How To Crack A Shoulder Blade Novels & Stories

That is why it works. It moves to intercept the clean throw that is not coming. The ugly throw takes it through the inside of the thigh. I move. Low. No flare. No grand burn. Just knees, hips, knife. My shoulder hits the first clone under the ribs. It is heavier than me and wrong under the skin. I drive the Phantom Blade into the tendon above its knee and twist. It does not scream. It drops. Sarah rips free with blood on her mouth that is not hers.

Yep Definitely out of place. Taking a few deep breaths, I grab my arm with force and push my back as straight back as possible. At three, I pull my arm tightly, biting down on my lips so that I don't make a sound. I feel the pain of my shoulder going back in place and reach up to wipe the sweat from my forehead.

“On a ship, they brawl. Don’t be precious. Use elbow and pommel, knee, and rail.” He showed me. Not gently. A correction at my elbow that made my shoulder behave. A shove at my hip to close the gap. Fingers on my wrist precise, brief tilting the blade so force would travel into bone and not into air. Each touch was clinical. My blood did not care.

It’s a hit. A bad one. There’s a sharp crack as my shoulder smashes into the boards, and a jagged white-hot pain shoots through me. “Dom! Dom!” someone’s yelling. Hands on me, tugging at me. I grit my teeth so hard it feels like they’ll crack too. Goddammit. My arm’s useless. My ribs feel like they’ve caved in. It’s bad. I can feel the bones grinding. But I can also feel them… moving. Already.

Saine released the handle and stepped back. The second man came from the left. No time to dodge. The blade bit into his left shoulder, struck bone, didn't sink all the way through. It lodged in his scapula. Stuck. His own bone cracked. Not a sharp crack. A dull one. He looked down at his left shoulder. The knife still embedded in the bone, the handle jutting out. He reached over with his right hand, gripped the handle, pulled it out. Blood sprayed across his face. He threw the knife to the ground and pressed his hand against the wound. Blood squeezed out between his fingers. The third, fourth, and fifth men charged at once.

Grinding pain. I hissed through my teeth, jaw clenched tight. No time to baby it. I leaned back against the rock, locked my spine, gripped the wrist with my left hand. Steadied my breath. Counted to three. Then jerked it forward and up. A sickening pop tore through my shoulder. Vision sparked white for a second. I bit down on a guttural noise and forced myself to breathe through the pain. It held. Joint back in place. The climb was slow, but I made it up.

The movement exposes my shoulder and he takes it, locking down and wrenching. I pivot with the torque, spin us again, and slam my elbow back into his ribs—once, twice—measured, precise. He grunts, grip tightening instead of loosening. Stubborn bastard! I drop my weight and catch his wrist, twisting hard and turning into him in one fluid motion. My forearm slides up under his, locking at the joint, shoulder braced to his chest. Now it’s my leverage. I press. He resists, muscles corded, feet planted wide. His free hand grips my forearm, trying to pry it loose.

"Okay. You need to put your left foot in front, then use the palm of your hand to press on the nerve here..." A shape loomed up fast, cutting through the space just as his fingers neared my shoulder. Without warning, Leon stood there, planted firm, breaking the moment like a wall gone up in seconds. "That technique is too rough for a beginner like Rhea, Oliver," Leon said in a forced calm tone, though his eyes glinted. "I know a much better technique. That shoulder press won't work if your opponent is taller."

Sweat trickled down my brow and my breathing was faster than I would have liked. "You're still resting way too forward when you throw your hands," Griffin said as he came in behind me and tapped my arm. "That's gonna throw you off balance. Keep your spine straight. Like this." He stepped back and spread his legs as he demonstrated the move with a sharp twist of his torso. His movements were actually clean and precise.

Chapter Six Mira's POV The medic pressed two fingers against my ribs. I winced. "Breath out," she said. "Slowly." I exhaled. Pain gripped my side like an electric shock. She nodded. "Not broken. But close." Thank Goodness. She moved to my shoulder next. She rotated it carefully and I bit my lip, trying not to scream. The pain in my shoulder was worse than the ribs. I had known that since the moment Caden knocked me down.