Those instructions had probably saved my life when Christophe had come after me. Granted, when it came down to it, things never moved as smoothly as they did during practice, but being prepared was a big part of it.
I shook my head to get rid of the thoughts. I didn't want to think about anything, not even what I was doing. I wanted muscle memory to do all the work and just let my mind go. For me, that generally wasn't an option, so I resorted to counting. It kept my brain busy enough not to think about other things, but was pure monotony, nothing that required an effort on my part.
The impact of my foot against the bag was solid, comforting. Two hits, then a kick. Mix it up with two rapid kicks and then a hit. A punch, elbow and back kick. Spin kick. Lather, rinse, repeat...
I went over and over the combinations, sometimes mixing them up, but always letting my body do the work. My mind wasn't quiet, but it was at least focused on a single goal. Counting each time I heard the thump of skin against leather. Each time I felt the hit or kick. Every time thoughts of Christophe threatened to come forward, I hit harder. I knew my hands and feet were going to be bruised tomorrow, but I didn't care. I just wanted some time where I wasn't a bundle of nerves, wondering when something bad would happen next.
Sweat poured down my face and tendrils of hair stuck to my wet skin. My muscles began to ache, my hands and feet throbbing. My breath came in harsh puffs, controlled but faster than usual. I knew I needed to stop soon, but a part of me didn't want to. I wanted to push myself until I couldn't stand, couldn't think. I wanted to make myself pass out from exhaustion and not wake until all of this was over.
Maybe never.
It was that thought that made my rhythm falter. My hands fell to my sides and I bent over, putting them on my knees. My hair fell on either side of my face, hiding it. That was good. There weren't a lot of people here, but I didn't want anyone to see the expression I was sure was on my face.
I hadn't thought of suicide in years, no matter how dark things had gotten. And this time, it hadn't been a real thought, not exactly. Just an errant thought, not really directed by anything. And it wasn't like I was really wanted to end my life, I thought. It had been more like I just wanted to sleep forever. That wasn't the same thing.
I straightened and yanked the tape from my hands as I walked towards the water fountain. I took several swallows and then headed to the locker room. It was empty, but I still went into the shower stall before taking off anything. Modesty might not have been one of my virtues, but when people saw my scars, they tended to ask questions. Being in the locker room seemed to make people think it was okay to get personal.
I frowned as I stepped into the shower. I kept the water cold at first, letting it rinse away the sweat and heat. I'd never thought about it before, but was it possible that anyone who'd seen my scars could've figured out who I was? Granted, the men I'd slept with over the years probably wouldn't have been watching any of those videos, but what about men here at the gym? I wore a sports bra when I worked out and while my tattoo on my back covered those scars, the ones on my arm and side were visible. How many men out there had seen them and realized who I was?
I started to shiver and fumbled for the steel knob. A few moments later, the water began to warm. Still, I couldn't get rid of the chill. The water was nearly scalding but I let it beat down on me, working into my muscles. Hopefully, it would keep me from being too sore tomorrow. It usually worked, but I generally didn't work myself this hard.
Maybe I should change gyms, I thought. Go somewhere new. Make sure I only wore shirts that were long enough to cover my side. I looked down at my arm. I could do something about that. I'd covered my back with a tattoo. There was no reason I couldn't do the same here. A nice little design, maybe something that looked similar to the barbed wire tattoo around my wrist.
I stepped further under the spray and let the water roll down my face. I'd never gotten a tattoo that didn't mean something. I felt the water pounding against my back. Sure, the angel wings covered scars on my back, but I'd actually gotten them as a reminder. A reminder that I may have been broken, but that it wasn't my fault and that I had been innocent. If I got a tattoo on my arm, it would have to mean something.
Dammit! I slapped my hand against the wall.
What was I thinking? Changing gyms? Hiding my scars? What was the point in dying my hair back to my natural color if I was just going to hide again? These scars were part of who I was, evidence of what I had survived. I had no reason to be ashamed.
But it wasn't shame that made me want to hide. It was fear. Fear that someone else would try to pick up where Christophe left off. Fear that they might succeed where he had failed. In the years since I'd been rescued, I'd never considered that anyone would be able to recognize me by my scars. It hadn't seemed possible. But I also hadn't thought anyone would recognize me older and with different colored hair, with piercings. Christophe had managed it though. Who else was out there? Every man I passed could be someone who'd enjoyed watching me being abused, someone who was still watching children being hurt.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting the tension in my chest. I needed to get a grip on things or I would have a panic attack right here.
“Get a grip,” I whispered. “You're safe. Christophe's in jail. You've been coming here for a long time and no one has tried to mess with you.” Hearing the words out loud helped some. “You're safe. No one knows anything.”
Gradually, the tight feeling in my chest eased and I could breathe again. The panic receded and I was able to step out of the shower feeling almost normal. I dried off and dressed, putting my work clothes back on. I'd need to bring extra clothes the next time I came. I stuffed the sweaty ones into my bag.
I walked back to the apartment, staying in the light as much as I could and resisting the urge to run. The best way to get over it was to not let it change me, not let it change my actions or routines. Walking instead of running. So that's what I did. I walked and ignored the fear pricking across the back of my neck.
I allowed myself a sigh of relief when I got inside the apartment, but nothing more than that. I tossed my bag on the floor and headed into the kitchen. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I needed to get something.
Before I could find anything, my phone rang. I headed over to my bag and dug in it. As I glanced at the screen, I saw I had a couple missed calls, all from Rylan.
“Hey,” I answered the phone.
“Jenna, love,” he breathed. “I didn't hear from you and I was worried...”
“I went to the gym,” I interrupted. “I needed to blow off some steam. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”
“Oh, love, I didn't mean that,” he said quickly. “I'm not that kind of guy. I don't think you need to tell me where you're going and what you're doing. I was just worried.”
Despite the day I'd had, I smiled. “I know. And that's why I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
The concern and tenderness in his tone made my eyes well up. I didn't know if Agent Matthews had called him, too, but he deserved to know. I couldn't keep this to myself. I tried that for years and I didn't want to do it anymore.
“Did Agent Matthews speak with you earlier?”
“What happened?” The concern hardened.
“Christophe took the deal,” I began. “And I'm okay with that.”
He made a soft sound that made me think he didn't believe me.
“I'm not all rainbows and kittens,” I admitted. The humor let me have back some composure and I was able to continue with dry eyes. “I still think it was the right thing to do. But Agent Matthews called to tell me that part of the deal was bail.”
“Shit,” Rylan swore under his breath.
“The restraining orders are in place,” I continued. “So if he comes near us, he'll be in trouble, but...”
“But he's out.” Rylan's voice was grim.
“I knew it was possible for that to be part of the deal,” I said. “But I thought I'd have time. That he'd be in jail until they finished cementing things. Maybe even a bit after.”
“Come over,” Rylan said suddenly.
“What?” The change of conversation startled me.
“I looked for you after work to ask if you wanted come over and have dinner with me. Come. Stay the night.”
“Rylan, I don't know.” I wanted to go. I could almost feel his arms around me and my body responded. “People will talk if we come in together again.”
“I don't care.” His voice softened. “Unless you do.”
Did I? That was the question. I cared what the people thought about him. But he said he didn't mind. And a part of me almost wanted people to know.
“Are you sure?” The question was quiet, and I knew he'd understand why I asked it. I needed to know that he wasn't asking only for me, but also because he wanted me there.
“Come,” he answered simply. “Please.”
I looked around the apartment. This place didn't feel much like home anymore. I slept here, ate here, but I knew I wasn't safe here. That illusion had been shattered the moment I'd found Christophe in my living room. Tonight, more than ever, I needed to feel safe.
“Okay.”
“A car's on the way.”
Chapter 26
I changed out of my work clothes into a comfortable pair of jeans and a fitted sweater that showed off my curves. I looked nice, but definitely not fancy. I wasn't much in the mood to dress up. By the time I packed my overnight back and made it downstairs, Denny was waiting. He gave me a polite smile as he opened the back door and then off we went. The drive was starting to become familiar enough that I could recognize when we were getting close.
As soon as we pulled into the driveway, Rylan came out. He opened the door for me and held out a hand. I took it and let him help me out. He pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me and tucking my head against his chest. I closed my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I'd always considered myself a strong woman and I knew I was capable of handling this on my own. I just didn't want to.
I heard a discreet throat clearing and then Denny spoke, “Would you like me to take the bag inside?”
“No, thank you.” Rylan shifted so that he had one arm free and the other still firmly around my waist. “I'll take it.” He took the bag from his driver. “Have a good night, Denny.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We walked into the house and left our shoes at the entrance. Our stocking feet made little noise on the hardwood floor. He deposited my bag at the foot of the stairs before leading me into the kitchen. I inhaled deeply and my stomach growled. Something smelled amazing.
“Let me take your coat.” He brushed the back of his hand against my jaw and then unzipped my coat. I turned, letting him pull it from my shoulders. He disappeared for a moment and I picked up one of the glasses of wine he'd already poured. I sipped it and let the warmth from the alcohol fill me.
“How does roasted chicken, vegetables and fresh-baked rolls sound?” he asked as he came back into the kitchen.
“Perfect,” I said, taking a minute to admire him as he walked towards me.
He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that drew attention to his build. He moved with a grace that reminded me of how I'd seen some animals move, rolling steps, muscles tightening and bunching beneath the skin. He wasn't the lithe, lean build that most people associated with cat-like grace, but it was there nonetheless.
“And for dessert, chocolate cheesecake from one of the finest bakeries in the city.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “You did all this in just a couple hours?”
He grinned and ducked his head, a few locks of hair falling across his forehead. He gave me that sheepish little boy look that was always a combination of pride and insecurity. “I'd actually been putting things together for a couple days, but I'd originally planned it for tomorrow. The only strings I had to pull were to change it to today.”
“Which you did after we talked,” I said. “How in the world did you get everything here so fast?”
“You'd be surprised what people will do for a nice bonus.” He reached for the other wine glass.
“You didn't have to do that,” I protested. “It would've been just as good tomorrow.”
“It would have,” he agreed. “But when I talked to you, I thought you could use it today. Seems like you'd had a rough day.”
I braced myself, waiting for him to ask about Christophe. I figured we'd need to have this conversation, but it didn't mean I had to like it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Not really,” I answered honestly.
“All right, then.” He held out his hand. “Let's enjoy our wine next to the fire while we wait for the food to finish up.”
I laced my fingers between his, grateful for the reprieve. I hadn't really seen the point of talking about things. There wasn't anything either of us could do to change what had happened or what would happen. I didn't want to dwell on it.
The Christmas decorations were gone and the room looked the same as it had when I'd first seen it about two months ago. Tastefully decorated but not ostentatious. I'd noticed before, and it still held true, that Rylan liked quality furnishing, but nothing that screamed money. In fact, in the whole house, the only concession to wealth that I'd spotted was the art. Even then, it was clear he'd chosen pieces that he liked, regardless of worth.
“I know I asked you this at Christmas, but I'd like to ask you again,” he said as we stopped in front of the fireplace. “What do you think of the place?” His fingers twitched around mine and I knew the question wasn't as casual as he tried to make it sound.
“I love it,” I said, squeezing his hand. “I explored a bit on Christmas,” I admitted.
“And?” He sipped at his drink.
“It's clear you had a hand in decorating it,” I said. “Most single men who hire an interior designer only care about their electronics. They don't really take an interest in making sure the furniture and artwork match their personality.”