Page 89 of Precious Legacy
“Right, cadets! We’re going to try a new maneuver today!” he bellows. “This involves parrying, hitting and moving to blindside somebody. For example, if someone is coming at you with a knife, you want to avoid entanglement before anyone gets hurt.” His eyes come to mine, and I internally shudder at the way his lips kick up into a deviant smile.
“Caruthers!” he barks, making me flinch as he points to the ground. “On the mat.”
I swallow heavily, glancing at Savannah. I don’t know why I look to her for support when she has no clue why I’m so nervous. This isn’t exactly the first time Prescott has called upon me to assist his demonstration, but there’s something sinister in his eyes as he glares at me.
With a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and step onto the mat.
Prescott hands me the rubber knife—because we never use real ones here—and steps back. Thanks to my Aunt Lexie, I’m already top of this class. It’d be easy enough to demonstrate my own talents with this maneuver, but for the sake of my classmates, I’ll let Prescott have the upper-hand.
Flipping the rubber weapon in my hand, I switch my grip to a more offensive one, widening my stance and watching my training officer carefully.
He gestures with two hands to advance, a smirk curling his viscous lips. I hate how he looks right now; like he knows he’s going to have me pinned in a matter of seconds. Reluctantly, I decide to give him that, even though I’m more than capable of handling myself.
I lunge for him slowly and assuredly, swinging my arm in a motion that shows I’m on the attack. With the aggression of a predator, he blocks my forearm with his left hand, twisting his body to open up the space between us before gripping my arm with his right and yanking it behind me.
Pain ripples up my arm, immediately forcing me to drop the knife as he kicks my legs out from under me. I land on the mat with a thud, my teeth clattering on impact with such force that I grimace. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but I feel the wind kick out of my lungs, leaving me panting for oxygen.
Prescott pins me to the floor, his weight anchoring me to the mat. Panic sours through me, the memories haunting me and freezing me in place. For a moment, I’m suspended in the past, as if I’m watching the whole thing from above. Dark brown eyes filled with sinister intent suffocate me. I can’t breathe. I can’t…
Suddenly, I’m snapped out of my daydream.
“Try again,” he commands, pushing up from our position. He doesn’t help me up, and when I glance at Savannah, I cantell she’s noticed the force behind our trainer’s actions was intentional. It’s not unusual to go through this type of training, but the intent is much more than just teaching us all a move. I can practically feel the hate vibrate through him as we go again, like he’s trying to prove a point to me.
But I refuse to let him win.Not this time.I’ve spent years learning from the best, learning to protect myself. I won’t let this asshole win. It doesn’t matter who he is. I can’t let the past dictate my future, not like this. And I can’t let Prescott hurt me.
We reset, and once more, I let him demonstrate his authority. Only this time, I make it a little harder. Using the techniques Lexie taught me, I switch the blade in my hands as soon as Prescott blocks my first attack. It’s a seamless exchange, done by tossing the knife in the air and spinning away from Prescott in time to catch the weapon with my other hand.
The class erupts into impressed mumbles, which only irritates him. As much as I want to prove I’m not some weak girl, relying on my family name, I can’t let him know he’s gotten to me. So I move lazily around him. Despite my ability, I keep it slow, allowing Prescott enough time to wrap his hand around my other arm. I’m expecting him to swipe my legs out again, but he takes me by surprise by yanking me towards him and lifting an elbow, catching me in the face. Blood pools in my mouth as he uses the momentum to slam me to the floor, my arms pinned on either side of my head.
“Nice try,” he whispers menacingly to me. Then he looks up at the rest of the class, beaming with pride as he stands. I still have the knife in my hand, even though he deems it a victory for him. “Remember the number one rule: never underestimate your opponent!” he shouts. The confidence that oozes through his words isn’t lost on me. He’s referring to himself as the opponent and the cockiness alone is irritating.
The whole room is stunned into silence as I push up from my position, moving straight back into an offensive stance. I was trying to set my pride and anger aside to focus on providing a teaching moment for the class, but Prescott’s arrogance pisses me off. I’ve sworn to myself to stay off the radar and not draw attention to myself, but then he steps towards me, his hot breath so close that I can smell the disgust he holds for me and the reminder of our connection lingering in the forefront of my mind. His next words are what throw me off the edge, because they’re filled with the same misogyny women like me have been battling for years.
“Daddy can’t help you here,” he sneers.
I spit out the blood that has started clogging my mouth, irritation boiling in my veins. I can feel the split in my lip, sore and throbbing, and that’s what lures me into fight mode.
He steps away, but he’s barely created enough distance before I lunge for him again.
I swing my arm, which he predictably attempts to block, only this time I grab his wrist and dive under our joined hands. I use his weight and the momentum to get low enough to throw him over my shoulder. The satisfying thud of his body, followed by the wheezing sound of his chest isn’t enough for me. I pin his shoulders down with my legs, pressing the rubber blade to his throat with an angry smile on my face. “News flash, Prescott,” I say as I lean down. “I fight better than my dad.”
The class explodes into cheers and applause, their excitement almost deafening. My heart races, but it’s not with pride. It’s with agitation and fear. Annoyance that he tried to embarrass me just to prove a point; fear that I just did the same thing and there’s probably a punishment in there somewhere for me.
Pushing up off my knees, I don’t look at a single person as I march off the mats, dropping the rubber weapon on the floorand heading for the locker rooms. The roar of the class still echoes in the gymnasium behind me as I shove the door open to the changing area. Rage pulses through me like I’ve never felt before. Not even Roman’s attempts at ‘protecting me’ come close to how I feel about Prescott trying to bait me like that.
I slam my fist against the locker, the metallic sound bouncing across the room.How dare he try to embarrass me? How dare he think I can’t stand up for myself?
“Hey,” a voice pierces the turbulent thoughts swirling around my head.
I spin around to find Savannah approaching me with caution. Dropping down onto the bench, I fold forward until my elbows rest on my knees.
Her footsteps move around me, but she doesn’t say a word until she’s sitting on the bench opposite, unclipping the first aid box beside her. She pulls out an ice pack, stamping on it with her foot to release the chemical reaction before handing it to me with a soft smile. “You okay?”
I take the ice pack and press it to my lip, hissing at the frigid relief it brings. “Prescott is an asshole,” I murmur.
She chuckles in response, releasing her blonde hair from its ponytail. “Well… we knew that. But he seemed to really have it out for you today.”
“No, shit,” I remark, running my tongue along my split lip. Luckily, it’s not too bad. The pain is manageable, my pride is a little dented, but the satisfaction in landing Prescott on his ass is starting to make me feel a little better.
