her new family more than her one surviving parent, and her house was not a home.

”You okay?” Jordan's soft voice cut through the interference.

Shaken, Lacey nodded. ”Yes. Jordan, I....” She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. ”I'm sorry I wasn't frank with Bro. I just-”

”I understand. Next time.” Jordan's cool was an armor that almost never cracked. He meant it too, Lacey could tell, and she was grateful.

The rest of the trip pa.s.sed in companionable silence. When they parked on the curb, Lacey peered toward the house and saw the lights were on, and a shadow moved across the drapes. Her father was home. Shrinking against the seat physically and into her own head emotionally, she had never felt less inclined to enter the house she was supposed to call home.

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