Chapter-5,part-1

I SLAMMED MY FIST INTO THE MANNEQUIN'S FACE, REVELING

in the sharp burst of pain that jolted up my arm at the impact. My

muscles burned and sweat dripped down my forehead into my

eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t stop. I’d done this so many

times I didn’t have to see to land my hits.

The smell of sweat and violence stained the air. This was the

one place I allowed myself to unleash the anger I kept under

careful wraps in all other areas of my life. I’d started Krav Maga

training a decade ago for self-defense, but it had since become

my catharsis, my sanctuary.

By the time I finished pummeling the mannequin, my body was

a mess of aches and sweat. I toweled the perspiration off my face

and took a swig of water. Work had been a bitch, and I’d needed

this release to reset.

“Hope you worked off your frustration,” Ralph, the owner of the

training center and my personal instructor since I’d moved to D.C.,

said dryly. Short and stocky, he had the powerful build of a fighter

and a mean mug, but deep down, he was a teddy bear. He’d

knock my lights out if I ever told him or anyone else that though.

“You looked like you had a personal vendetta against Harper.”

Ralph named all the training dummies after TV characters or

real-life people he didn’t like.

“Shitty week.” We were alone in the private training studio, so I

spoke more freely than I would have otherwise. Besides Josh,

Ralph was the only person I considered a true friend. “I could go

for the real thing right now.”

Dummies were good for practice, but Krav Maga was a hand

to-hand combat method for a reason. It was all about the

interaction between yourself and your opponent and responding

quickly. Couldn’t do that if your opponent was an inanimate object.

“Yeah, let’s do it. Gotta end right at seven, though—no

overtime. There’s a new class coming in.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Class?”

The KM Academy catered toward intermediate to advanced

practitioners and specialized in one-on-one or small group

sessions. It didn’t host large classes the way most other centers

did.

Ralph shrugged. “Yeah. We’re opening the center up to

beginners. Just one class for now, see how it goes. Missy bugged

me about it until I agreed—said people would be interested in

learning it for self-defense and that we have the best instructors in

the city.” He barked out a laugh. “Thirty years of marriage. She

knows how to stroke the ol’ ego. So here we are.”

“Not to mention, it’s a good business decision.” KMA had little

competition in the area, and there was likely pent-up demand for

lessons, not to mention loads of yuppies who could afford the

prices.

Ralph’s eyes twinkled. “That, too.”

I

took another swig of water, my mind spinning. Beginner

lessons…

Might be a good idea for Ava. For anyone, really, man or

woman. Self-defense is a skill you never want to use, but which

could mean the difference between life and death when you do

have to use it. Pepper spray only gets you so far.

I

fired off a quick text to her before Ralph and I started our

session.

I still wasn’t happy playing babysitter, but Ava and I had settled

into a wary “truce”—her word, not mine—since her olive branch

the week before. Plus, when I commit to something, I commit to it

one hundred percent. No half-assery or phoning it in.

I promised Josh I’d look after his sister, and that was what I’d

do. Sign her up for self-defense lessons, upgrade her house’s

shitty alarm system—she’d thrown a fit when the security

company woke her up at seven in the morning to install the new

system, but she got over it—whatever it took. The more she

stayed out of trouble, the less I had to worry about her and the

more I could focus on my business and plan for revenge.

I wouldn’t mind more of those red velvet cookies though. They

were good.

I

especially wouldn’t mind if she delivered them wearing the

tiny shorts and tank top she’d worn to my house. An unbidden

image of a bead of sweat trailing down her bronzed skin into her

cleavage flashed through my mind.

I

grunted when Ralph landed a punch in my gut. Fuck. That

was what I got for allowing my thoughts to stray.

I set my jaw and refocused on the training session, pushing all

thoughts of Ava Chen and her cleavage out of my head.

An hour later, my limbs felt like jelly, and I had several

blossoming bruises on my body.

I

grimaced, stretching out my limbs while the low hum of

voices filtered through the closed door to the private studio.

“That’s my cue.” Ralph clapped me on the shoulder. “Good

session. You might even beat me one day—if you’re lucky.”

I smirked. “Fuck you. I can already beat you if I want.”

I’d come close to doing it once, but part of me liked the fact I

wasn’t the best—yet. It gave me a goal to strive toward. But I

would win. I always did.

Ralph’s laugh rolled through the sweat-dampened space like

thunder. “Keep telling yourself that, kid. See you Tuesday.”

After he exited the room, I checked my phone for new

messages.

Nothing.

A tiny furrow creased my brow. I’d texted Ava almost an hour

ago, and she was a compulsively fast replier unless she had a

photoshoot. She didn’t have one today. I knew because I made

her promise to tell me every time she did, along with the location

and clients’ names and contact info. I always ran background

checks on the clients beforehand. There were crazy people out

there.

I sent a follow-up text. Waited.

Nothing.

I called. No answer.

Either she’d turned off her phone—something I told her never

to do—or she could be in trouble.

Blood. Everywhere.

On my hands. On my clothes.

# To be continued #

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