Chapter 7

“You need to learn some self defense.”

I look at Killian as I put the final touches on the Christmas tree. I have spent time each day using the decorations from the boxes to create a room that Hallmark would be proud of. The final piece is the tree, and I just added the star to it.

Killian”s statement cuts through the festive atmosphere like a sudden chill. I turn to face him, the warmth of the decorations now in stark contrast to the gravity in his eyes.

”Self-defense?” I echo, my gaze lingering on the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. The sense of peace and security that had settled over me is momentarily shattered by the reminder of a world beyond the cabin walls—a world where threats lurk, and I need to be prepared.

Killian”s expression remains unyielding, his eyes meeting mine with a cold intensity. ”You can”t rely on others to protect you,” he states bluntly. ”We can”t be with you every moment. You need to know how to defend yourself.”

A lump forms in my throat as the past, with its shadows of vulnerability and fear, looms over me once again. Despite the newfound sanctuary, the echoes of my stepfather”s torment haven”t completely faded.

I take a deep breath, trying to push aside the rising anxiety. ”What kind of self-defense?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Killian”s eyes hold a calculating edge. “I could teach you how to kill a man with just a few fingers. Simple, yet effective,” he says, his tone devoid of emotion. The words linger between us, carrying a darkness I hadn”t expected.

For a moment, I stand there, gaping at him in shock. The festive glow of the Christmas tree seems to lose its luster in the face of this stark revelation. I had gotten comfortable in this cabin surrounded by these men, and now the reality of the outside world crashes into my haven.

Killian, seemingly unfazed by my reaction, continues, ”But we”ll start with something practical. I”ll teach you how to handle a gun.”

Unease churns in my stomach at the mention of firearms. Guns are a far cry from the peaceful scenes I imagined when decorating the cabin. I glance from Killian to the Christmas tree, the disconnect between the two scenes almost surreal.

”Shoot a gun?” I repeat, my voice barely a whisper.

Killian nods, his expression unyielding. ”It”s a necessary skill. Better to be prepared than helpless.”

As the gravity of his words sink in, I realize that the haven of the cabin is, in some ways, an illusion. The outside world, with all its dangers, still exists. And despite the warmth within these walls, the need for self-defense lingers like a sobering reality.

”I... I don”t know,” I stammer, torn between the desire for a peaceful existence and the acknowledgment that such innocence might be a luxury I can”t afford. ”Can”t we just enjoy the holidays without worrying about all of that?”

Killian”s expression remains resolute, unmoved by my plea for a temporary reprieve. ”Being prepared doesn”t mean living in fear. It means being aware. Trust me, you”ll feel safer knowing you have the skills to protect yourself.”

As I grapple with the conflicting emotions, Damon and Rayth, who have been occupied with other tasks in the cabin, approach. They sense the tension in the air.

”What”s going on?” Damon asks, his eyes flickering between us.

”She needs to learn self-defense. I”m suggesting we start with firearms training,” Killian answers, his gaze not leaving mine.

Damon”s brows furrow in concern, while Rayth observes with a thoughtful gaze. I find myself caught up in the scrutiny of these men who have become, in a very short time, integral parts of my life.

Before any of them can say more, I gather my thoughts, recognizing that what Killian says is true while still hoping for an alternative to firearms training. ”Can”t I learn something less... lethal?” I ask, my voice carrying a plea for a compromise. ”Like, how to hit someone or stop them from hitting me enough that I can get away?”

”Listen,” Killian says, his voice firm and unemotional, gaze remaining unwavering. ”I get it. You want to believe that physical strength doesn”t matter, that you can defend yourself without resorting to lethal means. But you”ve been through hell, you almost died, and you”re tiny. Against someone of my size, you won”t be able to hold your own. It”s a fact. In a life-or-death situation, your size won”t be an advantage. You need to know how to shoot someone so they don”t get close enough to even lay a finger on you.”

The harsh reality of his words settles in, and a chill washes over me. The illusion of safety shatters as I face the undeniable truth—he is right again. I almost lost my life before, and my physical stature is a vulnerability I can”t afford to ignore.

”If someone comes after you,” Killian continues, ”they won”t play fair. They won”t give you a chance to use your size to your advantage. You need to know how to keep them at a distance, and sometimes, that means using a firearm.”

A heavy silence hangs in the room as I grapple with the reality of his words. The desire for a peaceful, idyllic existence clashes with the pragmatic necessity of survival. I can”t escape the fact that the skills Killian is proposing are born out of a harsh reality, one that I experienced firsthand.

”Okay,” I say, my voice quieter but resolute. ”Teach me.”

In the days that follow, the cabin becomes a peculiar blend of holiday festivities and survival training. The area behind the cabin, once buried under layers of snow, becomes our makeshift shooting range. Damon, Rayth, and Killian take turns guiding me through the basics of handling a firearm, emphasizing safety, accuracy, and the grim reality of how they work.

During the daylight hours, under the crisp winter sky, I learn to shoot, the sound of gunfire echoing against the surrounding trees.

As the sun dips below the horizon, we transition to physical defense lessons. Killian, in his unyielding manner, teaches me the essentials of hand-to-hand combat. The moves are simple yet effective, focused on creating distance and disabling an opponent. The training leaves me exhausted, my body aching, but each day I push through, determined to acquire the skills I need to protect myself.

Nights in the cabin take on a different rhythm. After our training sessions, we gather around the fireplace, the warm glow illuminating the room. I often find myself drifting off on the couch, the fatigue from the day”s activities lulling me into a deep slumber.

Morning sunlight finds me in the bed I”ve commandeered, nestled between the warmth of two of the men who graciously accommodate my newfound need for close proximity. They take turns sharing my bed, and I never know in advance who I will wake up to.

The thoughts of where these men acquired their skills lingers in the back of my mind, but gratitude overshadows curiosity. They are giving me a chance at a life free from the constant threat of my stepfather.

The night before Christmas Eve, frustration simmers within me like an uneasy storm again. The continuous self-defense training in such close quarters leaves me on edge, yearning for a different kind of physical exercise. As the tension in the cabin thickens, an impulsive urge to once again provoke at least one of the men takes hold of me.

In a calculated move, I decide to use my body as a distraction. During the physical self-defense lesson, as Killian demonstrates a particularly intricate move, I seize the opportunity to execute my plan. With a mischievous glint in my eye, I pretend to fumble with the stance he just showed me, feigning confusion.

”Like this?” I question innocently, casting a sly glance at Killian.

His response is swift and decisive, correcting my posture with a focused intensity. The others observe, their attention momentarily diverted from the serious nature of the training. I continue my act, pretending to struggle with the moves, all the while allowing my body to move with a certain fluidity that now comes more easily to me.

As Killian concentrates on refining my technique, I seize the opportunity to catch him off guard. With a sudden surge of energy, I execute a move he doesn’t anticipate, successfully taking him down to the ground. I straddle his waist, a triumphant grin on my face.

The room falls into a stunned silence, the others registering the unexpected turn of events. Killian, beneath me, wears an expression that is a mix of surprise and, oddly, a hint of amusement. The physical proximity, the raw energy of the moment, sends a jolt through me, stirring a different kind of tension.

”Well, it seems you”ve got the hang of that move,” Killian remarks.

I maintain the act, teasingly grinding my hips against his, the playful fa?ade bordering on something more provocative. The atmosphere in the room shifts, a charged energy filling the air.

Feeling the eyes of the other men on us, I decide to take it a step further. With a coy smile, I reach down and start to pull off the shirt I have on, revealing the pale lines of my body and my small, bare breasts. ”How about this move?” I ask, my voice a sultry whisper.

Killian”s eyes heat up at the sight of me.

Still straddling him, I know I have him where I want him. Without waiting for his response, I lean down, my lips brushing against his ear. ”Or do I need more practice?” I murmur, the words laced with a playful challenge.

In that charged moment, Killian”s demeanor changes. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in my hair with a sudden harsh grip. With a swift motion, he sits up, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet in a hard, passionate kiss that might have surprised me if I wasn’t mentally begging for it.

As the kiss deepens, I moan into it. I can feel Killian”s hands exploring my body, his touch possessive and demanding. Eager to reciprocate, I pull at Killian”s shirt, the urgency of the moment driving me to want more. It feels like the atmosphere of the room crackles with my desire and frustration.

Killian rolls us over, his movements swift and decisive. As he raises up, his hands move to the waistband of my pants, fingers deftly working to remove the last remnants of clothing that separate us.

”I want you to tie me up,” I say, surprising even myself with the boldness of the request. ”I want to replace the bad memories I have with good ones.”

There is a pause in the room, and the others exchange glances. Killian, seemingly unfazed, responds, ”My supplies are in the car.”

Damon winces, admitting, ”My rope and zip ties are in my go bag in the car too.”

Rayth, however, seems to have a sudden thought. He moves over to the remaining Christmas decorations, reaching for the tinsel. ”How about this?” he suggests, holding it up with a lighthearted grin.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the unconventional choice. ”Tinsel?”

Rayth chuckles, ”It”s festive, and it won”t leave any marks.”

I look at the tinsel in his hands, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing my face. ”Um, that will work. Can we also revisit this conversation again, where you explain to me why you have rope and zip ties in a ”go bag”?” I ask.