Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

“Love you too, babe,” Jig said as he winked at Chloe. Behind his back, Izzy opened her mouth again.

“Uh, what am I doing here exactly?” Chloe rushed to say. The well-timed question had probably saved Jigsaw’s life.

“Iz thought you might benefit from learning some self-defense.”

Izzy cleared her throat—loudly.

With a roll of his eyes and a smirk for his woman Jigsaw said, “Sorry, Izzy likes to call it self-offense.”

“Damn straight. Someone comes after you, you’re not gonna defend yourself, you’re going on the offensive to take the motherfucker out. We’re not just gonna teach you how to break holds so you can run away. Forget that shit. We’re going to teach you how to incapacitate a motherfucker so you can cause some serious fucking pain.”

“The mother of my child, ladies and gentlemen,” Jig said in a dry tone.

Chloe chuckled then a huge grin stretched her cheeks. Something deep within her soared at Izzy’s description. Yes! The idea of taking someone out sent a rush of endorphins thorough her system. This was it. What she’d been missing. These skills would give her the same high she chased when dominating men. Hell, maybe she’d experience even more of a rush. She could already feel the promise of euphoria flowing through her veins like a drug.

“Before we get started, let me show you how to wrap your hands.” Jig said. “I’ll do one and you can try the other after you watch me. Okay if I touch your hand?”

Her gaze flew from where he held the wrap, up to his face. By now, everyone in the club probably knew precisely what had happened to her. For a split-second, shame and embarrassment shot through her. Who needed to give permission for someone to touch their hand in the most innocent way possible, while their pregnant significant other looked on no less? Oh yeah, she did. The girl who’d been violated.

But what she saw in Jig’s face washed away all those negative feelings. There was nothing. No pity, no sorrow, no awkwardness or judgment. Just patience while he waited for the go-ahead to gear-up her hands. While she knew he only asked in deference to what had happened to her, the nonchalant way he acted made it seem as though he’d ask the same to anyone. He was so nonchalant, he might as well have been asking her to pass the salt.

Jig’s chill attitude immediately set her at ease. “Yeah,” she said. “Go for it.” And she only felt one microsecond of discomfort when his hand first grazed hers.

Progress.

After he’d wound the wrapping around one hand, and she did a fairly decent job with the other, Jig ran her though a few warmup exercises. Izzy barked the occasional order from her throne, clearly not accustomed to being sidelined. Jig was patient and didn’t seem to mind the interruptions.

“Okay, time to get down to business,” he said, sliding big cushioned gloves onto her hands. Once he was done, he slipped his palms into black pads. “Without me teaching you any kind of technique at this point, I just want you to go to town and wail on the pads. Hard as you can. It’s amazing for tension relief.”

Chloe rotated her wrists, getting used to the feel of the gloves. “What if I hurt you?” She’d never done anything more that swat her brothers when they pissed her off. Punching someone was a foreign concept that didn’t quite sit right.

“Trust me, girl, he can take it.” Izzy’s eyes gleamed, and Chloe had the distinct impression she wished they could change positions. “You won’t hurt your hands either. Try whacking your fists together.”

“I can do that.” She banged her gloves into each other, barely noticing the impact. Huh. This could be fun. Turning her body sideways, she held up her gloved fists. “Like this?”

“Just like that. We’ll worry about perfecting your form later.” Jig lifted the pads. He was a handsome man. Dark brown hair, the same color beard, ink, and muscles galore. He’d be a perfect physical specimen if it weren’t for an intricate scar on his cheek. There was a story there. A person didn’t get that kind of extensive damage from a fingernail scratch. Chloe’s scars may be on the inside, but they were there, and just as prominent as Jigsaw’s. He looked into her eyes. “Let it fly, darlin’.”

Chloe stared at his scar for one more second. She may never discover exactly how he got it, but knew in her soul he’d been where she had. He’d been helpless, at the mercy of a sadist, suffering through unimaginable pain. This, what he was offering her right now, he was doing it because it’d worked for him. Succeeded in helping him become what was obviously a man no one fucked with anymore.

That’s what Chloe wanted. What she craved. The power and strength to keep others from ever thinking they could harm her. “Okay,” she said. “Here goes.” She cocked her arm and let her gloved fist collide with Jig’s pad. “How was that?”