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Shit.
I ignore the narrowing hazel eyes staring back at me from my boxing partner and force myself to calm down.
Adam gives a disapproving shake of his head and moves on to the next pair.
Jab, cross, hook.
Jab, cross, hook.
Jab, cross, hook.
“Emma?” The stranger’s steely gaze questions me more than the deeply murmured word.
“Concentrate.” I cross higher, making him duck to avoid an impact to the face.
“I thought your name was Steph.” He crouches, bringing our eyes level.
I hide my apprehension behind a scowl. “Emma Stephens. Some people shorten my surname and use it as a nickname.”
Jab, cross, hook.
Jab, cross, hook.
The intensity in his expression increases, and I don’t appreciate the scrutiny. I can’t blame him for the disbelief. The explanation was poor, especially for my standards. Usually, I’m quick on my feet, mentally speaking.
Today? Not so much.
“Okay, everyone,” Adam yells. “Switch places.”
I throw my gloves to the floor and pull on a set of pads. Once I’m standing straight and ready, the asshole hits me with a jab worthy of knocking a lesser woman on her ass. I stumble, and he smirks at me.
“Sorry. I’ll go easier on you.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” I hold my hands in place, preparing for the cross. This one is equally hard, but at least I’m ready. The hook, on the other hand, makes me stumble sideways.
He watches me with each swing, staring into me, holding me captive. The physical exertion and mental games make my heart pound incredibly hard. I start to pant, my breaths short and sharp, almost to the point of hyperventilation.
He doesn’t question me anymore, not in words, but those eyes seek answers. They’re digging deep, seeing things I don’t want him to see.
“Stop it,” I growl.
He chuckles, soft and oh-so low. “Stop what? Do you need me to throw softer punches?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Jab, cross, hook.
Jab, cross, hook.
The more he moves, the more sweat beads his skin, making those muscles glisten.
“Get a drink, guys.”
I slump at Adam’s instruction, dropping the pads to the floor as I hunch, all my muscles squealing in agony.
“You did well.” My tormentor pats me on the back, his actions and words equally derisive.
Fuck him. Fuck him for starving my libido. Fuck him for the insomnia. And fuck him for playing mind games.
He’s messing with me, and he already knows enough to entice him to snoop. I straighten, my nostrils whistling like a damn bull with my labored breathing as Muscle Man stands at my side.
“What’s wrong?” His grated whisper brushes my ear. “You look livid…and let me tell you, it’s sexy as fuck.”
A shudder jolts through me, the vibration culminating in my nipples.
Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is. I can’t see through his brain-numbing fog to understand it.
It’s intuition that tells me to get out of here. I lean over, scoop my gloves and pads off the floor, and walk for my backpack. I rip the bag open, the zipper grinding under the pressure. I shove my stuff inside and haul it over my shoulder before stalking to the door.
Nobody tries to stop me. I have no friends here. No one knows me.
I push outside, and cold air hits my cheeks, bringing clarity. As cute as it was to think I had a similar personality to this guy, we are nothing alike. We never will be.
I’m not normal. Not my past and not my future. I don’t fit in, and I don’t want to. I need to remain under the radar, and it feels like this guy has nailed a neon sign on my ass.
I start down the sidewalk and hear the door push open behind me.
“Wait.”
His demand has no effect on me.
Liar.
Of course it does. I want to plant my feet and confront the hell out of him. I want to ask him why he’s hassling me, why he’s paying attention when I’ve skated by u
And I seriously want to know why I can’t stop picturing the size of his dick and how good it would feel down the back of my throat.
I keep walking, getting as far away from stupidity and craziness as I can. Even now, I’m hoping he follows, and I don’t know why.
Why? Fuck. Why?
I don’t understand. Nothing makes sense, and still, the feeling is a nagging force trying to break free from my chest.
I want him to continue, and I need him to stop.
“Wait.” This time the request is growled in the deepest command.
I start to jog, making my way along the street, past the fruit vendor and up to the second-hand store when strong fingers grab my elbow, pulling me to a stop.
“Why did you run out?” His frown bears down on me. “I thought we were having fun.”
“You were having fun. This isn’t enjoyable for me.” It’s messy and chaotic.
“We had chemistry last night.” He releases my arm. “It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”
“We also had a lot of alcohol.”
He scowls. “You weren’t drunk, and neither was I.”
He’s right, and I can’t bring myself to admit it. I’ve gone years without an emotional link to anyone apart from my friendly bartender. I’ve been alone and strong. Now I feel weak with my need for…something. I can’t even pinpoint my attraction to this man. It’s just there, hovering like a gas cloud.
“Let me buy you a drink tonight.” There’s still no enthusiasm ebbing from him. Not even the slightest glimpse.
Why is that entirely endearing?
I scoff. Maybe because he’s the polar opposite to the last guy I dated. My stomach hollows at the reminder, and I push out a heavy breath to wash it away.
“I’m not much of a drinker.” I tear my gaze from his and focus on the second-hand televisions playing in the window, my lack of interest raking over sitcom reruns and numerous news feeds. “Last night was a one-off.”
“Then di
I’m about to decline the offer when a news flash crosses one of the television screens.
Senator’s Son Found Dead.
I blink through the hallucination, trying to make the words disappear.
My heart stutters, and my world narrows to those four words. Senator’s. Son. Found. Dead. Then Dan Roberts’ face takes center stage.
Numbness seeps into my limbs, and the sound of the busy sidewalk disappears—the street traffic, too. My pulse echoes in my ears. There’s only my thundering heartbeats and that news headline.
Pounding arrhythmia and panic.
Fear and hysteria.
I’ve killed a man?
I shake my head. No. I’ve never killed anyone, even though there have been numerous people who’ve tempted my restraint. I am the self-appointed person who gives criminals a dose of their own medicine when the legal system fails to provide punishment. I give victims revenge, and assholes a chance to change their ways.
I don’t do death.
That is for a higher power to decide.
“What’s wrong?” That voice sounds near my ear, and I squeeze my eyes shut to find focus. “Are you okay?”
I breathe through the delirium and finally blink to find him staring down at me, his forehead wrinkled, his lips tight.