Control: An Everyday Heroes Novella Read online

  “It’s like a big orgy in here,” I say to the woman standing beside me. I don’t know her, but she’s standing like we are, back against the gym wall, eyes glued to the men and women fighting for positioning—moving, bucking, defending—on the mats where they’re lying.

  She emits a nervous laugh and looks to me. Prim and proper, she resembles a Stepford wife, and all I can think is that her ladies’ club decided to do this together and she’s the only one who decided to show up.

  At least I’m not the only one nervous about being here. There could be worse things I guess…like actually needing to use the skills I’m supposed to learn here in Sunnyville Self Defense Class to protect myself.

  A group at the far side of the gym erupts in applause, and I stand on my tiptoes to see a woman standing with her foot on the instructor’s throat while he’s lying on the mat. His red SSDC T-shirt matches everyone else standing around trying to look official with a whistle and gym pants on.

  “Exactly,” a deep rumble of a voice on the other side of me says.

  I glance over and whoa…all my attention shifts from the grunts and groans on the floor to how I wouldn’t mind grunting and groaning with the man on his cell beside me. Our gazes meet for the briefest of seconds—chocolate-brown eyes giving me a passing glance and a curt smile before turning back to whoever is on the phone while watching the action beyond.

  Taking my time and trying not to pay attention to Hottie McTotty, I scan the gym. Basic blue gymnastic mats cover the majority of the hardwood floors, basketball hoops hang from the lofty ceiling but have been drawn up, and championship banners hang, partially hiding the painted mural of the Sunnyville High School mascot on the wall at the far end.

  But no matter how hard I try to not look back at him, that is where my attention lands. He’s a good six inches taller than I am, has dark hair, and his body beneath his Under Armour workout shirt hints at how ridiculously fit he is. His bicep closest to me stretches the fabric and is covered in a dizzying tattooed array of colors and images I can’t openly look at to decipher. You can only do so much with a sideways stare.

  But his voice. It’s like liquid sex with a rasp and a rumble and a whole earth-shattering orgasm in between.

  Hello to you, Mister A-Little-Rugged-And-Whole-Lot-Sexy.

  I listen to him talk. Not stalkerish-like…well, maybe stalkerish-like, but damn if the background of grunting and groaning only serves to enhance the things my mind is dreaming up.

  And then it hits me.

  He’s not here as an instructor—no red SSDC shirt on. So that means he’s here as a boyfriend or a husband and therefore completely off limits.

  Damn it.

  If he were an instructor, I’d make sure to be in his group so he could grind on me for a bit…and I’m talking the pelvis kind of grind…if I’m being truthful.

  He ends his call, and when he goes to put his cell in his pocket, he catches me staring at him, because I’m still stuck on the fact that he’s waiting for his girl.

  “Hello.”

  God, that voice.

  “Hi.” I smile brightly, and I’m sure when I straighten up my tits arch out in reflex.

  He notices. I know he does, but what do I care? It’s not like I have a chance with him.

  “Are you taking a class?” he asks.

  “I’m supposed to.” I shrug and shift on my feet, suddenly nervous when I have no reason to be. “But I’m not sure how much I’ll learn.”

  “No?” He turns to look at me, eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

  “It’s Sunnyville.” His eyes are unrelenting as they bore into mine. “It’s not like we attract the best talent.” He angles his head to the side, mouth ghosting a smile I can’t read, as if he’s questioning if he made the right investment by putting his loved one here. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what do you mean?” He turns to face me, clasped hands hanging in front of his pelvis, and my eyes flicker there for the briefest of moments.

  To his hands. To avert my gaze from the intensity in his. Not to blatantly stare at his cock…but of course when I look back up to his eyes and see the lift of his brow and a smile toying at the corners of his mouth, he assumes I was checking out his package.

  Lovely.

  “I mean”—I look at the crowded gym while my nerves rattle harder. When my nerves rattle my mouth runs, and when my mouth runs, I can’t be held accountable for what I say. “These instructors are all wanna-be cops. They probably never passed the exam to get into the Academy.” His smile grows wider and my lady bits might be tingling as I peg this guy to be one who likes to live a little dangerously. Maybe he’s had a run-in or two with the law and places cops not high on his list of people to invite to dinner.

  “Rent-a-cops?” he asks through a part-cough, part chuckle.

  “Yeah, those. Either that or they’re the guys who couldn’t pass the psych test and are a little wacky.”

  He purses his lips as if he’s measuring my words and when he shakes his head with a laugh, that grin of his widens to epic proportions. “Definitely the psych test.”

  “Right? I mean, I get they’re here trying to help women protect themselves, but you’d think they might have a tiny part of them who gets off on the power play aspect of it.” Stop talking, Desi. Your best friend-in-law is a police officer. You know differently. And yet my mouth still runs because he’s cute. “You know…pushing women around. Taking their abuse. It’s probably a turn-on for some of them.”

  He nods slowly and surveys the room with a lift of his eyebrows. “That’s what you seriously think?”

  A round of applause erupts and echoes throughout the entire room before I get a chance to answer him. I’m forced to step backward when the slew of women who just finished with their session heads to where we are standing near the door.

  When the influx of chatty women seemingly excited and high on adrenaline—despite their sweat-dampened hair and flushed cheeks—finally clears the doorway he’s nowhere to be found.

  It’s a blanket reminder that he definitely was here to pick up his significant other. Add to that, I just acted like a complete idiot trying to impress a man who I’ll undoubtedly see around town again and cringe when I do.

  Since when do I try to impress people?

  “The seven o’clock group can head on in,” a man says as he motions to all of us standing against the wall.

  All it takes are those words to make my mind shift gears—because if I’m one thing, it’s hard on myself before I move on to the next thing—and coming here is a major step in admitting that what happened scared the shit out of me.

  With a roll of my shoulders and a huff of a breath, I step forward with the women beside me. We find seats on the mat as directed and wait for everyone to settle.

  The gentleman who summoned us stands with his hands on his hips. His bald head is shinier than Mr. Clean’s, and he has tree trunks for arms. With a clap of his hands in front of him, he begins. “Congratulations, ladies, on taking the first step in taking back your fear. People call me Bear. Yes, it’s odd, but just go with it.” He smiles wide and takes a step forward as three men in SSDC shirts file in behind him. “Some of you are here because you’ve had a scare and need a way to erase that helplessness you were made to feel. Others are here because you saw a movie, a news story—something that made you not want to ever be in the position to be made a victim. So let’s get one thing straight: no one here is a victim. Every single one of you here is strong. And we’re here to show you just how strong you are.”

  I glance at the women and wonder who fits what profile. Who’s been victimized? Women from all walks of life and sizes and ethnicities surround me—some I know, most I don’t—and it calms me some knowing I’m not alone in this. That I’m not ridiculous in being scared.

  “Let me introduce to you our four instructors so you know who you’ll be giving hell today.” A round of chuckles filters through the air. “First up I have Teddy. He’s a Krav
Maga instructor by day and a self-defense teacher at night. He’s been doing this for fifteen years and loves nothing more than for you to beat up on him.” Teddy, with the light hair and slender build, lifts his hand in greeting.

  “Hello, Teddy,” a woman near me says with a whistle and fans her hand in front of her face.

  “He’s happily married, as well.”

  “Damn,” she murmurs and gets a round of chuckles, nerves tingeing the edges of most of them.

  “Next up is Eric. He’s a newly minted instructor, and so I told him you’d be easy on him,” Bear says, all the while shaking his head to tell us not to. “He might be new, but the kid somehow has endless requests from women to be placed with him.”

  Eric steps forward and lifts his hand. He’s tall with the looks of a model—chiseled, scruff, blinding smile—but too clean-cut for my liking. “That’s only because I give out free candy at the end of class,” he says, as the women sit taller and pat down their hair.

  I’m sure his lollipop is what he has to offer.

  And then I feel stupid even thinking that. It’s my damn nerves again. They’re making me jittery and causing my thoughts to run. The last thing any of these women are here for is to be enjoying the eye-candy.

  They’re here to learn self-defense.

  They’re here to prepare themselves.

  Then why am I looking?

  Because you’re really good at sticking your head in the sand and using other things to distract you from the truth.

  The truth that says you’re scared but too stubborn to admit it.

  “Next up is Ky. He’s straight from Florida where he’s a physical therapist for the Olympic athletes, and now he’s doubling as an instructor for the next few months.”

  Ky lifts his arm. His light brown skin is gorgeous in color, and his arms are dotted with Maori tattoos.

  “And last but not least is our newest addition. A certified badass who has served as the commander of one of San Francisco’s SWAT units for fifteen years before recently taking a short sabbatical to live a life outside of the constant razor’s edge of crazies. We’re thrilled to have him and his expertise. Ladies, please welcome Reznor.”

  The ladies clap, and I turn to find none other than the tattooed hottie who was standing by the door with me. Oh shit. Now with the red company shirt on, he takes his time walking over to us while every part of me wants to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment.

  My comments loop on a reel in my head as I lower my eyes and shut them momentarily.

  Did I really say all that about cops and psych tests and…oh, this is not good.

  And of course when I lift my eyes again, he is staring right at me. No mistaking it. He doesn’t address us, but rather just holds my gaze, and with a ghost of that smile of his, nods his head before stepping back.

  Reznor.

  How did I know he’d have a sexy name to go with all that deliciousness that he is?

  The ladies turn their focus back to Bear and just before I do, Reznor gives the subtlest lift of his eyebrows to me as if to challenge what I’d said before turning his attention to his job.

  Bastard.

  Chapter Two

  Desi

  Of course I was placed in his group.

  Placed in his group and too damn proud to ask that I be changed to a different instructor.

  Isn’t that karma for you? To be put in the group with the man I probably insulted seven ways from Sunday? It’s not like I can fake interaction with him. It’s not like I can be a wallflower against the mascot mural and blend in until I disappear.

  The man is going to have his hands on me. He’s going to be physical with me.

  And hell if I didn’t make a bed I’m going to have to lie in.

  Shit.

  For some reason I don’t think sticking my head in the sand is going to get me out of this situation.

  A blue mat on a gym floor isn’t exactly the horizontal action I had in my brief although extensive fantasy of him.

  “So, as Bear said, I’m a SWAT team commander. I like long walks off short piers, chasing parked cars, oh, and babies and puppies are my kryptonite.” He chuckles with the rest of the women, who are shifting on their feet as he tries to put them at ease. “But seriously, I’ve spent my career trying to save people from or trying to get people out of harm’s way. In all this time, there’s one thing I’ve learned: it can happen to anyone. There is no profile for who will be mugged. No stereotype for who will be raped. No anything to pinpoint who will be next.” He pauses and lets the weight of his words sink in before he claps his hands together loud enough to make us jump.

  Shrieks of surprise turn to nervous laughter. The lady next to me startles, and her hand flies to her throat, an “Oh, dear” falling from her mouth. I reach over to pat her back comfortingly, all while my eyes stay right on Reznor as he walks from one end of the mat to the other.

  “And that’s why I want to congratulate you on being here. On taking that first step of being in control of you.” As he speaks he meets the eyes of every woman in the line, and when he gets to where I am standing on the end, gives a subtle shake of his head, but his eyes give away nothing of the words I said to him earlier. “Over the next few weeks, we’ll be learning several different aspects of self-defense. You won’t learn everything overnight, and that’s okay. We’ll take our time so that you’ll feel confident in knowing what to do in case you need to use it. If at any point you’re unsure, please don’t hesitate to ask. Right, so let’s get started.”

  He begins with some basic information—how to hold your fist when you punch, the most sensitive parts on a male body to hit, etcetera—and then asks us to remove our shoes so we can begin.

  “Okay, I need a volunteer to help with the demonstration.”

  Hands shoot up all around me. Smart women. Who wouldn’t want his undivided attention? I’d normally be elbowing through the women with both arms raised to make sure I’m seen and maybe give a crass one-liner to guarantee my selection.

  But that was before I made an ass of myself with him. I refuse to lower my head and hide, but hell if I’m going to be his “body” to demonstrate with.

  And just as the thought crosses my mind, Reznor, with his bright eyes and sarcasm-laced smile, steps directly into my field of vision.

  “Thank you for volunteering,” he says, and I shake my head in protest.

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll watch.”

  Did I really say he probably failed his psych evaluation?

  The smile that’s toying on his lips tells me yes. Yes, I did.

  Crap.

  “I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to making sure you’re prepared.” This time he puts on the brightest smile so everyone sees the charming man trying to get me to participate, while I see the gleam in his eye that says he can’t wait to challenge me and prove me wrong.

  He reaches his hand out to me and rather than take it, out of principle, I look at it and then step past him onto the mat and face the ladies standing there with envious eyes.

  Reznor moves toward me. “What’s your name?”

  “Desi,” I say begrudgingly, wondering why I feel so hostile toward him when I was the ass in our conversation.

  “Desi. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, and I know more than anything he is seeing if I’ll acquiesce in this silent battle of wills we have going on.

  And of course I do. I tell myself it’s only because people are watching, but I grab his hand, squeeze strongly, and shake, all the while trying to ignore the warmth of his skin and the size of his hands.

  “Now, let’s imagine that Desi here is walking through a parking garage late one night,” he says as he walks from one side of the mat, passes behind me, and then to the other side. “She’s busy checking her text messages on her cell and not paying attention to her surroundings. And out of the blue—”

  Suddenly his hand is over my mouth, and his other arm has grabbed my midsection a
nd yanked me back against him. I yelp. Fuck.

  No.

  He’s too close.

  I know where I am. I know who he is. But regardless, panic flickers through me. The kind that makes your mind blank and your heart lurch into your throat.

  The kind I felt when I woke up to find the dark shadow standing at the foot of my bed a few weeks ago.

  “Deep breath,” Reznor murmurs in my ear when he feels my body tense and hears my startled gasp. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  It’s stupid, but his simple words put me at ease, and I hate that I need to be given that feeling.

  “Desi is now in a parking garage without a soul in sight and a man who is going to what? I don’t know what each of you has been through, why you’re here, so I’m not going to spell out potential scenarios. But right now, she’s going to become a victim.” My heart thunders in my throat as his arms tense around me. “Show me what you would do.”

  For a woman who typically loves being the center of attention, I absolutely hate the feeling of it right now. Everyone’s eyes are on me, and all I can think is how the last thing I want is to do the wrong thing and show them how in fact I would be dead.

  Stupid? Yes. The truth? Definitely.

  “Desi?” he murmurs and for the life of me, I don’t know why I do it—why instead of stomping on his instep or throwing my elbow backward, or even trying to twist miraculously away from him so I can knee him in the nuts—I force my tongue out of my covered mouth and lick the palm of his hand.

  I feel him startle, and he loosens his grip in surprise. Just when I begin to wiggle out of his grasp, he’s on me again, but this time, I end up on my back on the mat with a thud. He looms over me with a disbelieving look on his face while I catch the breath that has just whooshed out of me with his move.

  Yep. He’s still handsome.

  And I’m now flat on my ass looking up at him.

  “You see,” Reznor says to our group as he offers me a hand to pull me up, “Desi tried to get cute. And the shock value might work in some instances. She licked my palm, and it sure as hell caught me off guard, but it wasn’t the safest action to take. If I’m a sexual predator high on adrenaline, it might turn me on even further.”