Burn (26 page)

Chip was thirty-four and Zae was almost eleven years
older, and Cinder could understand a little hesitancy on
Zae’s part. They were as different as two people could be,
yet those differences were what gave their partnership its
excitement.

Cinder almost told Zae so, but she thought better of
it as they returned to Zae’s car. She had faith that all
would work out as it was supposed to, in spite of Zae’s
efforts to control the one thing no man or woman
could—the course of true love.

* * *

Fresh mums in hearty reds and eye-popping yellows
and oranges adorned the rear patio of Brasileria.
Sparkling gold lights hung from the rough-hewn rafters
overheard, giving the appearance of dining under a
s
econd canopy of stars to the few patrons sitting at the
outdoor tables. As Gian led her across the patio, Cinder
thought they would have dessert or wine outside fol
lowing their meal. But, holding her hand, Gian pulled
her to a short flight of stairs, across a small plot of neatly
cut grass, through a box hedge wall and to an empty lot
where tall tiki torches burned into the dark.

“Wh-What is—” was all she got out before a chorus
of male voices loudly greeted Gian in English and
Portuguese.

“Cinder,” Gian started, “I’d like you meet some
friends of mine.”

The darkness hid their true number, but it seemed to
Cinder that at least thirty half-dressed men stepped forward to greet her.

“Hello,” she said with a slight laugh, and she tried to
catch the eye of as many of them as she could.

“This is another place where I like to train,” Gian
told her.

Cinder raised an eyebrow. Through the trees edging the wide, open expanse of matted grass, she could just
make out the distant silhouettes of playground equip
ment. Tiki torches of varying heights gave the immediate area an unearthly aura heightened by the drum and bass-
heavy beats emanating from a boombox the size of a
small sofa. The boombox rested atop a scuffed Coleman
cooler with little heaps of discarded clothing and shoes
piled around it.

Training?
Cinder thought, easing closer to Gian
. It
looks more like they’re preparing for a human sacrifice.

“
You didn’t tell me that your ‘someone’ was so pretty,”
said a dark-skinned man, heavy with chiseled muscles,
who stepped up to Gian and Cinder. The man’s face and
chest dripped with sweat, which caught the firelight. He
wiped his hand on his loose-fitting dun trousers before he
offered it to Cinder. “Luiz Weickart,” he said, his hand swallowing Cinder’s. “I understand you’ll be working out
with us tonight?”

Cinder was the only woman among dozens of men.
She knew Gian wouldn’t bring harm to her, but she
couldn’t say that with any certainty about Luiz Weickart or the others. Studying the nearest men more closely,
Cinder noticed their calloused knuckles, and the grass
and dirt stains on their skin and clothing. One of the
men set the boombox on the ground so he could open
the cooler and grab a handful of ice. He wrapped it in a
white T-shirt that quickly began to turn red when he
tilted back his head and pressed the bundle of ice to his
bloody nose.

“Gian,” Cinder began hesitantly, “is this some kind of
fight club?”

He smiled at her before catching Luiz’s eye. “Didn’t I
tell you she was smart, too?” he said to Luiz before
turning to Cinder. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is. I think
you’ll learn a lot of things here that’ll help you in the tournament.”

Gian started toward the boombox, Cinder close at his
back. “Gian, you can’t be serious,” she said anxiously, keeping her voice low. “The only thing I could learn here is how to get my ass beat!”

T
he man with the bloody nose smiled in greeting and
stepped aside, giving Gian room to return the boombox
to the cooler.

“I want to go home now,” Cinder said firmly.

Gian grabbed the tail of his T-shirt and drew it over
his head. Bare-chested, he spread his arms wide and then
reached back, stretching his pecs and biceps before drop
ping his shirt to the ground.

“I’m not fighting with these men, and I won’t watch you do it, either!” Cinder snapped through gritted teeth.
She turned to leave when Gian raised the volume on the
boombox.

The fast, lively music stopped her as cleanly as the
sight of the men arranging themselves in a loose circle.
Some of them clapped to the rhythm of the drums while
others faced off, performing something that looked like a
hybrid of a traditional fight stance and a breakdancing
move.

“We do capoeira here,” Gian explained, stepping up
behind Cinder and lightly resting his hands on her shoul
ders. “It’s a Brazilian form of fighting that relies on
rhythm and timing. Come on and watch for a little
while. If you want to give it a try, Luiz and the others can
show you a few basic moves.”

Gian ushered her to the perimeter of the fight circle,
and two men scooted aside to make room. Gian began to
clap, but Cinder stood rapt, watching.

The two combatants lacked the grace of proper
dancers, but there was a certain elegance to their moves.
Long muscled arms swinging in time to the music, backs
h
unched and knees unlocked, they began sparring,
striking at each other in sweeping, roundhouse punches.

They kept their centers of gravity low, which helped
them stay on their feet when their opponents attacked.
One of the men, grabbed around the waist by an oppo
nent who tried to take him down, spun out of the man’s grasp. In the next second, he was on his hands in a cart
wheel maneuver that caught the aggressor in the jaw with
a heel.

Cinder cheered and clapped, impressed by the move.
“That was incredible!” Cinder turned to tell Gian, only
to find him gone.

She searched the faces of the men on either side and
behind her, but she didn’t find Gian until she again faced
the fight circle. Gian stood on the opposite side,
swinging his arms in wide circles in the proximity of the other fighters waiting for a turn in the circle. Cinder had
seen him do that before, to stretch his muscles and move
blood through them prior to sparring.

Oh, God
, she thought in horror.
Please, keep him safe.

Cinder clapped, but the anxious pounding of her
heart was louder in her ears than that of the tribal rhythms echoing into the dark sky. Gian’s style of
fighting was so different from that of the swarthy, acrobatic men before her. Cinder’s mind’s eye tormented her
with images of Gian’s beautiful face covered in heel-
shaped bruises.

But the second he entered the circle, her fears ebbed.
Gian lacked the musicality of the other fighters, but he
had rhythm and strength. Added to his power and preci
s
ion timing, Gian’s skills made him an effective capoiera
fighter. The wind whistled when he sliced an arm
through it for a near miss of his opponent’s jaw. Cinder
cheered out loud when he went into a handstand to
deliver two glancing kicks to his sparring partner’s head
and chest.

Cinder swelled with pride and desire watching the
easy, languid movement Gian brought to the circle.
Power, physical and emotional, were truly aphrodisiacs.

The fights were short, and almost as soon as he
entered the circle, Gian and his partner were backing out
of it. Everyone waited for two more to enter, and that was
when Gian raised his hand and beckoned to Cinder.

“Hell, no,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Come on!” Gian moved a step toward her.

Knowing he would pull her in if she didn’t get in
there on her own, Cinder slowly approached him. The clapping of the spectators grew more raucous.

“Are you wearing anything under this?” Gian asked,
giving her short cotton skirt a little tug.

“Yes, bike shorts,” she answered.

Squatting before her, Gian took her skirt by its hem and eased it down to her ankles. His eyes gleamed with
the smile his pursed lips held at bay while Cinder braced herself with a hand on his shoulder. Hoots and whistles temporarily drowned out the pounding music as Cinder
stepped out of the pool of white fabric and faced the
crowd wearing skin-tight black bike shorts and a
matching sports tank.

Gian dragged his fingertips along her calf and thigh
as he stood, her skin tingling along their path.

“This is your basic move.” Gian demonstrated the
stooped, sweeping arm motion that prefaced a match.
Luiz stepped up on Cinder’s other side and fell into
rhythm with Gian. Cinder quickly picked up the routine, and she instantly understood the point of it. It was easier
to change positions if you were already moving, and the
hunched posture protected the torso. The arm move
ments could be defensive blocks or offensive strikes.

“You got it,” Gian praised her. “Good girl. You want to try some kicks?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Nope.”

Luiz stepped forward and showed her a basic kick,
one where she raised her knee hip-high, then kicked out
straight, hard and fast. Cinder envisioned the effective emasculation of an attacker she used the kick on, and it
gave her a little tickle of glee. Her joyous confidence escalated with each new block, strike, and kick. To the casual
observer, Cinder might have looked like she was learning
the individual steps of a complicated dance, but Cinder
reveled in the knowledge that if she sped up the moves and put power behind them, she could defend herself
against almost anyone, or at least hurt an assailant badly
enough to make him regret his decision to target her.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Gian asked as he
caressed her upper arms.

* * *

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”
Cinder smiled. “Thank you.” She cupped his face with a
gentle hand. “I wish I could give you as much as you’ve
given me.”

Gian’s grin faded. He took her hands and curled her
fingers around his, holding her hands close to his heart.
“Kid, you don’t owe me anything. I—”

“You taught me karate,” she spoke over him. “You paid for those lessons,” he pointed out. “And Webster Groves is starting to feel like home because of you,” she added.

“I think Zae and Chip and the guys at Sheng Li had
something to do with that, too.”

“And you make me love being in love with you.”

Gian had no response, at least not in words. He
bowed his head and kissed her, nestling their clasped hands under his chin. His lips, warm, pliant yet firm,
sampled hers politely, then with more eagerness accom
panied by a tightening of his hands around hers. Right there on her shadowed doorstep, he would have peeled
off her sweaty bike shorts and hoisted her to his waist,
sheathing himself within her. But Cinder pulled a hand
from his and, after a bit of fumbling, blindly unlocked
the front door, leading him inside with their kiss.

Cinder made it up all three flights of stairs with Gian
tugging at the back of her skirt and slipping his hand
under it. She never got the chance to lock the door to her
apartment.

Gian, his chest to her back, pressed her to the door,
pinning her there with one knee between hers. Breathless
f
rom the jaunt up the stairs, he panted in her right ear as
he lowered his trousers and threw up the back of her
skirt. Cinder poked out her backside to help him wrestle her bike shorts to her knees. Hot and heavy, rigid and
seeking, he found his entry and boldly shoved into her.