Goddess Rising

by Alexi Lawless

  They acquiesced, facing off, each adjusting their stances as they readied to attack.

  “Now the ultimate trick to good hand-to-hand warfare is how to keep it fast and silent. You need to be able to improvise quickly, analyze the fastest way to take the other guy down,” Clarke told them. “Wyatt, tell me what you’d do if you had four seconds to take De Soto out. Assuming you don’t have a gun or a knife.”

  She stared hard at Alejo’s face, her eyes trailing down to his throat. Then his torso. Her eyes came back up.

  “Hit him hard in the larynx. Probably with my elbow,” she answered.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I hit him hard enough right there,” she said, specifying his throat, “It’ll collapse the voice box and damage the esophagus so badly, he’ll suffocate. And at my height, it’s easier to deliver than trying to knock him out with a punch to the face or temple. It’ll also keep him quiet as he goes down. Less likely to alert other hostiles.”

  Clarke nodded. “You’d disarm him immediately, and the move is quiet except for the gagging noises. He’ll be too distracted clutching his throat to be a problem, and he’ll be dead within a minute, maybe two. Now explain why you’d use the elbow. Why not the hand?” he asked her, his gaze direct and unwavering.

  “The hand usually gets damaged first, particularly if you’re hitting the head,” she explained. “The elbow is a sharper weapon at this close distance. Don’t need the wind up. You just need a short, hard blow to get the job done. He’s got twice my strength, but it doesn’t matter with an elbow. It’s all about timing the delivery.”

  “Good.” Clarke nodded, turning to Alejandro. “And you? What would you do?”

  Alejandro stared at her, impassive and calculating. “Two fast blows to the temple with right hooks. The first to stun, the second to knock her out,” he answered, eyes narrowing. “As she’s falling, use the downward momentum to knee her hard in the face. Enough to shove her nose bone into her brain or cave in her nose and cheekbones so she suffocates on her on blood. Either way, she’s done, with compressed facial fractures. She’s not getting back up again,” he rationalized.

  Alejandro was a natural. Instinctive where Sam was cerebral. He didn’t have a guard or a filter. And the military was going to make him a killer, if he wasn’t one already. Sam knew Alejo would be a standout. Knew he’d go far in whichever branch he decided to enlist, but she also realized she’d have to become more like that to survive. She, too, would have to be willing to pull out all the stops. No more playing back on the defense. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to get comfortable with taking the offensive. She’d have to be vicious and aggressive and unflinching. There was no room for distractions. No place for self-doubt.

  Sam cleared her mind as Clarke gave the group their next set of instructions.

  “For this next round, try to keep your tactics down to a handful of seconds. I’ve been having you spar continuously to gauge your style, tenacity, and endurance, but the truth is, you need to spend as few seconds on your enemy combatant as possible. Maim, kill, and move on. You hit hard, you hit fast, and you aim to kill. Now get back to working with your partners.”

  As the cadets broke apart, Clarke turned toward Samantha again. “No more of this parry and defense shit, Wyatt. You already have a leading edge. You just need to learn to take advantage of it.”

  Sam glanced at Alejo, at least a full head taller and eighty pounds more muscle than her. “Sir, no disrespect, but how do you figure?”

  Clarke’s mouth turned up with the hint of a smile, hazel eyes amused. “You’re beautiful, which is distracting, and men in most cultures have issues with attacking women outright for a variety of reasons,” he answered frankly. “You have the first mover advantage by taking that initial moment of subconscious hesitancy. You just have to be willing to take no prisoners. You have to be ferocious.” He paused a moment. “Think you can do that?”

  She eyed Alejandro. “May I have another partner?”

  “Why?”

  Sam smirked. “Because I’ve got no problem kicking this guy’s ass,” she explained as Alejo rolled his eyes. “I’d like to try going head-to-head with someone I don’t have history with.”

  “Chicken.” Alejandro smirked.

  “Says the guy who just passed out in my arms.”

  “From boredom,” Alejandro drawled.

  Clarke lifted a brow, glancing between the two of them. “You two got a thing?”

  “Yeah,” Sam replied. “Intense mutual dislike.”

  “Aw, you’re just jealous of me most of the time, Wyatt,” Alejo answered, a conceited smirk on his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly getting his second wind back.

  Sam snorted. All told, the only good thing from the fallout with Wes so far was her relationship with Alejo. Sam doubted they’d ever hang out together, but she knew he had her back now. Sam didn’t mention that she knew about his role in getting Wes arrested, and Alejandro didn’t mention that he’d made her soup and saw her cry. So she figured they were pretty much even. But that didn’t mean she wanted to try to go up against someone else after four hours of training with Alejo.

  “Okay, then go against me,” Clarke suggested, squaring off with her on the mat as Alejandro stepped aside, eyes bright with curiosity and excitement.

  Holy shit. Not exactly what she’d intended, but then she’d been the one to go asking for a different partner. Sam took a couple fast breaths as she planned her moves, watching Clarke as he observed her, mapping out his own strategy.

  Hit hard. Hit fast. Overwhelming force like Alejo. Aim to kill.

  Clarke was likely going to crush her, though the idea of going head-to-head with an honest-to-God SEAL was as exhilarating as it was scary. But Sam couldn’t focus on the fear, and she couldn’t back down. There was no room for self-doubt, she reminded herself. Not if she wanted to play with the big boys.

  Clarke had called her femininity a strength. Perhaps he’d been the first to do so. Growing up, her father and Uncle Grant had treated her gender as a neutral factor at best. Being female was not a strength, not a weakness—just a fact. At the Corps, being a female had been an assumed weakness the first few weeks. And then it had made her an anomaly when everyone realized she was one of the few girls who could roll with the boys with no problem.

  And now, finally, it was a source of power. You have the advantage, Clarke had told her. But you have to be ferocious. Sam made her mind up in a split second.

  “Go easy on me, all right?” she asked Clarke, her voice a little breathless, eyes all big and sincere.

  Clarke grinned broadly, like he’d be taking candy from a baby. He stepped toward her as Alejandro moved away, and Sam extended her hand to shake on it. Clarke responded in kind, human nature or his inner gentleman kicking in.

  She stepped closer than he expected, her right hand closing on his wrist to lock it into place as she spun swiftly and tucked her hips under his pelvis in a blur of movement, her right shoulder buried sharply in his rotator cuff.

  One Mississippi.

  A fast, dislocating snap of her hip sent Clarke flying up high and over. Sam used her grip on his wrist to direct him onto the ground in a hard 180º angle, knocking the wind out of him.

  Two Mississippi.

  She came down hard before he could respond, elbow positioned right over Clarke’s trachea before he could roll away, applying just enough pressure to show him she meant business.

  Three Mississippi.

  A collective hush fell around them as the cadets and the SEAL trainers stopped to stare.

  Alejandro’s mouth fell open.

  Her heart was racing, like she’d been shot full of adrenaline.

  Sam looked down at Clarke, his hazel eyes wide with surprise.

  “Like that?” she asked, smiling at him.

  A low, rumble of laughter came out of Clarke’s throat as he stared up at her in astonished approval.

  “Yeah, Wyatt,” he said, ou
t of breath. “Just. Like. That.”

  *

  October—Friday Evening

  Chris and Wes’s Apartment, Texas A&M

  W E S L E Y

  Wes trudged up the stairs to his apartment, thinking about what Miranda had told him. He wondered if what she’d suggested was possible or if he should even go after Samantha—try to fix what he’d broken. It was a circular dilemma. If Wes went after her because he was lonely and missed her like hell, was it because he was really just a selfish sonofabitch who wanted her back even if it wasn’t what was best for the both of them? Or was it because he’d made a mistake and he was manning up and admitting it?

  Miranda’s point about his father had cut him up. Wes didn’t want to be the guy who left when the going got tough—not even just a little bit—no matter how good the excuses were.

  When Wes opened the door to his place, he was shocked and a little relieved to see Chris toweling his hair dry as he flipped through the channels on their TV, like nothing had happened.

  “I thought you were going to ignore me forever,” Wes said as he shut the door.

  “Thought about it,” Chris admitted, glancing at him. “But I would have felt guilty letting a guy as pretty as you stay in county lockup too long.”

  “Ha-ha. And I ain’t so pretty now, thanks to you.” Wes pointed at his nose. “Purcell bailed me out not long after you.”

  “I heard.”

  “How?” Wes looked at him in surprise.

  “Went back there yesterday. They told me what happened.”

  Wes nodded as he made his way into the kitchen. He pulled out a couple beers. “You felt guilty, huh?”

  Chris shrugged, catching the beer Wes tossed him in one hand as he tossed the towel aside. “How’re your ribs, you stupid sonofabitch?”

  “Cracked. But then, you know that, evil bastard,” Wes answered openly. “You got fists built like iron sledgehammers. I almost feel bad for the other team.”

  Chris tilted his head. “You hurt Sammy again, and I’ll really make you suffer.”

  Wes sat down on the sofa. “I don’t need any threats, Chris. Life without this girl’s been bad enough without you beating on me like a piñata.”

  “And if you think I’m bad, wait ’til Rita gets ahold of you,” Chris added meaningfully. “You’re not working tonight?” he asked, switching subjects.

  “Nah,” Wes shook his head. “Manager figures my face will scare off the customers. Told me to come back on in a few days.”

  “Just as well,” Chris replied with a shrug. “With October break coming up, it’ll be quiet around here.”

  Wes slapped his forehead. Between drama with Sam, class work, and bar work, he’d completely forgotten about the long weekend. “You going to be around?”

  Chris shook his head. “Away game, remember?”

  “Shit, I forgot. Sorry.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind,” Chris answered. “Like what a stupid prick you are,” he added, slanting Wes a look.

  Fair enough. Chris was pissed, but at least they were talking.

  Wes leaned back on the sofa, his ribs aching. “Miranda and I submitted the articles for the internship today.”

  Chris lifted his beer. “Congratulations.”

  “Not yet,” Wes responded. “But it’s looking good. Purcell is pleased.”

  “So what happens if you get the gig?” Chris asked.

  “Figure if I do well enough in the minors, I might get called up to the majors by the time I graduate.”

  “And if not?”

  “Pay my dues another way.” Wes leaned back. “Either way, I know what I want and I’m going after it.”

  Chris made a face.

  “What?”

  “That’s what you said about Sammy,” Chris reminded him grimly. “And you sure as shit made a mess of that.”

  “How is she?” Wes asked after a moment, his breath hitching at the end of the question.

  Chris glanced at him. “Better.”

  “Without me, you mean.”

  Chris shrugged. “In spite of you, maybe.”

  “I never missed anyone before her,” Wes admitted after a long moment.

  “I know it,” Chris replied, drinking his beer. “Sam’s the kind of girl you’ll miss your whole life.”

  Wes glanced up. “How do you know?”

  Chris shook his head at him. “How do you not know?”

  Wes took a slug of his beer, staring up at the ceiling.

  “I need to apologize to her,” Wes told him honestly. “I fucked up royally, and she’ll probably never talk to me again, but I said some things I’m not proud of. Things I knew would hurt her.”

  Chris crossed his arms. “She’s better off without you, Wes.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not better off without her, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.”

  Chris considered him for a long moment. “You tore the heart right out of her.”

  “I did,” Wes replied gravely. “I tore the heart right out of me too while I was at it.”

  “She’s getting things back on track. Give her a little time, okay?” Chris told him. “I know you probably want to charge right back in there, but I’m telling you, she needs some space to figure things out. Let her.”

  Space. The irony was not lost on him. Keeping his distance from her had been what got him all screwed up in the first place. And now, when she needed the space, he probably would fuck up any apology if he didn’t give it to her.

  “Does she have training out at Fort Hood or Camp Swift over the break?” Wes asked.

  “Nah,” Chris replied. “She’ll be in Houston. She’s got a meeting with some big wig over at a naval office. I think she’ll stay there the weekend.”

  The Kennedy Irregular Warfare Center. A picture of Travis standing at her kitchen table and telling her to call him so he could take her out next time she was in Houston flooded Wes’s mind. His fingers tightened around the bottle. Shit. He’d basically stepped aside and allowed Travis to get exactly what he’d wanted, hadn’t he? Wes wanted to charge right over to her and grab her up in his arms. To hell with space and waiting. Wes stood.

  Chris shot him a look of censure, like he knew exactly what Wes was thinking. “Sit your ass down.”

  Wes glared at him.

  “You need to stop putting your feelings and your wants in front of hers, jackass,” Chris told him. “You love her? Then leave her alone. Sammy’s just getting it back together. She doesn’t need you derailing her because you just figured out you made the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “I’m going after what I want,” Wes argued.

  “Oh, yeah?” Chris taunted. “How well did that work out for you last time?”

  He had a point there. Wes knew he’d have to make amends, if only because Sam didn’t deserve some of the vitriol he’d laid at her door. He wasn’t sure if Miranda was right—in fact, he sincerely doubted Sam would ever consider giving him another chance, but he knew her well enough to give her a little time before he went charging back in there. Sam was the kind of girl who’d want to stand on her own feet, either way. Wes pushed a hand through his hair, rubbing his neck. “Christ, I hate it when you’re right.”

  Chris smiled grimly. “Just sit down and finish your beer. Tomorrow’s a new day, and you got your own shit to sort out, don’t you, Wes?”

  God, do I ever.

  *

  October—Same Time, Friday Night

  Sam’s Apartment, Texas A&M

  S A M A N T H A

  “Jesus Christ, I hurt,” Rita groaned from where she was sprawled out on Sam’s couch. Sam tossed her another frozen bag of peas from the kitchen. Rita caught it without blinking—and without dropping the spoon she had dipped into the half gallon of Blue Bell ice cream she was holding. “You think they could make ice cream with painkillers mixed in?”

  “Why? So you could overdose on sugar and opiates at the same time?” Sam teased, sitting down beside Rita as she reached forw
ard to press play on the movie they were watching.

  Rita held the bag of peas to the knot on her head that she’d gotten during the FTX they’d finished a couple hours ago. “How is it you’re not hurting as bad as me?”

  “Who says I’m not?” Sam countered, glancing at her friend. “Been hurting so bad the past week, it’s all just becoming a state of mind, I guess.”

  Rita dropped her hand from her face, her eyes softening. “You doing okay, jaina?”

  Sam shrugged, pushing her spoon into the ice cream they were sharing while they waited for pizza to arrive. What a pair they made, both black and blue, too tired to do more than hang out on her sofa and eat junk food on a weekend night while the rest of the cadets took the SEALs out and showed them a good time.

  “Nothing time and a lot of ice cream won’t fix,” she said to Rita with a sad little smile.

  “You kicked some serious ass today,” Rita told her with a grin. “That’s got to count for something. You and Alejo are definitely back at the top of the pool after today’s little performance.”

  Sam shrugged nonchalantly, though she thrilled at the win on the inside.

  “God, that bath did me good,” Rita groaned, setting her spoon down on the coffee table and stretching. “That’s a big plus of having you in your own apartment. You have a full-sized tub.”

  Sam had suggested Rita stay over after they’d both agreed they weren’t going out with the rest of the cadets, and Rita had jumped at the chance to take a proper bath while Sam ordered pizza and made up the sofa bed. Truth told, Sam was also tired of being alone. It’d been a long and rough week, and having Rita around made her feel unaccountably better.

  “Why don’t you stay here while I’m in Houston this week?” Sam suggested. “Call it a mini-break from the dorms. And you can water my plants.” Rita wasn’t going home to Chicago. Not enough money and not enough time, she’d said. And Alejo would be going south to Padre Island with Vin and a few of his buddies. Sam figured it would be a win/win.

  Rita rolled her eyes. “You have a cactus.”

  “So keep him company. I named him Guillermo.”

  “When do you head to Houston?” Rita asked.

  “Wednesday. Right after class.”