festering anger that weighs heavily in my gut and expel it. I want to feel my fury in every punch.”
His characteristic look of boredom and venom gives way to understanding. He hates that, feeling that connection with me. I know it, because I feel it too.
“I know you don’t want to understand me. I don’t want to understand you either. But there’s something inside of you that can communicate with the demon within me.”
“No.”
I close my eyes.
“I saved your life,” I guilt. “It’s the least you can do.”
That makes him smile, the gesture almost hidden by the beard hiding the bottom half of his face. “Fuck, Rein. I never asked you to do that.”
“But Parker did. I did him a solid. Don’t make me use him to make you do one for me.”
His smile grows. “Parker would never let me teach you to fight. You’re fucking crazy if you think he would.”
“You sure about that?” I test. “He and Codi want us to get along. They’d do just about anything to repair what’s broken here.”
I watch his smile drop away, and I replace it with one of my own.
“Willing to gamble on a maybe?” I tease. “Or we could continue to hate one another comfortably and this would be our own secret. No one would know.”
The clock in his loft ticks by slowly, exaggerating the silence swirling around us.
“Once a week for a month,” he concedes unhappily.
“Twice a week for four,” I combat.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he gripes. “Once a week for two.”
“Twice a week for four.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost it. “Negotiation requires compromise.”
I shrug. “I’m not negotiating.”
“Twice a week for three.”
I stretch my hand toward him. “Deal.”
He takes it reluctantly, his grip tight. “If I’m training you, cut down on the sugar.”
I laugh. “Fuck no. Sugar loves me in a way no one else ever will. I will not abandon him.”
“Cut it down. It ain’t good for you.”
I push past him into the loft.
“Woah.” He grabs my bicep. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
I glance into his loft and then back to his big hand, wrapped easily around my arm. “I’m here for my first training session and I don’t care what anyone says, anything that good can’t be bad for you.”
“I’m busy,” he says slowly.
“Doing what?” I roll my eyes.
“Not training you.”
I shrug my arm out of his grasp. “You’re doing nothing but plotting the demise of the world. May as well make yourself useful.”
He lets me move into his home. “Most people are more cautious around me.”
I lift a single brow. “You gonna kill me? Hurt me?”
“Maybe,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, right. I don’t expect you to be nice to me,” I tell him honestly. “Quite frankly, you being nice to me would frighten me.”
“Don’t speak while you’re here,” he warns. “I won’t let you slack. You’ll likely vomit the first few times we train.”
“And you think sugar is bad for me. Where’s your gym?”
He points toward the back of his loft. “Let me change. Don’t snoop and don’t fucking touch anything.”
I turn on my heel, moving toward the space he indicated.
The loft is impeccable; sterile in its cleanliness. The smell of bleach and disinfectant decaying my nasal cavity by the second. Not a single item is out of place. It’s austere. No homely touches decorate the walls, save one single photo on the mantel. A worn image of him, Parker, and Lila.
I glance back to where he disappeared to, considering moving closer to it, to take a better look. But he warned me not to snoop.
I’m stupid enough to request Rocco Shay unleash the demons within me, best not destroy our deal before its even started.
I walk toward the home gym leisurely. Tucked at the very back of the loft, it’s impressive. A ceiling to floor mirror is tacked along the wall, two benches, and limitless weights packed neatly into their place. A bright red punching bag hangs from the ceiling at the side, weathered and worn, giving the impression it’s ridden out many a Rocco storm over its lifetime.
His heavy footfalls alert me to his approach and I watch him in the giant mirror. Basketball shorts sitting comfortably on his defined hips, torso and chest completely naked of clothing. He bristles with muscle. The protrusive line of his lower abdomen showy enough to make me stare. The golden tan of his skin stretches purposely over his obvious strength. Molding to every muscle like latex, exposing every curve and sinewy bulge.