Page 5 of Arrogant Bastard
Five hours. New York City.
The Widow needs to be there when I land.
Any other scenario besides her in my arms at the earliest fucking opportunity is more than I can bear right now.
She needs to know that a small part of me never meant to drag her to hell with me. I won’t be insincere and confess a wholehearted regret I don’t feel. But maybe that small admission might achieve…fuck knows. Something. Enough for her to let me in? Enough for me to touch that goodness again, to calm the ravaging nightmares that are eating me alive?
Or just drag her back down because hell wasn’t such a lonely place when she was right there beside me? The truth doesn’t cause me discomfort. There has to be a degree of moral bankruptcy to do what I do, achieve what I have achieved.
And if I need to exploit it for the sake of getting her back? Well…fuck it, I’m already damned.
Chapter Three
Black Widow
Run.
The word stabs through my brain and then echoes in the literal kick to my midriff and another one to the side of my head seconds later. My breath puffs out, half in surprise, half in pain, and I land with a hard bump on my ass.
Run.
I need to get up, grab that black emergency bag that’s been waiting patiently at the back of my closet for three weeks now, and get the hell out of town. The out-of-the-blue phone call was bad enough. Ignoring my instincts after coming face-to-face with the shadow that should’ve stayed in the shadows? Yeah, I need a kick upside the head.
So why aren’t you listening to your own advice? The voice in my head mocks me as I struggle to catch my breath.
“You ready to go again?”
I blink away the streams of sweat sliding into my eyes but welcome the slight sting of saltiness on my membranes. Weirdly, it, more than the pain throbbing in my ribs and shoulders, tells me I’m alive. Maybe it’s even forcing me to open my damn eyes and face reality? My cover is blown—
“Yo, B? Are you awake in there? That head kick didn’t dislodge your brain, did it?” My Muay Thai instructor stares at me with his head tilted and a smirk on his face. He’s not my usual sparring partner. Kevin, the owner of the Soho fight club and my regular trainer, is away for some MMA contest in Chicago, which is why I’m stuck with this joker.
I roll my eyes as I straighten up from my hunched-over position. “It’ll take a hell of a lot more than your feeble-ass kicks to dislodge anything on my body.”
I grit my teeth as his gaze slides, predictably, over me. At least he doesn’t linger. I get a quick hit of blatant male appreciation before he attempts to resume his professionalism. “You had a dazed look in your eyes that told me to go easy on you.”
“Please. We’ve sparred twice before, Anwat. I beat your pathetic ass both times, even though you allegedly brought your A-game.” I infuse as much sneering into my voice as possible. Hopefully it’ll dissuade him from doing what he wants to do, which is to find a way to promote his own interest.
Predictably, his eyes gleam at the direct challenge to his ego. “So you wanna put your money where your smart mouth is and go again or what?”
I toss the idea around, and I watch him prowl back and forth on the black rubber mat as I toy with the Velcro strip on my glove. Maybe I should go another round. There’s nothing like blinding pain to wipe out thoughts of everything else, especially the thought projected in neon lights that tells me that continuing to fight when I should flee won’t end well.
Anwat slowly approaches, eyes narrowed, and positions himself before me with intent. I want to laugh. I can break every major bone in his body and severely compromise several organs in two minutes. I haven’t used my skills in years, but once learned, that knowledge never goes away. Especially when the threat of danger is ever-present, like a second skin I’ve never been able to shed.
Anwat beckons me with a jerk of his chin. The urge to punch the shit out of it ripples through me. That’s certainly another avenue I can take. But that sort of action I reserve for those who deserve it, and pay for the privilege, at the Punishment Club. So I step back from the temptation. “Sorry, sunshine. Maybe one day I’ll give you the chance to impress me.”
He slowly lowers his hands, irritation stamped on his face. “What the fuck, B? You booked me for two hours. It’s only been twenty minutes.”
I shrug. “No need to crap your pants, Anwat. I’m not going to demand a refund. Go have a beer on me.”
He yanks off one glove with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t drink beer.”
I sigh, finish removing my gloves, and drop them at his feet. “Have an iced tea then. God, you always this annoying?” I say as I walk past him.
“You always such a bitch?”
I whip around, once again dying for a fight to displace the fear crawling through me. “What did you just call me?” I snap.
To his credit, he immediately steps back, hands raised in apology and surrender. “S’all good, B. S’all good.”
