The air inside the warehouse is heavy with the scent of sweat and blood; the thud of fists and kicks echoes all around us. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting long, sharp, and dramatic shadows across the ring where I am facing off against a bitch named Imani Voss.
Three months ago, I would have been flat on my back by now, gasping, shaking, and begging for a break. Now sweat is streaming down my temples, stinging my eyes, but my aim is solid, and my breath is controlled.
Imani is circling me, using her ancient technique with that wolfish grin. "If you think outside streets are gonna go easy on you because you gotta pretty face, then you are wrong, princess."
I wipe my mouth with the back of my glove. "Don't worry about my face, bitch. worry about your ribs."
Imani barks a laugh and pretends to move left, driving a jab toward her shoulder. I deflect my muscles moving on instinct now. Three months ago, I was clumsy, arms flailing, feet too slow. Now I am pivoting, cutting the angle just like Imano Voss drilled into me.
"I guess you are finally starting to learn how not to fight like a porcelain doll," Imani mutters.
"Of course, I had the worst teacher." I shoot back, ducking under a swing and sending a quick hook toward Iman's midsection.
Imani grunts. "I should have said no to Lucien when he asked me to do him another favor in the name of Anaya Fucking Brooks."
I curl my lips because I know she is saying all this to distract me. The first week has been hell, both in terms of our friendship and the fight practice. Imani broke the ice, and she told me her full story; half she had already told me in prison. And the other half is, after killing her husband and parents, she has been hiding from the police.
One day, Imani sneaked into Lucien's mansion, dodging all cameras and guards to hide from the police. She has no idea what she has walked into, but Lucien asked her what he should do to her, as she has broken into private property. Imani promised her loyalty to him, and he saved her from forces and took her under his dark wings.
In the start, my knuckles were raw, my lungs were on fire, and my pride was shredded by every insult Imani threw my way. But something inside me has shifted.
Now, I don't only want to hit back. I want to win. The sound of our gloves smacking against each other is filling the room. Sweat dripping down my back, soaking into my sports bra, my breath coming in hot bursts. I feel the burn in my thighs and the ache in my core, but it is a kind of pain that tells me I am not the same fragile woman who stepped into this room three months ago.
Imani smirks. "Come on, princess, hit me like you mean it."
I narrow my eyes. "Gladly."
I lunge, catching Imani off guard with a sharp jab, then pivoting into a clean sidekick. The move is almost perfect...almost. My ankle twisted on the uneven mat, pain shooting up my leg like a white-hot wire.
"Shit...!"
The next moment I am on the floor, holding my ankle; the rush of my adrenaline is fighting with the sting of pain.
I look at Imani; that bitch is still standing there grinning like the devil herself. "Well...guess that's enough for today, princess."
I stare at her, sweat dripping off my chin. "Screw you, bitch."
Imani chuckles and points at me. "Careful, princess. You are starting to sound like one of us."
Imani has one arm sling under my shoulders, half carrying me down the hall. I am limping hard, the twisted ankle making every step look like it hurts like hell. My breathing is still uneven from the fight, and sweat slicks the side of my temple, catching in the messy strands of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail.
"Careful," Imani mutters, steering me around the corner. I am gritting my teeth but not complaining. I am kinda proud of myself, as I have gotten tougher in the past three months, but I can't slow down because I have a long way to go to achieve what I want.
We finally made it to my room. Imani eased me down onto the edge of the bed, letting her take most of my weight at the last second so I wouldn't jolt that ankle again. I hiss through my teeth but stay quiet. Imani straightens, ready to turn and head out...probably to grab some ice when I stop her.
"Don't tell this to Lucien."
Imani looks over her shoulder. I am sitting with my back straight, jaw tight, and eyes a little too direct.
A dry laugh escapes her. "And why the hell would I do that?" Imani asks, crossing her arms. Her tone is more amused than anything; I am not gonna just nod without throwing my angle.
I exhale; I don't know, maybe due to pain, I have been holding my breath. "Because I don't want Lucien to think of me as a weak person."
Imani turns fully then, walking back toward me. She watches me the whole way. I am not sure if she is about to tease me or agree. She stops right in front of me, drops a hand onto my shoulder, and gives it a firm squeeze, not too gentle, not too rough.
"First, you have no idea what Lucien thinks of you. Second, you have been to hell and betrayed by people you used to call yours," she points at my ankle. "And look, you have not given up. You are not weak, princess."
My brows pull together; I am still not sure whether Imani is being serious or mocking me. We hold each other's gaze for a moment. And before I ask her if she is serious or not. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. Without explaining, she turns on her heel and walks out of the room.
I lean back into the pillows, still damp from sweat, the ache in my ankle a constant reminder of the sparring match. I stare up at the ceiling, replaying the words in my head.
You have no idea what Lucien thinks of you.
My fingers are curling slightly against the blanket. What the hell did Imani mean by that?
And why... does it make my chest feel warm in a way the fight never could?
Imani comes back and gives me medicine, then puts an ice pack on my ankle. I close my eyes; the weight of exhaustion pulls me under. It feels like I am sinking into an eerie pocket of peace, and then the next thing I see is Lucien sitting on a bed, his elbows on his knees and his focus locked on my ankle. His fingers are brushing lightly over my swollen skin.
His touch jolts me more than the sight of him. My body stiffens, and without thinking, I try to sit up. Bad idea. Pain shoots through my leg like a live wire.
"Ah..." I press my lips tight before my wincing escape. A sharp hiss slips out anyway.
Lucien looks at me. "Easy," he murmurs.
I look around, and the sun has gone. Fuck, how long have I slept? It must be the medicine. I dig my fingers into the blanket and swallow the lump of frustration in my throat. I am not gonna give him an impression of me being crumbled. I try to keep my expression neutral. "I am fine," I say this, but my voice carries the tiniest tremor.
I finger-comb my hair and try to climb out of bed. "Can you please call someone to help me?"
Lucien raises his brow. "What kind of help?"
I whip my head toward him. "Maybe I need to shower, since I sweat as fuck during practice."
Lucien smirks and holds out his hand. I made a messy bun of my hair at the top of my head. "I need a girl to help me."
He slides his hand under my shoulder and helps me stand up. "No one is allowed to see what is mine."