Whisky Throttle (Throttle Series, #1)

thirty-four

Maddox

"Punch me," Isaiah says.

I drop my fists, shifting out of my protective stance. I'm taken aback by Isaiah's request. For the past six hours, he's been teaching me the basics of self-defence. So far, I've learned a proper groin kick (this one made me cringe), an uppercut, a heel palm strike, an elbow strike, and how to block oncoming strikes. He's also taught me the basics of making someone immobile with a headlock. Sweat drenches my muscle shirt. Every time I take the wrong step or fail to block a shot, he makes me do thirty push-ups. I would complain, but I'm having fun.

"What?" I blink.

Isaiah shifts into the defensive stance and holds his fists up. "Punch me."

I glance down at my bare knuckles. I'm not comfortable punching Isaiah. He's had enough training to predict my every move, but it doesn't feel right. I glance to my right, where a punching bag hangs. Off to the side is a rack of boxing gloves, dumbbells, and other gym equipment. I jerk my head in that direction. "Can we use boxing gloves? I'll use my strength with the punches. I just... I don't want to hurt you."

Isaiah drops his fists and stares at me for several seconds. I'm convinced he's going to tell me to drop and give him thirty again, but he doesn't. Instead, he jogs over to the rack and collects two pairs of boxing gloves. When he's standing in front of me again, he holds a pair out to me and cocks an eyebrow. "If I sense any resistance, I'm doubling the push-ups. And if there's the opportunity for you to use an elbow strike or threaten to kick me in the groin, take it." He pauses. "Just for clarification, when I'm talking about the groin area, I don't want you to kick me there. Just bring your knee up and pause, okay? We know kicks to the groin aren't fun."

With a curt nod, I pull on the gloves. Although throwing punches and jabbing people with my elbows doesn't feel right, I like that he's pushing me and treating this like a real defensive situation. Picturing my father on his knees makes me giddy. Now that I'm learning proper techniques, I'm realizing Calla's been right all along. There's nothing wrong with me defending myself. There are certain situations where your health and safety matters more than anyone else's.

"You see someone coming at you. What stance do you use?" Isaiah asks, swinging his left fist at me. I block him with my forearm and then duck beneath his other arm, using my agility to pull him into a headlock.

I hold him in place for five seconds and then let him go. "I stand with my legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, left foot turned to point towards my oncoming attacker. My fists need to be loose and my right hand hovers by my chin, and my left hand goes down in front of my face. Pointing my chin down and keeping my eyes up is the best way to track movements. It's best to be comfortable, but not stiff." As I speak, I calculate my escape routes and watch for any sign of abrupt movement in Isaiah's stance.

"Very good," he grins. "And what happens if your attacker is a surprise?"

He lunges at me, striking my shoulder with an uppercut. Although he's hit me, I feel a rush of pride. He wasn't aiming for my shoulder. He was aiming for my jaw. I read the movements properly.