by Kelsie Rae
With a quiet gasp, I take in a very ripped backside as my protector from the night before pummels a punching bag. Black basketball shorts hang low on his hips, but his top half is bare and glistens from the sweat clinging to his olive skin. His muscles ripple and flex with every swing of his arm, leaving my mouth watering at the sight. “Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked” by Cage the Elephant blares through the speakers. With the force of a Mack truck, he delivers a final right hook that makes the punching bag jerk back. As if he can feel my stare, he glances over his shoulder. His gaze pierces me with its intensity.
“Morning,” he grunts.
It’s like my veins were injected with slurry concrete. I can’t move a muscle. I can’t escape. Part of me feels like I’ve been caught with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. But…what now?
Holding my attention hostage, his tongue darts out between his lips, then he stalks closer to me. My entire body buzzes with anticipation, though I’m not sure why. His moves are deliberate. Precise. Proving he has more control over every single ounce of muscle clinging to his bones than a freaking panther, even though he looks like a damn grizzly. When he’s less than a foot away from me, my nose tickles with awareness as his scent filters through the air. He smells amazing, and I have to fight the urge to lean closer and take a deep breath. It doesn’t stop my mouth from watering, though. His giant hand reaches forward, and I’m convinced he’s going to tug me into him until I notice the small towel rack placed right next to the entrance.
Grabbing one of the towels, he wipes the sweat from his brow, then slowly grasps the edge of the door and pushes it open the rest of the way.
“I said, good morning,” he repeats.
I swallow thickly. “Morning.”
“You’re out of your room.”
“Someone forgot to bring me breakfast.”
With a flash of his boyish grin I’m slowly becoming accustomed to, he grabs the back of his neck and squeezes. “Sorry, Blue. During our conversation yesterday, I realized something.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’ve been enabling you.”
I flinch back. “What’s that supposed to mean? And why did you call me Blue?”
“The hair.” I can almost feel his eyes caress my messy, short locks before he adds, “The emotions.”
“Emotions?”
“You know…you’ve been feeling blue.”
“So, my real name isn’t acceptable now? You needed to come up with a nickname?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant, but if we’re on the topic, I might as well ask you something. No one has filled out a missing person’s report for anyone by the name of Queena. Do you know why that would be, Blue?”
I shrug one shoulder but stay silent.
“Don’t escape on me now,” he pushes before gently tapping his index finger against my temple. “You get lost up here too often, Q. Stay with me for a little longer, yeah?”
I remain quiet but hold his gaze when I desperately want to close my eyes and ignore the way my heart races anytime he’s near.
“Who are you, Q?”
“No one.”
“I don’t believe that for one second.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the truth. No one filled out a report because no one misses me. I’m no one.”
“And I disagree,” he returns. “You hungry?”
A small part of me is begging to be stubborn and deny it, but I’m too hungry to follow through. Instead, I give him a grudging nod.
“Let’s get you some food.” He slips past me, but not before his chest brushes against mine. With my breath caught in my lungs, I wait for the feeling of disgust to fill me at the contact, but it doesn’t appear. And neither does my fear.
Tucking away that little insight for later, I follow him to the kitchen. It’s decorated with the same rich red accents, gold sconces, and patterned fleur-de-lis wallpaper that matches the rest of the house. Eggs are cracking within minutes as a comfortable silence envelops the room. Once they’re placed on some ceramic plates, he sets one in front of me then plops down onto one of the barstools. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better.” I take a bite of the freshly scrambled eggs and almost moan. I was so used to living off cold broth and tepid water that I’d almost forgotten what good food tastes like. And even the meals that I’ve had since arriving here haven’t held a candle to these, although I refuse to admit it’s because I’m eating them at an actual counter with company instead of cross-legged on the floor all by myself.
Again, I can feel Diece watching me, but it doesn’t have the same creepy-crawly feeling I’d grown accustomed to when Sei was around.
Which reminds me….
Before I can talk myself out of it, I glance over at him. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For staying with me last night. I’m sure the floor isn’t comfortable, but….” I push around a bit of the egg on my plate. “I felt better knowing I wasn’t alone.”
He nods before taking a bite of his breakfast. After he chews and swallows, he sets down his fork. “I know this is going to take time for you to accept, but not everyone is like Sei. Even in this business,” he adds with a defeated smirk. “Sei was the scum of the earth, and if he wasn’t already in custody, I’d kill him for you.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I tear my gaze from his and shove another bite of breakfast into my mouth. But the flavor was ruined as soon as his name was mentioned.
“I’m sorry I’ve been an ass,” Diece continues.
“I’m sorry I’ve been emotional,” I return with a shy smile.
“You’re allowed to be emotional. You’re allowed to be whatever the hell you want.”
I snort. “Sure, I am.”
“So…have you considered my proposition?”
“About what?”
“Learning to defend yourself.”
Oh. That.
“I uh,” I hesitate, searching for the right words that won’t turn our conversation into another argument. “I don’t know how much it’ll really help.”
“Well, it definitely wouldn’t hurt,” he counters. “Besides, it’s not like we’re doing much around here anyway. Aren’t you bored?”
“Maybe.” I look around the vast kitchen to avoid his gaze.
“Then look at it that way. It’s something to fill the time until Kingston says it’s safe to come out of hiding.”
Another bite of eggs fills my mouth as I weigh the pros and cons before swallowing it down.
“You might even have fun,” he prods, sensing how close I am to caving.
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Yeah?”
His disbelief makes me want to laugh, but I hold it in. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” His playful tone turns ominous as he leans forward and adds, “There’s one condition, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to have to touch you, Q.”
I shake my head. “I can’t—”
“I know. I know it’ll be hard.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I know,” he repeats, gently. “I know I don’t get it. I know that even if you sat me down and explained all the shit you went through with explicit detail, it still wouldn’t make me fully understand. But if you want to get past this, then you need to try. And you need to trust someone to help you.”
Staring at the cold eggs in front of me, I try not to get lost in my memories, but it’s so. Damn. Hard. “I’m not sure I know what trust is anymore.”
“I get that.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “But, you gotta try.”
The thought of him touching me—of anyone touching me—is torture. But the possibility of learning how to defend myself is so damn tempting that I’m desperate to reach out and grab hold of it. I’d give anything to feel powerful. Strong. Hell, pretty much anything that doesn’t includ
e self-loathing and…dirty.
“Okay. I’ll try,” I whisper while hating the way my stomach feels like it’s been knotted inside of me.
“I won’t let you down,” he promises. “Go change. I’m gonna grab a quick shower. Then we’ll get to work.”
“Right now?” I ask with wide eyes.
“Yeah. No time like the present, right?” That same crooked smile makes my heart gallop before he stands up and strides toward the second floor, where I assume he’s going to shower.
With a gulp, I put our plates in the sink.
Well. Alright then.
8
Diece
With a sour look, I glare at the gray T-shirt folded on the bathroom counter before slipping it over my head. I’m not used to exercising in anything other than a pair of shorts, but I don’t want her to think I’m doing this for anything sexual, and it’s going to be hard enough not to get a fucking erection with her touching my chest when we brawl.
This was a bad idea.
After I slide on my dark-red joggers, I head across the hall and knock on Blue’s partially opened door, but she doesn’t answer.
“Hey, Blue?” I call out.
Silence.
“Blue?”
After another thirty seconds of silence, I jog down the stairs toward the gym. The door is cracked, and the rhythmic sound of exercise equipment confirms my suspicion. With a soft push, I open the door the rest of the way, but my steps falter when I find Q sprinting at full speed on the treadmill. Her tits are bouncing up and down as her feet pound against the machine with sweat dripping down her forehead. She’s lost in her own world, completely oblivious to my presence, and finally losing herself in something beneficial for her health—both mentally and physically.
About damn time.
Mesmerized, I watch her pouty lips form a small ‘o’ as she releases the oxygen from her lungs, continuing to focus on the wall in front of her before she picks up her pace.
She’s gorgeous.
Blinking, I shove aside the imagery and stride over to her.
“You were a runner before.” It isn’t a question. Her long strides and even breathing are the only evidence I need.
Her gaze shoots to mine before returning to the blank wall as she keeps up her steady rhythm.
“You can come down here whenever you want. You know that, right? Even if we aren’t training.”
She stays quiet but pushes the red button to stop the treadmill from moving. Then she steps off and stands in front of me, silently waiting for my instruction.
Freedom scares her now. I can see it in her eyes, can feel it in her hesitant movements any time I ask something of her. Like she can’t quite figure out how to act on her own without someone telling her what to do.
Shaking off the messed-up realization, I announce, “We’re going to start with some hand-to-hand defense. Come over to the mat with me.”
She follows without a word but folds her arms across her ample chest and keeps her attention glued to the blue mats beneath our feet as soon as we reach it. She’s nervous. I can feel it. Hell, I can almost taste it. But she’s here. She’s at least trying to trust someone. To trust me. And that’s all that matters. The pad of my finger brushes beneath her chin as I force her to look up at me. When our eyes connect, she gulps, and I drop my hand back down to my side.
“How’re you feeling?”
With a one-shouldered shrug, she looks back at the ground.
Come on, Blue. Stay with me.
Rocking back on my heels, I ask, “Have you ever heard of a safe word?”
She shakes her head, then peeks back up at me.
“It’s a word that tells me to stop. When you say this word, I do exactly that. I stop. No matter what. No matter the position. I stop,” I reiterate. “We clear?”
Her entire body trembles, but I doubt she even recognizes it as she whispers, “What’s the word?”
“Whatever you want it to be. Hell, it can be stop for all I care, but you need to understand the power of that word and that I won’t ever push you to go any further if you say it.”
Chewing on her lower lip, she hesitates before stammering, “Six.”
“Six?”
“Yeah.”
“Why six?”
“Sei in Italian is six.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
It takes everything inside of me to keep my expression neutral when I feel like I just got kicked in the stomach. “Okay. Six it is. Ready to start?”
Her breath is shallow, but she forces herself to nod.
“Okay. I want to see where your instincts take you, so I’m going to grab you from behind. I want you to try to get me off you, then run away. You’re fast. If you can break free, then you can get away from your attacker.”
“So you’re telling me that I just need to…run away?” If she weren’t so terrified right now, I’d almost think she was making fun of me.
“You don’t want to fight with your attacker because when it comes to brute strength, you’ll rarely come out ahead,” I explain. “Does that make sense?”
“Oh. Yes. That makes sense.”
“And what’s your safe word?”
“S-six,” she stutters.
Grabbing her face, I make her look me straight in the eye. “I’m not going to hurt you, Q. I promise. You say six, and I’m off you in a second. Understand?”
Her lower lip quivers, but she nods in my grasp, and I’ve never been more proud. This girl is braver than she thinks. I just need to make her believe it.
I release my hold and drop my hands back down to my sides, then slowly circle her. “Good. Let’s do this.”
When I’m behind her, I pull her into a bear hug, wrapping my arms around her torso and beneath her arms. But she doesn’t move a damn muscle. It’s as if my touch has the power to completely disarm her, yet I haven’t even done anything.
“Q,” I growl. “Fight me.”
Her chest rises and falls in an unsteady pattern. I squeeze her tighter and force out, “I said, fight me, Q. Now.”
She’s paralyzed.
Releasing my hold, I make her face me before leaning closer until all she can see is my ugly mug a few inches from her gorgeous, terrified face. “Look at me, Q.”
A spark ignites inside of her as she holds my stare.
“Fight me. I want you to kick and scream. I want you to fucking claw my eyes out. I want you to try. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“I–I don’t know,” she stutters.
“Can you try? Please?”
Her breath is staggered as she releases all the pent-up oxygen in her lungs before giving me a jerky nod. “I’ll try.”
“And if you can’t take it—”
“I say my safe word,” she snaps. “I get it.”
“Good girl.”
Pulling her into another bear hug from behind, I snake my arms around her ribcage, then raise her a few inches into the air and yell, “Fight!”
She wiggles against me, kicking and screaming, but it does nothing to stop me from dragging her wherever the hell I feel like taking her.
After a few seconds of struggling, I let her go and step away to give her a minute to breathe. She’s seconds from a panic attack, but my chest swells with pride at the knowledge that she didn’t use her safe word. She stayed strong.
“That was good,” I acknowledge, though I’m lying through my teeth. “But it wasn’t enough to stop me from doing whatever the hell I wanted.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to grab you again, but this time I want you to listen to what I’m saying, then follow my instructions, and we’ll see if we can get you out of that hold. Understand?”
With another jerky nod, she gives me her back and waits.
Pulling her against my chest, I keep my grip tight but not suffocating. “If you’re in this position, you want to try to headbutt me with the back of your head. Aim for my nose and forehead. If your hit connects, it’ll di
sorient your attacker, and their grip will loosen, giving you the chance to twist out of their grasp and get away. If your hit doesn’t connect the way you want it to, squat low and use your weight against them before trying to headbutt them again. It’s a lot harder to hold on to something that’s using gravity and their full body weight to keep them in place instead of doing half the work for them with your own legs. Does that make sense?”
Her hair tickles my chin as she nods against me. Ignoring the way she feels in my arms, I murmur, “Okay. Don’t headbutt me, but try squatting low and making yourself heavier.”
She does, and my muscles protest from the added weight. “Good. Now twist your torso and aim that elbow at my face. You want to hit over and over again. It’ll take more than one hit to get them to let you go, but you can do it.”
We practice this position a few more times before moving on to the one I fear has been used against her multiple times.
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Good, I guess?”
“You guess?” I laugh.
With her hands on her hips and her skin drenched in sweat, she grimaces. “Yes?”
Another chuckle escapes me before I let her off the hook. “I guess that’s progress. Now we’re gonna talk about when he would grab your hair to keep you in place.”
The comment makes her freeze as she gets lost in her nightmares. All it took was mentioning him once, and she’s spiraling.
Closing the distance between us, I cup her cheek. “Stay with me, Blue.”
She sniffs then nods, coming back to the present.
“When would he pull your hair?” My voice is quiet.
She gulps, but her gaze stays hazy as she battles the memories waging war inside of her.
“Answer me, Blue.”
“When he’d want to keep me in place so that I couldn’t get away from him. Sometimes it was on the floor. Sometimes on the bed.”
Nostrils flaring, I clear my throat and shove aside my rage that doesn’t belong in this room. It belongs in Sei’s prison cell.
“Okay,” I breathe. “I want to practice that position, but I need you to trust me.”
“D….” Her voice trails off as her fear threatens to choke her.