by K. C. Lynn
I always thought I would miss it but as of right now, I don’t. What I have going here at the gym with the guys and Anna at the Men of Honor Center is enough. I’m enjoying it, especially instructing the youth program for so many kids that remind me of myself. Kids who don’t have anything and are pissed off at the world because the world fucked them over.
No one understands that better than me.
“Damn, what did that bag ever do to you?” Sarge says, walking out from the locker room freshly showered, ready to go out. “Didn’t you get enough aggression out after going a round with Benson tonight?”
No, I didn’t. I’ve got too much inside of me to release, even more than usual since I haven’t been to Annihilation in months. A club that I now refuse to be a part of since those fuckers tried throwing me under the bus, too. Just the thought of that bitch Nikki has my blood pumping hotter.
But I miss it—miss getting lost in myself there, and wielding a control that no one could possibly understand unless they knew what it was like to live without it.
Control feeds the scars of my dark past and even darker soul.
Pausing my blows, I look at Sarge. He has changed a lot since I first met him a few months ago. He hasn’t worked here much longer than I have and is still adjusting to civilian life after living on the streets for so many years. He suffered from PTSD but thanks to Jaxson and the counseling he’s receiving from the Men of Honor Center, he’s getting back on his feet. I’ve gotten to know him well since he helps me with the youth.
“Headed out?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“Sure am. Got myself a hot date with my woman. She worked the evening shift so I’m fixin’ to pick her up at work, then she’s all mine.” He winks. “Just keep that to yourself though, that boy of hers is always magically appearing out of nowhere, interrupting our alone time. I swear the kid has a strange sense that’s in tune to my dick,” he adds, talking about Logan.
I don’t really blame Logan. It’s exactly how I feel about my sister and RoboCop, but if she’s going to marry someone it may as well be somebody that I know would kill whoever tried to hurt her.
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“I know, because you don’t talk to anyone unless it’s that sister of yours.”
I grunt, even though that’s mostly true. However, I’ve gotten better about that since I started here. I don’t really have a choice since it’s part of the job description.
“You headed home soon? You’ve been here since…what’s it going on now?” He looks at his watch. “Thirteen hours?”
“In a bit,” I reply vaguely.
He shrugs. “All right, have a good night beating the shit out of things. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
I go grab my water bottle and towel as he walks out then make my way over to the speed bag. The door beeps again, signaling someone’s arrival. I assume it’s Sarge coming back for something, but when he doesn’t say anything, I look across the gym to see some girl with her back to me, wandering around like she’s either lost or looking for someone.
Shit, don’t tell me another gym whore is looking for one of the fighters.
“We’re closed,” I call out.
She spins around with a startled yelp and jumps back, almost falling on her ass. I instantly feel like shit for scaring her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Something about her soft voice has me moving forward. As I get a closer look at her, I realize it’s unlikely she’s a gym whore. She’s not dressed like one and she’s too…pretty. Black yoga pants and a pink tank top hug her lean, slender body that looks like it’s been sculpted by a fucking artist. Her long, golden brown hair hangs over her shoulders, framing the best set of tits I’ve ever seen. By the time I drag my appreciative gaze back to her face, I find she’s as innocent as she sounds. I also see she’s doing some looking of her own, those light hazel eyes taking me in from head to toe. She lingers on the tattoo just above the waistband of my shorts. That or she’s staring at my dick, which is hard at the moment, but I’m assuming it’s the first one.
“Can I help you with something?”
Her eyes snap up to mine and she blushes a serious shade of red.
Yeah, definitely not a gym whore.
Her hand goes to the scarf at her neck, fiddling with it nervously.
Who the hell wears a scarf in this kind of heat? Even at night it’s damn near a hundred degrees out.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t know you were closed.”
“It’s fine. You looking for someone?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. I, um…the sheriff…I mean Cooper.” She pauses, her eyes closing as she lets out a shaky breath before looking at me again. “Cooper McKay told me about the women’s self-defense class you guys offer.”
“Yeah, we have one running this weekend.” I hand her a flyer from the front desk.
As she takes it, I briefly glimpse small white scars on her delicate hand. “Right, Cooper said that, but I’m wondering if you guys offer any private classes? Like after hours, when no one is here?”
I watch her for a moment, her eyes remaining on the paper instead of me. “No, we don’t offer anything like that.”
She nods, her shoulders slumping with disappointment. “I figured but thought I’d check. Thanks anyway,” she says, turning to leave.
“Hold up.” I stop her before I can think better of it. “We don’t usually offer private lessons but it doesn’t mean we can’t. If you want we can work something out.”
What the hell am I doing?
The moment her wide, hopeful eyes move to mine, I know exactly what I’m doing. “You’re the instructor?” she asks.
“Sometimes. There are a few of us here who take turns but all the other guys have families. So, if you’re looking for something late in the evenings then it will be me.”
She bites that plump lip of hers, wreaking havoc on my straining cock.
Jesus, I need to get laid.
“You don’t mind?” she asks softly.
“No. Come back tomorrow night at around nine. That’s when we’re closed. We can start then.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She dips her head and turns to leave.
“You got a name?”
She spins back around, an embarrassed smile curving her perfect mouth. “Guess that would help, huh?” she says, a shy smile playing at her lips as she sticks out her hand. “I’m Sss…Lia.”
Grasping her delicate hand, I feel the scars that I saw earlier. “Ssslia?” I ask.
“Just Lia.” She giggles, forcing a shift in my chest.
What the hell is that?
“Kolan.” I have a feeling she doesn’t know who I am. Which is a good thing. If she knew who I was, she probably wouldn’t have anything to do with me.
“Well, Kolan, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
I nod. “I’ll be here.”
“Bye.” She gives me a small wave then walks out the door, leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened.
CHAPTER THREE
Sophie
The next evening, I walk to the gym feeling excited yet incredibly nervous. Excited at the prospect of learning how to defend myself but nervous to see Kolan again. Though, I’m not really sure why. He seemed nice enough, especially going out of his way to accommodate me, but he’s also intimidating.
When he walked out of the shadows of the gym last night, my breath had caught in my throat. Everything about him screamed powerful. He has a commanding presence about him that I’ve never seen before. His height alone could terrify someone. He’s so tall that I had to crane my head back just to keep eye contact with him. His strong, lean body glistened with sweat and displayed a lot of ink. My eyes had immediately been drawn to the tattoo above the waistband of his shorts where the word WARRIOR was scripted across his hard, chiseled abs. The word seemed to suit him perfectly. He looked exactly how I wo
uld picture a warrior.
His ridiculously handsome face was just as hard as his body. He had a sharp cut jaw that was graced with barely there stubble. His messy brown hair was long enough that it touched the top of his ears and curled at the back of his neck. But his eyes were the most captivating. They were a dark chocolate brown that looked anything but warm. They possessed strength yet also anger, and maybe even…pain?
Pain.
I shake my head at the crazy thought. I have a feeling the only pain that guy has ever experienced is him delivering it. He looked like he could cause some serious harm. I think that’s what made him so intimidating. I’m a girl who has had enough pain to last me a lifetime and have the scars to prove it.
My thoughts fade as I reach the gym. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and enter to see the bright place empty. I stand in the entrance, looking around for Kolan.
“I don’t care. I told you, I’m not fucking interested.”
My gaze moves to the far corner of the gym where his angry voice echoes. He peeks his head out of the office with the phone to his ear and holds up a finger.
I give him a nod before he retreats back inside. Dropping my gym bag, I walk in farther to explore. I’ve always been athletic so gyms aren’t foreign to me, but I’ve never been to one like this. It’s dedicated to fighters and filled with equipment I would never know how to use. I feel completely out of my element here. That is until I find myself in an open area of mats that are surrounded by mirrors.
I come to a stop, staring at my reflection. Something I never do anymore, especially without my scarf on. I can’t bear to see the scars and it’s even harder when I don’t recognize the person looking back at me. It’s not Sophie Parish, the girl who used to smile all the time and love life. It’s a sad girl just trying to survive, hoping to live to see another day. Even if that day is a lonely one.
However, there are parts of me that will never forget who I am—who I used to be. As I stare back in the mirror, it’s as if my body has a mind of its own, and I suddenly find myself rising to the tips of my toes. The quiet music coming from the speakers is anything but soft, yet that doesn’t seem to matter. I extend my right leg straight into the air, wrapping one hand around my calf and bringing it to the side of my head. The familiar stretch has warmth spreading through me, settling all the way down to my bones.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I spin ever so slowly, coming full circle, and I can’t seem to stop. It’s as if I’m back in the dance studio. I continue to turn until I get lost in nothing but the feeling of freedom. The feeling of the old me. It’s so powerful and moving that I bask in it, letting it take me over. It isn’t until someone clears their throat that I remember where I am.
With a sharp gasp, I drop my leg and spin around to see Kolan only a few feet away, watching me.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t realize you were finished with your call.”
“It’s fine.”
Before I can stop myself, I take him in for a second time. Tonight, he’s in loose, black athletic pants and a white muscle tank that shows off his cut arms and black ink. He wears a black ball cap that’s turned backward, brown wisps of hair poking out from all sides. My original assessment of him was right, he’s definitely the best looking guy I’ve ever seen but also intimidating.
When my eyes meet his, my cheeks burn with embarrassment, as I realize he’s watching me openly ogle him. His expression now amused.
Good god, Sophie, get a hold of yourself.
“I hope what I’m wearing is okay. I wasn’t sure what was appropriate,” I say, doing a crappy job at hiding my humiliation.
His eyes travel down the length of me, taking in my black capri yoga leggings and army green tank. “It’s good, except you need to lose the scarf.”
My blood runs cold at the terrifying thought. “No.”
He scowls at my quick refusal. “You can’t train with it on. It’s a safety hazard.”
“You don’t understand. I won’t take it off for any reason.” My voice trembles as much as my body, no matter how hard I try for it not to.
He continues to watch me, his hard eyes assessing before he shakes his head. “Whatever. Here.” He hands me a clipboard with a pen attached to it. “I need you to fill this out and sign at the bottom.”
I take the form from him, trying not to feel guilty over the irritation in his tone. After I fill out the waiver, I hand it back to him without meeting his eyes.
“What is it you’re wanting to get out of this?” he asks, his tone a little softer.
I shrug. “I’m not really sure. What are my options?”
“I can teach you what I do at the course. It’s basic moves to help you get out of a dangerous situation long enough to get help. That’s the main objective. Or,” he says, drawing my eyes to his, “if you want I can show you how to make sure no one ever fucks with you again. That’s more extensive, which means more lesson time.” He shrugs. “Your call.”
Thinking for even a second that I could possibly put a stop to Daniel for good has hope wedging its way into the cracks of my soul. Unfortunately, I’m not able to afford much at the moment. “How many lessons would it be if I choose the second option?”
He shrugs. “However long it takes or when you want to stop.”
I shift on my feet, biting my thumbnail. “Um, we haven’t talked about price yet. How much per lesson?”
“We’ll worry about that later,” he says, turning around.
“Wait.” I grab onto his arm, not missing how hard he feels under my fingertips. When he stares down at my hand, I quickly release him. “Sorry. It’s just…I need to know because I can only afford so much.”
“I don’t have a set price because we don’t usually offer this. Like I said, we’ll worry about it later. Let’s see how the lessons go first. We’ll make sure it’s within your budget.”
I frown, wondering why he would do that when he doesn’t even know me. But I don’t bother asking and be grateful he’s willing to teach me. “Okay, thank you.”
“Let’s warm up,” he says, leading me over to an open area of mats.
He takes me through an endurance circuit, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve exercised. He does it all with me, barely breaking a sweat. While we stretch, we discuss how to avoid being caught off guard and to always be careful of your surroundings. As he talks about following my instincts when something doesn’t feel right, I think back to that night when I entered my dorm.
Those alarm bells are always something I wish I had listened to.
After we’re done, he takes me over to the punching bag, or what he calls a heavy bag. “Have you ever hit anyone before?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. My sister and I got into some pretty good scraps growing up. Most of it was hair pulling, but a few times we came to blows.”
A feeling of nostalgia flows through me as I think about Tess and the few catfights we got into. It vanishes quickly though when I see Kolan trying to bite back a smile, rubbing that strong jaw of his.
“I meant have you ever thrown a punch?”
My blood heats with embarrassment as I realize how stupid I just sounded. “Of course you did,” I mumble.
He chuckles, the simple act sounds rusty, as if he doesn’t do it often. It should make me feel worse but oddly, it doesn’t. Instead, it has my tummy doing somersaults.
“Before we do anything, we need to make sure you can throw a proper punch.”
He positions himself behind me and grips my shoulders to turn me, his very clean male scent penetrating my senses. Sliding a hand down my arm, he encircles my wrist, sending goose bumps to break out across my skin. I pray with everything I am that he doesn’t notice the reaction.
Get a grip, Sophie.
“Make a fist,” he orders.
Swallowing thickly, I close my hand.
“Like this.” He opens my hand up and makes me curl my fingertips in higher, then positions my thumb a certain way. �
��This is the best grip. When you throw a punch you hit straight on and make sure your knuckles are flush against your target for the most powerful contact.” He helps me through the motions, my hand barely touching the bag. “We’re not hitting hard because I have no protection on your hands. We’re doing this for technique first,” he explains, as if hearing my thought.
I nod in understanding.
He guides me through it a few more times then backs up and lets me try some on my own.
“Good. Those are good. Okay, come here.” When I do as he says, he slips a pair of fingerless gloves on my hands. “We’re going to work on power now. Do what I just showed you but with as much strength as you can.”
I face the bag again and hit what feels like cement. An oomph sound comes from me and the bag doesn’t even flinch.
“Well, that was pathetic,” I muse out loud. Glancing at Kolan, I catch him smirking at me and notice what a striking smirk it is.
“Not pathetic,” he says. “I haven’t shown you how to hit it yet.”
I frown, wondering if the guy has a memory problem. “You just did.”
“Not with power. Watch.” He moves to the bag, his hands also masked in gloves. “I’m going to throw the same punch you just did.” His fist connects with the bag, making it swing.
“It makes a difference when you’re a hundred pounds heavier than me,” I grumble under my breath, but not quiet enough because he hears me.
“This has nothing to do with size and everything to do with technique. Watch the difference with this next one.” This time, when he hits the bag, it flies. He catches it then turns back to me. “Did you see what I did differently?”
I shake my head, completely clueless.
“Come here.” Grabbing my shoulders, he places me in front of him again. “When you throw a punch it’s important you step into it. Your power doesn’t come from your arm, it comes from your hips.” He leads me through a new set of motions, adding to the ones he already showed me. “Good. Now make the bag move,” he says, stepping back.
