Revenant

Chapter 16

"Euuuurrrrrk!" I managed to say in reply, beating my arms frantically against the forearm that held me up. It was literally like striking wood, and I've punched enough wood to know.

Stevie's eyes narrowed, and I thought I heard something like the creaking of old leather at the same time. He simply stood there, staring up at me.

I fought down my panic.

Training. Martial arts. Krav Maga.

Right.

I grabbed the wrist that held me with both hands, pulling down and sliding myself up the wall a little, extending my neck slightly beyond his grip and freeing some space around my windpipe. Simultaneously, I bent my knees and planted the heels of both feet directly behind me, against the wall I was being pinned against. I relaxed my back muscles and pushed the soles of my feet off against the boards as hard as I could, swinging my legs up into the air between me and Stevie. The whole thing felt a little like doing a backward somersault.

Both legs shot up on either side of his outstretched arm before wrapping around it. I stretched out my back and rolled my head, effectively making it so he was no longer able to press me against the wall by my neck. Instead, all of my weight was now wrapped around his arm, which he was holding at shoulder height.

His arm, unable to cope with the physics of this new situation, came down fast. He fell forward and down, stumbling to one knee as he did, which allowed me to twist a little mid-fall and ram his head against the base of the wall.

I rolled on my shoulders as we both fell, and then twisted his arm a little more so that his elbow was lying against my chest. Once I hit the floor I tightened my grip, flexed my legs around his arm, and arched my back as far as I could. I heard him give a muffled cry of surprise. There was a spastic twitch from the muscles in his arm, and I heard a sort of soggy cracking sound, like a large stalk of celery being snapped in two.

Krav Maga for the win. A broken arm or hyperextended elbow would definitely make him more manageable.

Or so I thought.

Releasing my hold on his wrist, I gave him a solid kick to his face with the heel of my shoe. It connected smartly with his cheek . . .

. . . and that's the last thing I remember doing during that particular exchange.

The details were fuzzy, but when I once again became aware of what was happening to me, I could recall having been lifted up off the floor, slammed into another wall, kicked savagely in the ribs, lifted up bodily once more, slammed against the ceiling, and I was now back in a familiar position - pinned against the wall with Stevie holding me up with a single, powerful arm.

The same freaking arm I'd just attacked.

He drew himself up closer to my face and stared me in the eyes. I busied myself making strangled choking noises.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, sounding both annoyed and surprised.

I tried to say, 'Sorry', but it came out as, "Skrrrrkkp!"

This is what's called 'not being at the top of your game'.

Stevie just held me there in an unconcerned fashion, like it wasn't taxing his strength in the slightest. Even as I was struggling to clear my airway and get some much-needed oxygen to my lungs and brain, I was marveling at how he could simply stand there, arm as stiff as petrified wood, his grip as solid and immovable as cold steel.

He stared at me for a few seconds more before coming to the conclusion that I couldn't breathe, probably from how purple my face was turning. Considering me for a moment, he used his free hand to grab a second handful of shirt from much lower down, released his grip on my neck, and then pinned me up against the wall with my shirt instead. Not much of an improvement, but at least I'd be able to breathe.