Page 83 of Fractured Memories

He scoffs, and I’m starting to feel bad for putting him in this position. He shifts again, and I’m about to tell him that we don’t need to—even if I really do want to get on a mat—when he jerks his head to the center one. It’s now vacated.

“Let’s go.”

Adrenaline buzzes through my body as I follow him across the space. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice heads turning in our direction. Everyone is stopping to watch our match.

Jude pulls his weapons from the sheaths along his body, the guns on his ribs and so many blades—most of which were invisible to me—forming a pile on the ground. I yank the knives I have free, dropping them just shy of the mat’s edge before moving toward the center.

Jude has shed his holsters, too, leaving him in the form-fitting shirt, pants, and boots that he always wears. It might be the most dressed down I’ve ever seen him—well, that I can remember.

“No weapons?” He cocks his head, scanning my frame.

I lift my hands, palms out. “Don’t trust me?”

His lips curl. “I know how tricky you can be.”

That nearly makes me laugh, but I just shake my head. “No weapons. Rules?”

“Tap out. Avoid any lingering damage.”

I shift my weight back as he starts to circle me. “No promises.”

“I’d expect nothing less from you.”

The words are just barely out of his mouth when he lunges. I had suspected that he would prefer close combat, and given our size difference, I need space to use my momentum against him. He’s taking that away.

But I’d be better off on the ground anyway, where his weight won’t so easily overpower mine when I’d be able to use leverage. That’s why I let him grab my wrist, yanking me forward. Instead of allowing him to control the movement, I shift onto the opposite foot, lifting my leg to slam the heel into his knee. He’ll drag me down with him, but it’ll land me on top.

My kick never connects. Jude’s other hand grabs behind my knee, halting my movement. “I know that one.”

He tosses me back, but I twist, wrapping my fingers around the hand still holding my wrist. It’s enough to bring Jude down with me. I just don’t want to allow him to maintain control.

I’m rolling before we even hit the ground, trying to pry my wrist from his grasp. But it’s iron strong. I didn’t use enough momentum to throw him over me, which puts me in the unfortunate position of him at my back.

“You know better than this,” he says admonishingly as his arm wraps around my throat.

“So do you,” I snap back as I slam my elbow down into the soft space below his ribs. His chokehold left the spot exposed, and he grunts but doesn’t release me.

Frustrated, I plant my feet, shifting my hips as I bring my elbow down again. I twist at the same moment as impact, and it’s enough to break his hold.

Pushing off my back foot, I slam my body into his shoulder to rock him back, swinging my legs around his upper body in a move that is more muscle memory than actual thought. This entire fight has been a flow of movements that feel as natural as breathing, even if I can’t explain it.

Jude’s back slams into the mat as my thighs wrap around his throat, his arm caught in my grasp. I lock my ankles, applying pressure fast before he can pry me off of him.

“Tap, Jude,” I hiss as he tries to force my legs apart.

His response is to lift up and slam back. The impact pulls a grunt from me, but I don’t loosen my hold on him. Instead, I arch my back, applying pressure to his shoulder as I wrench his arm back. I could easily cause a break or dislocate his shoulder like this, if he doesn’t pass out first.

And still the bastard doesn’t tap.

“Jude,” I snap. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not going to ease up, either.

His face is red from the lack of oxygen, but he tries to push up into a seated position rather than admitting defeat. I know he’ll be able to knock me loose if I let him get up, so I arch harder, the chokehold growing tighter as I apply more pressure to his shoulder. At least if it pops out, it won’t be lasting damage.

It might seem counterintuitive to get him to relax around me by nearly ripping his arm from his body, but I want him to stop holding back with me. Which means I’m going to push him hard.

I’m just starting to worry that the stubborn ass is going to take it too far.

Finally, he slaps his palm to the mat, and I loosen the pressure on his shoulder and throat. Rolling off of him, I kneel across from Jude, my attention focused solely on him despite the people cheering around us. We must have put on quite a show.