“Are you sure everything is okay?” Kingston asks again after a few beats of silence. Ace watches me with an intensity I don’t like. He’s scruffier than the first time I saw him, his hair pulled away from his face and secured with a band, but dark blond tendrils frame his face. The beard remains, still groomed and neat and in the suit, I couldn’t get the full picture of how built he actually was. Broad shoulders, hard, big arms and thighs and his hands are fucking huge.
He was a mammoth of a man.
“Uh, yeah,” my eyes snap away from Ace back to Kingston, “yeah everything is fine. Why did you want me here?”
“Well, I wanted you to formally meet everyone, but also I thought Abel could show you some defense moves, just in case.”
“You won’t teach me?” I blurt.
“I have a few things to do, love.”
When I finally look at Ace again, all I see is a wicked grin and a mischievous glint in his eye.
“We’ll talk after,” Kingston says as he stands, walking towards me. His hand comes up, and his fingers whisper against my cheek, before he tucks some hair behind my ear in a move that doesn’t fit the relationship we have going.
He holds my stare for a long moment before he presses his thumb to my bottom lip and then snatches it away, leaving the room without a backward glance.
I swallow as Ace stands, this towering wall of muscle that could break me without much of an effort.
“I guess it’s just you and me, little one, should we get started?”
Micha steps up to my side, glaring at Ace, “Be nice.” Is all he says, but he too leaves, and then it’s just me and Ace.
“Follow me, Eleanor,” he says, heading to the door left open by Micha. When I don’t immediately follow, he stops in the threshold and looks over his shoulder, “Are you scared?”
My nostrils flare and I narrow my eyes, “No.”
“Good, then follow.”
My feet are heavier as I stomp after him, bristling. He walks through the penthouse before turning sharply and opening a door. I don’t think as I walk behind him only to be greeted by complete and utter darkness. No windows. No light.
I’m about to make a break back through the door, and the only source of light when it abruptly slams shut, and I’m plunged into that abyss. It’s so dark I don’t even see my own hand in front of my face, and I freeze, jutting out my arms to look for something, anything, I can use to steady and guide myself. The wall will lead to a door eventually, and if I can’t see it means Ace can’t either. But he knows this place better than I do, and is clearly a born fighter.
No.
Don’t think about that.
If I scream, will Kingston hear me or even Micha?
I open my mouth, ready to do just that when a hand clamps around it, and I’m sharply yanked before being pushed. I hit the wall hard. I feel Ace’s body press up against mine from behind, unrelenting and like steel.
“Get free, Eleanor.” He whispers into my ear, “shake me off and get free.”
I try. I really do. Not because it’s a lesson but because fear, real fear, urges me to flee.
A whole bunch of images flow through my mind. What he could do to me without anyone knowing. How he could brutalize me without a single murmur from me.
“Come on, little one,” he breathes, “get free.”
I push on him, trying to get all my weight behind me, using my hands to push off the wall, but I can’t lift him or shake him off. His entire body weight is on me, his hand clamped so tight around my mouth my teeth cut into my gums.
“You can’t?” He mocks.
A small, suffocated sound whimpers from me as I continue to try and push him off.
“Come on,” he growls.
I can’t get free. I can’t move. He’s suffocating me. His weight compresses my chest, his hand makes it hard to breathe. I suck in sharp breaths of air through my nose, but it isn’t enough to fill my lungs. I feel the panic a moment before it hits.
A claw that sinks deep as it rips away basic instinct. I try to breathe, I try to suck in that precious oxygen, but nothing stops the burn in my lungs. He was going to smother me. Tears sting my eyes and I bring my hands up, clawing at his flesh but he does not relent.
“Get free!”
That panic makes everything hazy and in the dark, I can’t tell what is up or down, left or right. Fear hits me hard, different to what Kingston draws, different to any other fear I’ve ever known.
My tears spill now, wet and hot and I thrash uselessly against him.
Abruptly, he snatches away and I crumple. I fall onto my knees with a hard thud, the pain ricocheting up my thighs, into my hips and then my spine.
I suck in air. Hungry. Panicked.
Lights suddenly brighten the room, they sting my eyes, forcing me to close them but I don’t want to. If I close my eyes, I’m vulnerable once again.
“You’re weak,” Ace spits. “Fucking weak. You think you’ll survive a life like this?” His voice rises, “You think you’ll be a good woman standing next to Kingston!?”
His words hit an integral part of me I didn’t realize was there.
“Fucking weak, little one.”
“I hate you!” I spit.
“Yeah?” Ace laughs menacingly, “then do something about it!”
I get to my feet and spin on him, anger warring with the fear and the panic with the rage. He did this on purpose. To belittle me. To weaken me. He doesn’t think I can do anything, let alone help Kingston or get my friend back. He doesn’t think me strong or worthy.
Well fuck him!
I charge him. I have no hope of beating him, but I need him to feel at least a small ounce of the fear he just gave me.
He grins as I get closer, and opens his arms, welcoming me.
My shoulder hits his stomach and honestly, it feels like I’ve just voluntarily hit a brick wall, but he doesn’t defend, he lets it happen, allowing my weight to topple him. We go down, me sprawled on top of him. My legs straddle his hips, and he just continues to grin, not even a little winded.
I raise a fist and slam it down into his face.
Instantly pain bursts in my hand.
I cry out, falling sideways, clutching my hand to my chest as the pain lances through me.
I’m still wheezing when I get to my knees, but Ace is now standing, though, when he got up, I couldn’t tell you.
“That’s the problem, you see,” he cocks his head, watching me, “If you don’t know how to properly punch someone, you’ll likely do more damage to yourself. You have to keep the thumb on the outside,” he holds out his fist, first showing me how I did it, with the thumb tucked in beneath my fingers and then how to properly do it, the thumb on the outside, resting across the index and the middle finger. He has a blooming mark on his jaw, but it won’t bruise or swell.
“You need to throw all your weight into it, use your body to give momentum, give it your weight and strike, all you did was pull back your arm and strike, no push, no weight, you’ll hardly be more effective than a bee sting.”
“You’re a fucking arsehole,” I hiccup, cradling that injured hand.
“But an arsehole that’s going to teach you to stay alive should the worse happen.”
“I can hardly do anything now!” I cry.
“Oh, you can, and you will.”
“No.”
“Should we start the lesson over?” He cocks his head, “Learning at your weakest will only add to your strength.”
He doesn’t give me an option to answer as he charges me. I’m on my knees, defenseless.
He gets close. The only thing I can do is let my instincts take over, and I duck just a moment before he hits. He sails over me, landing on the other side and I kick out a leg, landing a foot against his chest which sends him sprawling. He lands with a thud and loud whoosh of breath. He lifts only his head and grins, “Good.”
“Stop!” I beg, “Please.”
My hand is throbbing, the fear gripping. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready.
“You think you’ll be ready when someone else wants to take a shot at you?” He answers. I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud. “Assume everyone is out to get you, Eleanor, because everyone is.”
“Even you?”
“There are exceptions, but do not trust easily, and do not let your guard down to anyone other than the ones you trust, you’ll survive longer that way.”
“You talk like you expect to drop dead tomorrow.”
“Not drop dead,” he replies, “But die nonetheless.”
A silence as heavy as lead falls between us.
“Learn, Eleanor,” he says, “Learn how to protect yourself in the event one of us can’t be here to save you.”
“I’m no damsel.” I whisper.
“Aren’t you?”
“You’re a prick.”
“Maybe so, but I can keep you alive, you’d be wise to keep on my good side.”
“Or what?”
He doesn’t get to answer when the door opens and Kingston steps in, “What the fuck is going on?”