His Gymnast (Dance For Me Book 3)

by Darcy Rose

  His Gymnast

  Darcy Rose

  BL Mute

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About Darcy

  About BL

  Also by Darcy Rose

  Blurb

  Aria’s dream was to be a professional gymnast, and if it hadn’t been for a freak accident a couple of years ago, she would’ve been. Now she teaches little girls at the local dance studio, working two jobs to help her parents pay the medical debt from her accident.

  Life at home is horrible, and her stepfather does everything he can to remind her of the mistake she is. She wonders if she’ll ever escape this life?

  Then she meets him…

  Knox Hale isn’t a hero. He’s the monster from your nightmares. When a beautiful young woman comes to him needing help, he finds it hard to say no to her. That is, until she offers herself as payment, and suddenly, the idea of keeping the shy, quiet, sexy woman might be worth it.

  1

  Aria

  “Ms. Aria, I want to show you my cartwheel!” Sophie exclaims as she and three other little girls circle around me. All I can do is smile and look down at their angelic faces.

  Little angels. Young and beaming with joy.

  “Let’s stretch, and then you can show me,” I reply. The girls rush to their spots on the mats. Even when I’m having a bad day, I come here and can’t help but smile. These little girls mean the world to me, and I love teaching gymnastics, even if I’ll never compete again.

  Once upon a time, I had big dreams. I was going to attend Georgia University on a scholarship for gymnastics. I’d trained hard and worked my butt off from the time I was a little girl all the way through high school.

  In my junior year of high school, during my floor exercise for nationals, I did a backflip. When I came down, my footing was off. I landed hard, tore my ACL, and fractured my spine. I’m lucky to even be alive and able to walk.

  The thoughts of my past evaporate into thin air when I step in front of the girls.

  “It’s time to stretch,” I tell the ten little girls, each standing in their own square.

  I go through the stretches, and afterward, Sophie gleefully shows me her cartwheel, which she has been practicing for weeks now.

  “Good job!” I clap my hands.

  Sophie’s smile grows, and the rest of the girls start practicing their cartwheels. It’s not much to teach here and is nothing like the training I endured in high school, but it keeps me busy and happy.

  I’m thankful Lisa offered me the job over the summer.

  We work on tumbling next, and by the time we get done with that, the thirty-minute session is over. It’s hard to keep a smile on my face and even harder to keep the dread from churning in my gut when I know what’s coming next.

  Parents scurry inside to pick up their children. I wave goodbye to my students, and the dread mounts once I’m alone. Most would love to go home at the end of the day, but I’m not one of those people. I’d rather be anywhere else, but I have nowhere else to go.

  I grab my water bottle, purse, and jacket. There are still a few classes in session, and I slip through the crowd of parents congregating in the waiting room near the office. It’s too bad I still have a twenty-minute bus ride home and then a two-block walk because I’m tired as hell. Working three jobs is not helping matters either, but I have no choice.

  The cool night air whips through my hair the moment I step out of the dance studio. I shiver and pull my jacket on as I walk to the bus stop. Like clockwork, the bus arrives at the same time it always does, and I place my money into the meter as I climb on.

  I enjoy the silence that surrounds me on the way home, especially since I know what will happen if Dale, my stepdad, is awake when I arrive. Sometimes he’s sleeping by the time I get home, though it’s on rare occasions.

  The bus ride goes by way too fast, and I begrudgingly step off and on to the street. My mother and stepdad live in a nice residential area, so I’m not all that worried as I walk the two blocks to the house. The house is huge, a two-story with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. It’s a home that’s meant for a family, something I don’t have. I don’t even have the luxury of sleeping in one of the bedrooms.

  My room is in the basement—a cold and dark space where I sleep on a cot and use a bucket to pee in. The reminder of what my life is like makes me want to turn and run the other way.

  Tightening my grip on my purse, I walk up the front steps and say a silent prayer, hoping Dale has drunk himself into a coma by now. I’ll keep praying until the day it happens. My hands tremble as they always do when I let myself into the house. I try to move as quietly as possible, making a beeline for the basement door so I’m not seen or heard by anyone.

  That’s my plan until my stomach rumbles so loudly I’m sure the next-door neighbors can hear it. I place a hand over my angry belly and try to think back to the last time I ate something? Yesterday, maybe? When I was at the restaurant?

  I don’t allow myself to think long about it and make a plan to get food and into the basement as soon as possible. The last thing I need for my mental sanity is to have a run-in with my stepdad. The kitchen is dark, except for a small light above the sink.

  How is it that I can be in my own home, where I should feel safe and warm, but feel neither of those things?

  My fingers close around the cool stainless-steel handle of the fridge, and I’m a millisecond from pulling the door open when a hand slams against the door, startling me. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. I release the handle and drop my hand, bringing it to my chest. The organ races inside, threatening to burst from my chest.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The cruel edge of his voice slices through me. Dale is not a good or kind man. When he and my mother first got married, I thought he was the nicest guy on the planet. He would take me to the park, and we would go camping. We were a true, real family. After my injury, everything changed.

  Overnight, he became a nightmare that I could never escape.

  “I-I’m hungry. I was just getting something to eat,” I stutter. Anxiety coils in my gut, overwhelming the hunger I was previously feeling. I should’ve gone downstairs. I should’ve ignored the hunger.

  Dale’s grim face twists, and his lips curl with rage. A shiver runs down my spine. I know that look. It’s the one that gets me beaten.

  “Your mother and I have decided you can’t eat here anymore. If you’re hungry, you’ll have to eat before you come home.”

  It’s impossible for me to hide my shock, and my mouth pops open. “What do you mean, I’ll have to eat before I come home? I give you my entire paycheck every week. This is the only place I can eat. I have no money.”

  A low simmering rage fills his beady eyes, and I should expect the hits and words to come, but for some reason, tonight I don’t. Maybe the shock of what he’s said has gone to my head. I don't know. But I don't see the fist flying toward my face until it’s too late.

  His knuckles land against my cheek, and pain explodes across my face. Dale isn’t a big man—he’s short with a little beer belly—but he’s a man nevertheless, and his strength is far greater than mine.

  I blink back the tears, mainly because crying has never made him stop. If anything, he wants my tears
. He wants to see me in pain.

  Grabbing me by the hair, he drags me across the kitchen. My scalp burns, and I struggle to get out of his grasp. I can feel the strands of hair being ripped from my head.

  “Please, Dale, please… I'm sorry, please… I’m just hungry.” I try to reason with him, but there is no reasoning with someone who only wants to hurt you.

  “You’re such a selfish bitch. A brat who only thinks of herself. You deserve to starve! Your mother and I have done more than enough for you,” he growls in my face. His breath smells like beer, and my stomach churns, acid rising up my throat at the smell.

  “You should be fucking grateful we even allow you to live here. If it was my choice, you’d be on the street. Maybe then you could find a way to pay us back.”

  I hear the door to the basement creak open. My scalp is screaming, and my cheek aches from his punch. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop myself from whimpering.

  It’ll be over soon, I say to myself as he shoves me down the stairs. I land on my ass seconds before he closes the door in my face, enveloping me in the dark.

  2

  Knox

  “What is it you need from him?” I ask my brothers, looking at the poor bastard tied to the chair in front of me. The skin above his brow is already split, oozing blood, as the same bright red liquid runs down his chin from his nose.

  Kane smirks and scoffs. “He knows what we need, but he isn’t talking. Figured having you come help would get us results.”

  I smile at his indication as Cash nods in agreement.

  I’ve known I was different my whole life. When you look at the rest of my family, they at least look halfway normal and express emotions regularly. Sure, it takes a lot for that to happen, but the point is, it happens. For me, the only thing I seem to let people see is rage. And I don’t mean the petty, screaming, or throwing things type of anger.

  When I get angry, it’s like a supernova. It builds slowly until it has nowhere else to go, and I snap. I fucking explode. I think I may give that impression, too, with my raven hair, muscular body, tall frame, and dark ink painting over eighty percent of my skin.

  I’m the type of person people don’t look twice at because they know if they do, they’re liable to get their neck snapped. Hopefully, the guy in the chair can see that too, because I don’t like playing fucking games or waiting around. If he doesn’t want to give the twins what they want, no doubt, they’ll get it from somewhere else.

  There is always a backup plan.

  I tilt my head from side to side, stretching my neck, then step closer to the man. “Tell them what they want.”

  He shakes his head slowly with a smile. “Fuck you.” He spits, but the only thing that comes out is splatters of blood.

  I suck in a deep breath. This motherfucker is strong. He’s already taken a beating from the twins, and now he’s refusing me. I almost want to clap him on the back and congratulate him for being a badass, but no one is as tough and ruthless as we are.

  When I exhale, I slip my hand inside my pocket and grab my trusty switchblade. Most people carry guns, but I like to teeter on the edge of danger too much for that. Before my dad died, this is what he gave me. He knew I liked being up close and personal with the poor motherfuckers who crossed me. I like seeing someone’s life slip from their eyes and hear them take their last breath.

  Too bad the poor soul in front of me has to experience that, but I don’t ponder on that for long. If someone in the family needs something, you give it to them. If you don’t, your fate is sealed without a second thought.

  I bring the knife in front of the man's face with a smile and hit the button, sending the blade shooting out the top. Most styles are just one smooth, long, shiny blade that’s sharp on both sides, but dad had this custom-made for me.

  I only bring it out when I intend to kill, so with that in mind, he had a blacksmith forge it with divots on each edge like two nice hooks. Hooks that’ll obliterate the insides of whoever it’s in with a few simple twists.

  I glance over my shoulder to the twins with a shrug. “I tried.”

  Turning back around, I lean over slightly, just enough to hold the guy by one shoulder as I bury my knife into his stomach. A gargled scream escapes him. His eyebrows shoot to his forehead as his small, dark eyes grow to saucers.

  “I told you to give them what they wanted,” I remark, twisting the blade in its place.

  I stay level with him, retracting my knife and plunging it back in until the little bit of life he had in his eyes disappears and blood pools on the floor around our feet.

  “Damn, Knox,” Kane starts. “I was hoping to get something out of the dude before you killed him.”

  Cash laughs next to him. “He wasn’t going to talk. Knox just did what we would have had to do.”

  “Exactly.” I wipe the blade on my pants, cleaning off the man’s blood as best I can. “Call the cleanup crew so we can go grab some dinner.”

  Kane nods, whipping his phone from his pocket as Cash and I exit the old industrial building and walk to the alley. We strip out of our clothes in silence and throw them into the rusty barrel on the right. When Kane appears in the alley, he does the same.

  We soak all of our bloodstained clothes in gasoline before striking a match and setting them on fire. Once the smoke is thick, billowing over the buildings, we head to my car and slip on the clean clothes I keep stashed in my trunk.

  “What’s the ETA of cleanup?” I ask, slipping into the driver's seat.

  “Less than five,” Kane replies, sliding into the back as Cash takes the passenger seat.

  I nod. “Perfect.” I smash my foot on to the accelerator and head for Rigatoni’s.

  I pull up to the front of the restaurant, then slide into a parallel parking space on the street. Rigatoni’s is a little Italian bistro in the heart of downtown with the best pasta and drinks. After our first time here, it quickly turned into a favorite spot. The people know not to burden us with stupid small talk and always seat us in the back corner.

  We all exit the vehicle and stroll through the front door. The hostess at the front, Amy, recognizes us immediately and leads us to the back table with three menus tucked into her hands.

  As we pass all of the other already seated customers, every set of eyes flick to the floor. Everyone knows who we are and what we do.

  “Aria will be out shortly to get your order.” She gives us a meek smile, keeping her eyes pointed at the ground as she lays the menus on the table before scurrying back to the front.

  As we take our seats in our usual spot, Kane and Cash scan the menus, which seems pointless since we’re all creatures of habit. We always order the same dishes and drinks. We like the routine.

  Movement at the front of the restaurant grabs my attention. I zero in my stare to the hostess who just seated us, talking to a waitress. I only know she works here because of the red button-down she has on with the Rigatoni’s logo embroidered on the chest. I watch as the hostess talks before she turns back to our table and points.

  The waitress’s eyes follow her outstretched finger until they lock with mine. Normally, people can’t hold my gaze. It’s too cold. Too dark. But the thin brunette never lets her eyes falter from mine.

  With squared shoulders, a thousand-watt smile, and determination in her steps, she starts toward us. When she finally stops at the edge of our table, she speaks, “Good evening. I’m Aria, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you started with to drink?”

  She whips out her little notepad and pen, then looks at me for an answer.

  I tip my head and study her face. She’s beautiful and doesn’t look scared like most others when she looks at me. I’ve never seen her in here before. Her long brown hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders. Her thin frame houses the perfect amount of curves, and her hazel eyes shine with curiosity.

  I know I should look away and ignore the want starting to pump through my veins, but I can’t. Something about
this girl speaks to me—way past my exterior, through all my bones, and straight to the pit where my heart should be.

  3

  Aria

  I’ve heard about the Hale brothers. They come here all the time, but I’ve never gotten their table before. I doubt the owner’s very happy the restaurant is the favorite spot for a bunch of criminals, but they never start trouble here and always spend a lot of money. I’ve heard they tip well, too.

  I might even be glad to get their table if I was ever allowed to keep my tip money. Knowing I’ll have to hand it all over to Dale once I get home sort of puts a cloud over the whole thing.

  It’s not my tip money I’m thinking of when I look over the table. One of them hasn’t taken his eyes off me since they first met mine. The way he’s staring at me should freak me out—I mean, I don’t know his name, but I know who he is. I’ve heard the rumors. I know what he is capable of. That, plus he’s already intimidating enough to look at, with all his ink and those dark, dangerous eyes of his.

  I should be scared, but instead, my body is somehow drawn to him, like an invisible force pulling me closer. I must be going crazy. Maybe Dale knocked my head against the wall one too many times.

  My hands sweat, making me grab the pen a little tighter. I can’t let any of them see how nervous they make me. I can’t lose my job because I pissed off the restaurant’s regulars. Plus, the inked-up one is kind of cute. Hot, even. He is also still staring at me. His eyes are glued to my face like he is memorizing every inch of it.