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fight.”
    I lowered my hands, placed them on my hips. “You’re kidding, right?” We were under constant threat of attack, even here, surrounded by resistance.
    “You don’t need to fight like that,” he clarified, and laughed again. “Unless you’re planning on taking up boxing.”
    I tried not to smile, but it was hard when he was so clearly amused.
    “How, then?”
    “Well.” He took a step closer and my heart stuttered. His hands shot out and gripped my wrists. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough so that I couldn’t automatically jerk away. “What’s your plan?” His smile had melted.
    I struggled for a few moments—trying to bring my fists together, to pull out of his clutches, to turn my body away—but he was too powerful. I conceded with a huff of breath.
    “Most people coming for you will be bigger and stronger,” he said, moving even closer so that I had to look up to see his face. His chest bumped against mine and I swallowed, feeling every place we connected. “But you’re quick. You’re not going to beat them in a slugfest, but you can get away if someone grabs you.”
    “How?”
    “Where do you break a chain?” he responded. “Look at me,” he said when I glanced down at our hands.
    I pictured a metal chain, one link after another. Staring into his brown eyes I answered, “At the weakest link.”
    “Between my thumb and my fingers is a breaking point.” His thumbs rubbed the sensitive skin of my wrists. “Break out.”
    I took a deep breath, and then as quickly as I could, twisted my wrists and pulled them together, right through the gap in his grip.
    I beamed. “Now what?”
    “Now you run,” he said, grinning back. “But if you can’t, go for soft spots. Eyes, ears, mouth, neck…” He gestured lower and I averted my gaze. “Like I said, you’re quick. Don’t think twice. Hit a soft spot and get out.”
    He grabbed my wrists again, and this time I didn’t hesitate. I twisted out, then turned to run, but before I’d made it two steps he’d caught me, his forearm pressed lightly against my neck so that if I moved forward, I’d choke. My hands went straight to his hold, trying in vain to pull it down. His muscles flexed against me, but didn’t tighten. My back rested flush against his chest, which was warm and solid, and pressed more firmly against me with each breath.
    “Tuck your chin,” he whispered. I could feel his lips move against my neck and shivered.
    Giving up on moving his arm, I did as he said and burrowed my chin into his muscle. When I’d succeeded on sliding beneath his hold, I could breathe easier, though still not escape.
    He told me I could kick back with my heel, drag it down his shin, and stomp on his foot, but when I tried he sidestepped out of the way, pulling me like a rag doll with him.
    “Get as much air as you can,” he instructed, “then, all at once, shove your hips back and lean forward. It’ll throw me off balance.”
    I breathed in as deeply as I could, and pushed back against him.
    It didn’t work. We straightened, struggled, and then at some point became still. Every inch of my skin heated. I could scarcely breathe, feeling his heart pound against my shoulder.
    “Not fast enough,” he said, voice thick.
    Though his hold loosened slightly, his forearm stayed pressed to my throat, but the other hand holding it in place lowered, fingers inching down my waist to drag across my stomach. I gasped.
    “You can get away any time you want.”
    I could, but I didn’t want to. His nose nuzzled my neck, then drew up behind my ear. My knees weakened, and my eyes drifted closed.
    Someone broke through the stairway. The door clanged so hard against the metal stop we both bolted apart.
    Sean. He closed the distance between us, his hair disheveled and a wild look on his face.
    “Lincoln radioed from the Square,” he said. “You should hear this.”
    One unsteady breath, one last look into Chase’s eyes, and I