The Tornado Read online

  My eyes slipped lower, and for a moment, I indulged myself by taking all of him in. His golden, heavily muscled torso was glistening. His broad shoulders and arms were littered in a variety of black tattoos. I studied the ridges of his abdomen, his well-developed pectoral muscles, his thick lats, his strong, defined arms, before he finally vanished into his office. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that he could sweep the floor of the gym with every guy in it.

  "Give it up, kid," a grizzly voice said behind me, accompanied by two other voices snickering. "You'll never be that good and I’d never waste Prince’s time trying to make you halfway decent."

  The only men I was comfortable around were my family. Dealing with the opposite sex on any other level was difficult, which was why I’d insisted on taking register duties at the café. It would force me to re-engage with people—with men. And it was why I went to Blaise's Gym almost every single night. Determined to not lie down and die, I wanted to fight back the darkness plaguing me.

  I wanted to be normal again.

  I resisted the instinctive urge to jerk my head over my shoulder in the direction of the voice. Instead, I glanced to the side slightly, mostly catching the side of my hood. Whoever had spoken must have seen my slight movement, because he continued on. "Hey, punk. I see you in here all the time at these bags, never talkin' to nobody, actin' like you're better than everyone, when really you're just a skinny little prick who's just wastin' his time."

  At the café, it was easier. It was a friendly, family atmosphere. People just wanted coffee and pastries and that was that. Many of the men frequenting the café were regulars, and I was mostly comfortable, if still a bit wary, with them. The gym was totally different. It was nothing but men, and I had no one to protect me but myself. It was an atmosphere of violence, although there was a sign in the window—and the contract clearly stated that any and all fighting would take place in the ring—that said Blaise's Gym would not tolerate any other violence of any sort, for any reason. But the testosterone was thick, so heavy I could practically smell it, and there was always a sense of danger here.

  There was a pause. I had to keep silent. I listened, my body tensing as my heart rate accelerated and my stomach clenched with fear and anxiety.

  Too close. They’re too close. My fists balled involuntarily. He’s too close.

  These men were tough, hard, strong. These weren't prissy pencil-necks; they were here to train and be trained by the best, and they sparred intensely. I’d never seen the ring free of bloodstains before leaving for the night. There were always handfuls of guys walking around with lumped up, cut faces.

  What the hell had I been thinking coming here?

  I heard the sound of one rubber-soled shoe impacting against the ground, closer to my direction, and that was all it took. I darted forward, but one of them grabbed me by the shoulder and jerked me back, hard.

  My heart slammed into my throat as I clutched myself to prevent the tremors of anxiety from taking me over the edge and into a full-blown panic-attack.

  Too fucking close.

  Chapter Three

  Him

  “DUDE, I DON’T know," Connor insisted.

  It was late at night, I was tired after sparring, I was at the end of my patience, and the numbers weren't adding up.

  "Well, there's at least twelve people who didn't pay by the fifth, and today's the twenty-eighth," I said, bringing my fingers up to my temples. I recalled the good old days where I could just pummel the shit out of a bag or some poor fuck's face in the ring and not have to worry about shit like this. Then I remembered what my paychecks looked like these days and gritted my teeth. "We're getting ready to bill again for next month and they haven't paid. Didn't you mark off who paid and who didn't on the list?"

  Connor slowly shook his head. "I just collected," he replied.

  "We gotta find a better way to do this," I muttered. Sighing, I chewed at my toothpick, frowning toward the eagle globe anchor paperweight on my desk. My eyes lit across the ‘Semper Fi’ scrawled on the base of the weight.

  "So what’d you want me to do?" Connor continued.

  “Fuck knows, just—”

  A sudden, loud shouting pierced the air from the gym. My head snapped toward the door. The fuck? I was used to fights breaking out in the gym, despite the sign on the door. With all that testosterone flying around, and all the guys thinking they were bigger, badder, and tougher than the next, it tended to happen. It reminded me of my days as a Marine. Between basic, random orders, and deployments, it was the same thing—all that testosterone in the air caught up to the guys and exploded. Fuck knows I’d been involved in a few brawls myself. Nowadays, I was almost always the one to break them up, and it was always a fucking pain in the ass. But rules were rules, and I was ‘Boss’ now. If they wanted to take it in the ring, that was fine by me. Anything else, and that shit had to stop.

  "You figure it out," I barked at Connor, yanking the door open. "And I expect you to come up with a better tracking system. You can't just take cash, man, it doesn't work like that." Another shout echoed in the gym.

  "Better go handle that," Connor said, stacking some papers together.

  I stopped in my tracks and glared at him. "You better handle that," I snapped, stabbing my toothpick in Connor's direction. I shoved it back between my teeth, using my tongue to shuffle it around to the other side as I headed out of the office and into the gym.

  I walked toward the small cluster of bodies near the punch bags. I couldn't see what was going on, but it didn't look like anyone was throwing any punches, at least not yet. I didn't want to get involved unless physical violence actually occurred. When it came to words, they were all grown men; let them handle their own hurt feelings. I had a zero-tolerance attitude when it came to violence outside the ring. And I hated fucking bullies.

  The group of guys had their backs to me, so I leaned inconspicuously against a corner post of the ring in the middle of the room. Flipping my baseball cap around so it sat loosely on my head, with the brim flipped to the back, I folded my arms over my chest and tucked my hands under my biceps. I cocked my head, trying to listen to what they were saying. From what I could tell, it was Brody, Jonas and Karl. I couldn't remember last names but each of them had sparred with me at least once, sometimes twice.

  "You always walk around in here like you got a little fuckin' attitude problem or something. Punk!" Karl was yelling, his voice heavily East Coast. “You think you're better than us or somethin'?"

  "Karl, chill," Brody laughed. His accent was distinctly Bostonian. "He probably has this attitude walkin' around here 'cos all his body mass is in his dick and it's bigger than yours."

  "Shut the fuck up, Brody," Karl shot back, before turning back to the object of his wrath, which was still concealed from my view. Karl and his friends all had huge, overdeveloped forms. "Listen, you little fuck, this is a family atmosphere in here and we're all supposed to get along. You're throwin' all kinds of negative vibes and shit around in the air and stirrin' things up. And I personally don't like the way you fuckin' think you're too good to speak to anyone in here!" Karl’s hand flew out in a push, and I straightened up when I heard a little answering grunt.

  "The skinny fuck’s too good to talk to you now, Karl," Jonas snickered.

  And then it finally fucking dawned on me who they were angry with. That poor kid.

  Loner.

  I took a step forward when I suddenly saw a small hard fist fly out, knocking Karl right in the face. Karl’s head snapped back sharply as he shouted in pain. I was amazed at the sight of blood gushing from his nose. The kid's head was down, chin tucked, his fists up next to his face in a tight guard. His eyes were shielded by the brim of his Yankees cap. He was tense, probably waiting to see who would make the next move.

  But no one was gonna make the next move.

  No one but me.

  "Now, that wasn't very fuckin' nice!" Karl bellowed, stepping closer. I broke into a run, but dammit, it wasn't quit
e fast enough. I heard a ripping sound pierce the air and came to an abrupt stop. For a moment, I stared, unsure exactly what to make of what I was seeing.

  Karl had grabbed the front of the kid's shirt, no doubt intending to haul him in close to deck him, and Loner had immediately jerked away. The kid's T-shirt was ripped, it tore right down the middle, and my confused mind swirled as everyone, including the kid, froze.

  Under the tatters of a torn T-shirt, I saw a flash of smooth, soft-looking, naturally tanned skin. The abdomen was flat and softly muscled, not hard with ridges like a man's.

  Like a woman's.

  My eyes rose to just above the exposed stomach, seeing layers of tightly wrapped duct tape over what appeared to be a black sports bra.

  Jonas reached out and slapped the brim of the Yankees cap from the bottom, pushing it off the kid's head as his hood fell off. The cap fell to the floor as a long, dark brown ponytail fell past the kid's shoulders.

  Fuck me.

  My mouth fell open. What I’d presumed to be a skinny teenage boy was actually a slender young woman. A really beautiful woman. One who had an athletic body, but who was rather curvy too; I could see that, even with the duct tape. Her T-shirt was torn open past her hip, and I could see where her waist narrowed above her low-slung sweatpants before softly curving out in a shape that was uniquely, utterly feminine.

  Christ, she was stunning.

  "It's a bitch!" Jonas shouted. "A fuckin' girl! What the fuck?!"

  "Damn, she looks good, though," Brody snickered.

  Her frightened warm brown eyes met my shocked ones, for just a moment, before she tried to whirl around to flee. But Karl’s hand, bloody from holding his nose, shot out and gripped her upper arm. An upper arm that I’d previously written off as the skinny limb of a boy, but that I could now see was the softly curving arm of a woman, light with defined triceps and biceps. Her eyes flashed like a caged animal and she jerked uselessly in Karl’s iron grip.

  It was enough to snap me out of shock.

  "Now, now," Karl was hissing at her. "That's not very fuckin' nice of you! Snuff me then leave? I don't think so, Princess...not now. Damn, you do look fuckin' good! Brody wasn't lying—"

  Karl jumped almost a foot in the air when my hand slammed heavily down on his shoulder. "Let. Her. Go," I said through gritted teeth.

  "Prince, man, it's a fuckin' chick sneakin' around here!" Karl said, as though by way of explanation.

  "I don't give a fucking rat's ass," I thundered back, and pushed him so hard, he fell to the floor, his grip on her finally gone. "Told you to let her fucking go." The girl stumbled back, her eyes still wide with fear. "All three of you pricks, get your shit and leave!" I roared.

  "Aw, come on, man," Jonas said, aiding Karl back up to his feet. "We weren't gonna do nothin' to her—"

  "Bullshit," I growled. "I don't give a fuck if you were gonna take her dancing. Get the fuck out and don't let me see you back at this gym again! Or I’ll pummel you so bad, I promise, you three will be leaving here as girls. You get me?"

  "You gonna kick us out over a bitch?" Karl seethed. "Did you know about this or somethin', Prince?"

  I took two steps before I was nose to nose with Karl. He cowered slightly and winced, feeling the anger and violence radiating off me, despite being much broader than me.

  "If I gotta tell you fucks to get out of my gym one more time, I'm not gonna be asking so politely next time," I said in a low voice, my blue eyes, dark with menace, boring into Karl’s. "Now—get the fuck out of my goddamn gym!"

  They didn't need to be told again. They grabbed their shit and all but ran out of Blaise's, without one backward look to either me or to the girl. She had sunk to the floor and was staring after them, her brown eyes still huge with fear and shock. She was like a deer caught in headlights. Timid. Frightened.

  I shifted my weight awkwardly as I glanced at her. I didn’t have a fucking clue what to do. After a moment, I took a hesitant step in her direction.

  "Miss, you okay?" I asked quietly, not wanting to further freak her out. She continued to stare past me as though I hadn't spoken. "Miss?"

  Finally her eyes shifted to me, but even as we locked gazes, I could tell she was still staring right through me, her eyes wide and glassy. I took in the features of her face then. She was young. Eighteen to twenty-one, I guessed. Her face was unlined and soft, youthful-looking, but her eyes held a pool of knowing, of experience, of life events she’d seen that no one should. Her skin was smooth, creamy, olive, with high, rounded cheekbones and a sensual mouth, pouty with pillow-like pink lips. Dark, silky brows arched away from her large, almond-shaped eyes. She would have been beautiful if she didn't have a look of such intense fear on her face.

  I slowly crouched down until I was eye-level with her. Her eyes began to sharpen, coming into focus on me as she blinked rapidly—long, thick dark eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks like the beating of butterfly wings.

  "Miss?" I tried again in the same quiet tone. I extended a hand toward her.

  Her eyes lit on my hand, and widened. She sucked in a breath and recoiled from me violently.

  "Don't touch me!" she said hoarsely, and I quickly backed up, lifting my hands in the air.

  "Okay, okay," I said, calm and quiet. "Sorry. You're all right."

  I backed up several more paces and kept my hands in the air as she scrambled to her feet, gasping, clutching her tattered T-shirt to her body as she fumbled to zip up her sweatshirt. She turned to grab her cap from the floor, and I caught a flash of her eyes, filling with tears as she bit her lip, her face crumpling. Her expression made my heart wrench, made me feel like shit.

  It was common knowledge that women didn't come here, but there was no rule against it. In fact, I'd hoped that everyone would come to the gym, men and women alike, and learn something. I was big into women learning how to defend themselves. I’d grown up watching my mother get beaten and hurt by my old man.

  Now, the only woman that had ever come to the gym, had not only felt it necessary to disguise herself, but had ended up getting assaulted anyway. I felt like a total asshole. Why would she ever want to come back? Why would any woman want to come here? And, for fuck's sake, now I might have to deal with the cops should this woman decide to file a complaint. I definitely didn't need those problems. The Press and Marty White would fucking eat that shit up.

  She brushed past me in a flash, even as I turned after her. "Hey," I called out. "I'm really sorry about that. Let me help you out. Can I call someone for you?"

  "You can go to Hell!" she threw over her shoulder, before she shoved through the entrance doors and disappeared from my gym.

  "What the hell was that?" Connor asked, slightly out of breath from running out of the office. "Who the fuck was that?"

  "That was the kid, the skinny kid—Loner. Macaroni," I answered. "Except he’s really a she, and she just got assaulted on our property by Karl, Brody and Jonas. Fuck."

  "What?" Connor asked, confused. "Like a tranny?” I shook my head in anger. It wasn’t the time for jokes. “Where’re they now?" he asked, starting to take this seriously.

  "Kicked them the fuck out," I growled. "You think I'd keep them around?"

  "What about her?" Connor said, jerking his chin in the direction the girl had gone—escaped. "What if she tells the cops or something?"

  "Thought about that," I replied. "I'm more concerned with the fact that she’s too scared to ever come back here. I feel like fucking shit, man. This shit should never have happened, not on my watch. That ain't the kind of place I want to run."

  "Think her name's really Jules Macaroni?" Connor asked.

  "Shit, who knows?" I said gruffly. "She felt the need to dress up like a dude. She probably would’ve used a fake name."

  "Macaroni," Connor repeated aloud, muttering it again to myself. "Macaroni."

  "What?" I grunted.

  "Nah, it just sounds familiar for some reason," Connor mused, rubbing his chin. He snapped his fingers as
I sighed. "That's it. Café Macaroni, over on Liberty Avenue. Italian family place, it's like a coffee shop and bakery."

  "Think it's her place?" I asked doubtfully.

  "Maybe her family's or somethin'. Not that I know how many Macaroni’s are in Pittsburgh."

  "Hmm," I said, folding my arms. "Who knows." I shook my head. I didn't like the idea of anyone getting assaulted at my gym. It just churned my guts to know that it’d happened under my watch.

  I just couldn't get over the absolute fear in her eyes; it was evident in every line of her. Reminded me of Mom... Nobody deserved to be scared like that, especially not a woman. Especially not her, when she’d never done anything to no one. Had just minded her own goddamn business. I wished I didn't have the self-restraint and control I did then. I would’ve loved to have rearranged those three assholes' fucking faces. But giving into my rage was a sure-fire way of being disqualified from Ithaca, even before it began.

  She wasn’t ever coming back. Who fucking would? I knew I should cut my losses, hoped to do better next time, but I just couldn't let it go. I wouldn’t sleep until I fixed this.

  I had to find her.

  Her

  I WAS IN the kitchen, filling the canisters with more whipped cream, while Ruby baked some cupcakes. She seemed to be able to sense my moodiness and need for quiet, and she understood when I‘d told her what happened at the gym a few weeks ago. I’d thought about finding another gym, but the incident was like being hit by a speeding train, and there was no way I’d put myself through that again.

  Suddenly, the bell over the door tinkled. Ruby glanced at me. My hands were covered in whipped cream. "I got it," she said, walking through the door.

  I shrugged and continued working, only glancing up when Ruby re-entered the kitchen soon after, biting at her lower lip, looking as though she wanted to smile, but didn't.