Page 29 of Collateral Damage
I repeat the motion. It works.
"Good. One more time, but faster."
This time when he grabs me, I don't think—I just move. Rotate, pull. My wrist comes free.
"Perfect." There's approval in his voice. "That’s muscle memory starting to build. We’ll practice it a few more times, then move to a different grip."
We run through the wrist release until my movements become smoother and more confident. Then he switches angles—grabbing from the side, from behind, with his other hand. Each time, the principle stays the same. Find the thumb. Rotate. Break free.
"Now let’s talk about what happens if someone grabs both wrists," he says.
My pulse kicks up a notch.
He moves to face me again, hands open. "I’m going to take both your wrists. When I do, I want you to bring your arms up fast—like you’re raising the roof—and step back at the same time. The upward motion breaks the grip. The step back creates distance."
"That’s it?"
"That’s it." He reaches for both my wrists, his grip gentle but secure. "Ready? Go."
I yank my arms up hard—too hard—and stumble backward into the armchair. Silas catches my elbow before I fall. "Easy. You’ve got it. Just controlled force, not panic."
Heat floods my face. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. That was good power." He steadies me, then steps back. "Let’s try it again. Same move, but plant your feet first."
We practice the double-wrist release three more times. On the fourth attempt, I bring my arms up with the right amount of force and step back cleanly.
"Good," Silas says. "Now one more scenario. If someone comes at you from behind and wraps their arms around you?—"
He moves behind me, and my entire body goes rigid.
"Hey." His voice is quiet, steady. "I’m not going to grab you yet. I’m just going to talk you through it first, okay?"
I nod, forcing myself to breathe.
"If someone pins your arms like this—" He steps to the side, so I can see, and mimes the position without touching me. "Your instinct will be to struggle forward. Don’t. Drop your weight, get low, then drive your elbow back into their ribs. Hard as you can."
"I understand."
"I’m going to put my arms around you now—loose, so you can feel the position. Tell me if you need me to stop."
"I’ll be fine," I manage.
He shifts back into position, his arms come around me from behind, not tight, just enough contact to demonstrate. "Now drop your weight and?—"
I shift too fast, my weight drops, and my elbow swings back. He catches my arm before I can make contact, his hand wrapping around my wrist, and in one smooth motion, he turns me to face him.
But the demonstration puts us chest-to-chest.
We’re close enough that I can see his pupils dilate. Close enough to count his breaths. Close enough that if either of us moved even slightly forward...
He blinks. Swallows.
"I should—" His voice comes out low, rough. "Check-in."
I can't seem to make my vocal chords cooperate, so I just nod. But neither of us moves.
His other hand’s still at my waist, steadying me. Mine’s caught against his chest, trapped between us. I can feel his heart beating under my palm—steady, strong, faster than it should be.
