Hardin stepped into her personal space. He loomed over her, smelling of betrayal and exertion.
"Don't look at me like that, you frumpy mute," he spat. Saliva flecked from his lip.
He raised a hand. It was a telegraphed move, a clumsy attempt to shove her shoulder and assert dominance.
Blake's eyes tracked the trajectory of his palm. The world seemed to slow down. She saw the tension in his bicep, the shift of weight to his front foot.
She didn't think. The Valkyrie programming didn't require thought. It simply executed.
She sidestepped to the left. A fluid, unnatural movement that ghosted away from his touch.
Hardin stumbled forward, his momentum carrying him into the empty space where she had just been.
Blake pivoted on the ball of her foot. She drove her knee upward.
It connected with his solar plexus. A solid, wet thud.
The sound of air leaving Hardin's lungs filled the room, a desperate, wheezing gasp. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach, his face turning a violent shade of red.
Carissa screamed.
"Hardin!"
She scrambled off the couch, the blanket falling away. She lunged at Blake, her manicured nails aimed like talons at Blake's face.
Blake didn't even turn her head. She caught Carissa's wrist mid-air.
She twisted.
She forced the joint against its natural rotation. Carissa yelped, her body forced to bend backward to relieve the pressure.
"Sit," Blake commanded.
She shoved Carissa. Her sister tumbled backward onto the mattress, bouncing once, eyes wide with terror and confusion.
Hardin tried to stand up. His face was contorted with humiliation.
Blake kicked the back of his knee. A precision impact. The leg buckled, and he went down again, hitting the floor hard.
She grabbed a silk robe from the floor and threw it over his head.
"Cover up. You're a public health hazard," she deadpanned.
She walked to the large vanity mirror. She checked her neck. No marks. Her pulse was steady in her jugular.
"You're insane! I'll have you committed!" Hardin yelled from the floor, struggling to untangle himself from the silk.
Blake turned. She leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Assault? No. Self-defense," she stated calmly.
"Against a naked, unarmed man?" Carissa screeched from the bed.
"Against a sexual predator and his accomplice," Blake corrected.
She picked up her wedding ring from the nightstand. She held it up to the moonlight, inspecting the stone.
"Cheap cut. Just like your excuses," she muttered.
She flicked her thumb. The ring spun through the air and hit Hardin squarely in the forehead.
"My lawyers will be in touch by morning," she announced.
She turned toward the door. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, leaving a cold, sharp clarity in its wake.
