“Scared, Buddy?” Cocky Black Belt Taunts a Single Mom — Unaware She’s a Combat Legend...
Chapter 5
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He didn't know it yet, but Jo Merrick was about to remind him of exactly that.The free class started on a Tuesday evening in early April.Twelve people showed up, mostly women: a retired schoolteacher, a young pharmacy clerk, a nurse working the same graveyard hours Jo did, and Jo herself, standing near the back of the room in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, arms crossed, watching everything before she said a word.Watch first, speak later, if at all.Tanner stood at the front of the room in a crisp white gi, addressing the group like a man giving a speech to a stadium. "Statistics don't lie, folks," he said, pacing slowly. "Most attacks happen in under ten seconds. Ten seconds to decide whether you're a victim or a survivor. Tonight, we start building the instincts that separate the two."He walked the group through basic stances: how to plant your feet, how to keep your hands up without looking like you expected trouble. Simple stuff, honestly. But he delivered every instruction like it was sacred knowledge only he possessed.Jo followed along deliberately a beat slower than everyone else. She let her stance wobble slightly. She let her block land a half-second late when Tanner demonstrated a grab and asked for volunteers. She wasn't trying to hide, exactly; she was trying to disappear into the wallpaper. She'd learned a long time ago that some rooms go easier on you if nobody notices you're in them.Around her stood a handful of people she'd come to know a little better over the following weeks: Dana Fitch, the night-shift nurse, stretching out a shoulder aching from years of lifting patients; Margaret Wren, upright and attentive the way old teachers tend to stay for the rest of their lives; Shelby Combs, the pharmacy clerk, quiet and still a little rattled from what had happened to her coworker Carol.They were an unlikely group: a waitress, a nurse, a teacher, a clerk. None of them had asked to be there for any grand reason; they just wanted to feel a little safer walking to their cars at night.The second class fell on a Wednesday, and the third followed close behind on Thursday of that same first week. Tanner used both sessions to build momentum the way a showman builds momentum, layering small jokes on top of small jokes until the room got comfortable laughing along with him.He picked at little things: the way Jo held her hands too low, the way she stepped, according to him, like she was still deciding whether to commit to the fight or not.Margaret Wren found herself growing uncomfortable with it, though she didn't say anything either. Margaret had spent 34 years in a classroom, and she knew a bully when she saw one, even a grown man wearing a black belt and calling himself an instructor. And she watched with quiet admiration how Jo simply refused to shrink: no matter how many jokes landed at her expense, Jo never argued, never rolled her eyes, never sighed. She just did the drills a beat slower than she was capable of, and waited.