“Okay,” I said slowly.
“Trust me,” he laughed. “It will be good.”
We reviewed the basics I’d learned over the past weeks, and each time I did them, they became easier and easier. He’d promised the more familiar I became with them, the less likely I’d forget them in a moment of panic, so I practiced all the time.
“Okay, good. So, first, let’s talk about how to make a correct fist.”
“Is there a wrong way to make a fist?”
“Sure is. You could end up breaking something if you close your hand wrong.”
“Where did you learn all this?”
“I do kickboxing when I can.”
“Sexy,” I said, waggling my brows.
He winked and showed me how to make a fist. “Thumb outside over the top of your fingers.” He stepped behind me and wrapped his hand over mine, and I tried to focus on what he was doing and not the delicious heat at my back. “You want your hit to focus mostly on the middle knuckles. They’re in the best position to receive impact without breaking anything.”
“You’re not convincing me punching is the best option.”
“It is if you do it right.” He extended my arm and pulled the other in close. “Just like that. Keep this arm close to guard yourself.”
I couldn’t help it, before he pulled away, I pushed back, loving his groan.
He nipped at my neck and growled, “Don’t distract me, woman.”
My smile showed no regrets.
He put the big pads on and stood in front of me, holding them up in front of his face, bracing his feet wide. “Okay. Give me your best shot.”
Not moving my feet, I threw my fist at the mat and barely moved his arm.
He peeked around the black leather with skepticism. “Is that all?”
I scoffed. “I just don’t want to hurt you with all these muscles,” I joked, flexing. In truth, I had packed on some muscles after working with Daniel, and it was nice. But not enough to actually do any damage. Especially to someone as broad and strong as him.
He smiled, and everything stopped. The sun shined through a window, and I swear, it illuminated his face like angels were going to sing any minute. His eyes creased at the corners from years of laughing, and I lost myself a little more.
I loved him so much, and it terrified me.
“Okay,” he said, pulling me back to the moment. The smile slipped, and he winced, opening his mouth a few times like he didn’t know what to say next. “I want…I want you to pretend I’m one of the men who attacked you.”
Like a bucket of cold water, chills broke out across my skin, numbing me to the bone. “What?”
He held up the mitts and got into position. “Pretend I’m someone you hate—someone you’d have no issue punching. Someone you want to punch.”
“Daniel,” I breathed, barely hearing him through the ringing in my ears. My box cracked open, and the past crept out. It wasn’t like I hadn’t pictured their faces—like I hadn’t pictured smashing them into nothing—less than nothing.
My bones grew too big for my body, my muscles ached with tension, vibrating with the need to release. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was why I didn’t open my box. The memories I kept locked in the dark surrounded me, trying to swallow me whole. It was too big. I couldn’t do it—couldn’t face it.
“You’ve talked to your therapist. You’ve mentally handled your past, but you carry around so much hate and anger in that tiny body. Let it out. Use it to your advantage. Learn to control it, and it won’t control you.”
Learn to control it. I focused on his words, and braced my feet, holding one hand close and pivoted, planting my fist to the mat. The impact jolted up my arm and shook my core. The muscles pulled tighter and relaxed at the same time. I braced for more while letting it go all at once.
This was what I’d been missing. This was what barre couldn’t give me. This was the release I needed.
“Come on, Hanna. Picture it. Let it out.”
The faces blurred over the months. I stopped looking, praying they’d disappear from my mind. All but one.
Punch.
There’d been two men to capture Sofia and me. They’d snuck us out through the back, surprising us from behind, and the last thing I saw was Sofia’s wide eyes before a pinch in my arm took me down.
Punch.
I’d woken up, handcuffed to a hotel bed. My sister’s cries mixing with the slap of flesh from around the corner.
Punch. Punch.
He’d stood from the chair, a leer on his thin lips. Not even the dimples could soften the threat in his dark eyes. I’d never forget the way they looked at me as he strolled across the room, undoing his pants.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
“Good girl, Hanna. Harder.”
I’d never forget his hand ripping my dress—my underwear. I’d never forget the scream tearing from my throat or the slap of his hand against my cheek. I’d never forget the way his light hair fell over his forehead when he gripped my throat and licked my face.
“I like the way you scream,” he whispered, prying my legs apart and forcing himself inside.
Punch. Punch.
“Let it out, baby.”
I punched again. Harder and harder, screaming now like I had then.
I’d never forget the way the cuffs had dug into my wrists, almost as painful as the pain between my legs.
My vision blurred, and I kept punching. “I hate you. I hate you. I ha-hate y-you.”
I’d never forget his disgusting wink as he buckled his pants back up.
“The boss would be pissed to know I just took your sweet virginity, but I have to say, that tight pussy, bleeding all over my cock, was worth it. And what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right?”
I rolled over and threw up on the pillow beside me, forced to roll back when I was done, staring up at the blood trickling down my wrist, avoiding my sister
