I was worried about Remy and Drake. I didn’t want Drake being emotional out in this weather and possibly hurting himself. I didn’t like the fact that Remy seemed to clam up at times. It’s a possibility that he really did have an emergency at his restaurant, but I somehow doubted it was the sole reason for his departure.
I nodded and contrived a smile. “You’re welcome, and downstairs is…”
He chuckled. “Jemmy must have given you the tour. We have a full gym downstairs and she is allergic to additional exercise.”
I did smile then, “And eats like a teenage boy with a five-year-old stuck inside.”
He laughed even harder. “You know her so well already.”
I made my way downstairs, and I was struck once more by the size of this place. If you added a grocery store you would never have to leave it. They had everything you could possibly think of. Treadmills, ellipticals, and stationary bikes line one wall while every lifting equipment you could possibly t
hink of lined another. Free weights sat on wracks in all assorted sizes. A couple of heavy bags and speed bags were suspended from the ceiling and mounted on the wall.
I could hear upbeat music pumping from a stereo and speakers as I rounded the corner of the workout room I found another room with shiny wood flooring; floor to ceiling mirrors lined one wall. Troy was standing in the middle, shirtless with a pair of black workout pants slung low on his hips, and he was barefoot. Sweat glistened from his skin and I could see rivulets of sweat slowly beading down his back. He was doing some fluid martial arts movements as he punched, threw elbows, blocks, and various kicks, leaping in the air, defying gravity. His kicks were high, showing flexibility I rarely saw in any male.
My mouth went dry. Some women may find a man sweating a turn-off or disgusting. I was the exact opposite. I thought it was sexy and a huge turn on.
I don’t know how long I sat there watching as he was focused and powerful in his movements. Every move was thought out, clean, and precise.
The music stopped, and he went over to a ballet bar and pulled his towel off it. As he wiped his face, I could see his breathing was labored. I walked further into the room, finally making my presence known. I watched in fascination as he wiped the back of his neck, his chest, and arms. As he looked up, his eyes met mine in the mirror. His eyes widened for a moment before they hooded over once more, hiding any expression in them.
It was the first time I think he had ever not been blatantly flirty and welcoming upon seeing me.
I leaned against the wall and said hesitantly and huskily, “That was really beautiful. Was that martial arts? How long have you been doing it? How old were you when you started?”
He nodded as he headed towards me, wiping his hair down. “That was a mixture of martial arts. I used to live in New York City,” He sat down next to me and stared down at the floor. I slid down next to him. “We were poor. I was five when my mom signed me up for every free class the community center held.
The more I was out of the house, the better. I started with Taekwondo and I loved it. As I got older, I realized mom kept me out of the house to keep me from Dad. He worked the night shift, so when I was at school, he was sleeping. When I slept, he was at work. When he was home, I was barely there. One night class was canceled, so I went home early. But I was too late,” his voice was thick. “He beat her to death. I was able to stop him from killing himself, so he’s rotting in prison. I was put in a foster home and I thought I hit paydirt.
They seemed like a nice family. They even signed me up for capoeira. The dad didn’t hit the mom or drink, and the mom baked me cookies. They had an older son; I was eleven and he was sixteen. At first, I thought he was cool. I had been an only child, and he treated me like a younger brother. He would ride bikes with me, spar with me, and he seemed so nice. Then one day he touched me. I was confused at first. I thought maybe I did something wrong. I told the mom, but she said I was lying. She threw everything in my face that they had done for me.
She was going to throw me back into the system. The social worker was scheduled to pick me up the next morning. The teenage boy didn’t like that. He was going to rape me, I knew he was going to. I set my room on fire. My fear of his impending attack must have triggered my gift. It had manifested that night. They took me to the hospital because I caught my sheets on fire and burnt my legs,” he lifted his pant leg up and I could see the faint scarring on his legs.
“The teenager claimed I did it. Which I did, so I was sent to juvie for arson. Pops heard about my case and got me out of juvie; he talked to the judge, and I was released into his care on probation. Pops treated me like a son. He showed me how to use my gift safely.” He cleared his throat. “I never told anyone why I tried to set the bed on fire. I was too scared to. Too ashamed. A few years ago, I found out that same family had fostered four other boys after me.” He looked over at me at this point. “I could have helped those boys if I had only spoken up. He might have raped them. I had a few of my guys start investigating him a month ago and they were too late. An eight-year-old boy just came forward this morning. He said it started for him yesterday. He was brave enough to go to anyone that would listen to him.”
I slid over onto his lap. Sitting astride him. I grabbed his face and looked deep into his tortured eyes. “You had no way of knowing that would happen. You told his mom. It was her responsibility to take care of any children in her household. You were only eleven years old. How were you to know? You can’t blame yourself.”
He shifted, grabbing my hips. “Sometimes, I convinced myself into thinking I was too young to understand the full implication of keeping that secret, but I should have at least tried. Last night when you were telling your story about your piece of shit stepmom not doing anything about those guys, I thought that was me. She was a bystander like I was. Not doing anything about it.”
I softly kissed him on the lips. I don’t know why I did, but it just felt right. “You have to let it go. You can’t do this to yourself. It will eat you alive. How were you to know?”
I saw a fire light in his eyes as he recaptured my mouth. His grip tightened on my hips. I opened my mouth to his exploring lips and drew his tongue deeper into my mouth. Dueling with it. My fingers laced behind his neck. His hands found their way below my shirt and caressed my back in sure strokes.
I made a mewing sound as I arched my body against him.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispered huskily in my ear.
My hands went to the bottom of my shirt, desperate to feel his bare chest against my own. As I began to lift it, a deep, agonizing pain hit my chest.
“Ahh,” I screamed breathlessly. My chest was tightening. I closed my eyes and I knew, Drake was having his heart ripped out of his chest. Rose had just broken up with Drake.
The passion faded from Troy’s eyes as he gently laid me on my back on the floor. “Dammit, breathe Misty, breathe.” He ran over to the stereo. I wasn’t clear on what he was doing because the pain was too great. I closed my eyes.
“Jax!” I screamed in my head.
I heard Troy repeatedly mutter curse words.
Then there were pounding footsteps on the stairs.