The Tornado Read online

  “You’re a whore. You know that, Connor?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  For every girl I brushed off, which was every single one of them, Connor and the other guys were more than happy to catch them and pick up the mess.

  “Hey. What guy doesn’t love pussy on demand?” he said, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

  Meaningless sex. Been there, done that. Didn’t do anything for me. I was just gonna keep my dick in my pants and mind my own fucking business.

  I smirked and shook my head. "Nah, man. You got it. I'm good."

  "Come on, bro!" Connor insisted. "You haven't tapped any of that out there! Take a load off. At least relieve some fucking stress."

  "I'm good," I repeated. "You and Leon are doing just fine without me. Unless your cock is finally giving up."

  Connor smirked. "Never. It’s stronger than iron—I know what's wrong," he said in a teasing tone. "You're just butt-hurt since Little Italian never came back after you went crawling on hands and knees to say you're sorry. Buying a fucking latte, like a pussy," he laughed.

  "Hey, man," I snapped, rising from my chair. "Fuck you. Mind your own goddamn business."

  "C’mon," Connor pushed. "If you like her, just go see her again. Your cock ain’t shy, is it? If you need advice on the birds and bees, man, you only need ask."

  "I’m not having this conversation with you, Connor," I rumbled. "Now, get those girls the fuck out of my gym so I can beat the shit out of you and do something productive."

  "Yeah, yeah," Connor said, disappointed. "Guess I'll do that and then I'll go do something productive later. Maybe a couple somethings." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and I shook my head again.

  "Whatever," I grumbled. "Just make sure you wear a rubber. Don't want you bringing crabs into this gym. And fuck you having kids, man. One of you in the world is enough."

  When the gym was finally empty of blood-thirsty women, I turned my attention to a punch bag for a warm up. As I slugged it out on the bag, I thought about her. I'd never considered contacting Juliet again after she’d made it clear she was done with the gym. But I had to admit that maybe Connor wasn't so off-base with his comment. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. And there was just something about her. Something that set her apart from all the Barbie-whores that swarmed in my life.

  There was just something about her that wouldn’t leave me alone.

  Never see her again, I told myself, slamming my fist into the bag, with more force than necessary.

  Half-hour later, I wasted no time hopping in the ring to spar with Connor. Leon was there, along with ten other guys, who had all been excited to see this match play out. I needed to up my game, what with the tournament looming nearer and nearer. Connor was definitely a top sparring partner in the gym. The man's experience certainly made him a worthy adversary, and I was concentrating harder than I normally did with other fighters. I’d never been knocked out. But Connor knew he had a slim chance.

  I circled Connor in the ring. He lashed out with a lightning-fast jab which I deflected, only to take a sharp kick in the ribs. I stumbled backward but quickly caught my feet, then rushed Connor with a slicing elbow followed by a left hook, then dropped down and swept Connor's feet out from under him. I rolled backward and hopped up quickly before Connor could drop me from his prone position in the ring.

  "Fucking quick bastard!" Connor rasped. I laughed at him behind my mouth guard, hopping lightly from foot to foot as I focused in on Connor's shoulder line. From the way Connor tensed slightly and leaned, I knew instantly it would likely be a jab coming off the left shoulder. I sent up a blocking forearm just as Connor's fist flew at me, and then sent a hard push-kick with my left foot into Connor's gut. The air audibly rushed out of his lungs as he stumbled back, bouncing off the ropes. He held up a hand.

  "All right, you half-English fuck," he panted. "Give me a minute."

  I pulled my mouth guard out and smirked. "Sure, old man," I said sarcastically. "Take all the time you need. Would you like a chair to sit down on?" Breathlessly, Connor held up an extended middle finger before replacing his hand to his knee and sucking in a deep breath.

  A sudden rush of cold air filled the air then. Someone had entered the gym. I glanced over my shoulder to see who it was.

  Fuck.

  I had to do a double take as I caught a glimpse of shiny long dark hair, in a high messy ponytail. A pair of warm brown eyes met mine briefly, and I clenched my jaw to keep it from falling open. It was the last person on Earth I'd expected to see sauntering casually past the ring, toward the heavy bags.

  Juliet was back.

  And I knew then, I was heading for my first knock out.

  Chapter Five

  Him

  I’M A DEAD MAN.

  I thought I had Ithaca in the bag, but how the hell am I supposed to concentrate on training with her looking like that?

  It seemed Juliet had thrown caution to the wind, now that her cover was blown. As my eyes went over her form, I knew she was gonna be trouble for me. I’m not talking about low-cut tops or shorts that bare ass cheeks, like the groupies wore. That did nothing for me. So why the hell is a girl who’s pretty much covered up, waking my cock up?

  She wore a pair of form-fitting black yoga pants under a gray T-shirt that looked like its sleeves had been ripped off, showing her slender toned arms. I caught a flash of a bright-pink sports bra through the large holes where the sleeves had once been. Attaching her ear-buds, she glanced over her shoulder at me. I gave her a smile—a smile that was wider than I’d wanted it to be—and a nod of acknowledgment before turning away to face Connor again.

  "Oh, shit," Connor crowed quietly. "Looks like your girlfriend came back after all. Damn, who knew Loner had all of that under those baggy-ass clothes?"

  I narrowed my eyes. "The name’s Juliet and you don’t wanna say that again," I warned, my voice hard, stabbing a finger at him. I glanced around at the other guys, who were still crowded around the ring, but all of their heads were swiveled in her direction as she pounded away at her bag. They were laughing and making low comments about her shape, her clothes. I snapped my fingers to draw their attention and scowled when they finally looked at me.

  "Don't look at her," I warned, a sharp edge to my voice. "Don't talk to her, don't breathe in her direction, don’t dream about her—don't think about her. Leave her the fuck alone. I see any of you fucking with her, your ass is mine. Copy that?"

  There was a round of terse, disappointed nods and I turned back toward Connor once more, popping my mouth guard back in place. My sparring partner was openly smirking at me, cocking his head.

  "Was that you having her back?" Connor asked, shaking his arms out at his side before adopting a fighting stance. "Or...you marking your territory?"

  I glowered at him, lifting my fists and making a ‘come on’ gesture.

  "'Cos you might as well have gone over there, lifted your leg, and pissed all over her if that's what you wanted to do," Connor went on, that stupid smirk never leaving his face.

  He was still speaking when I rushed at him. I knew it wasn't sportsmanlike of me to do so, but I wanted to shut Connor's dumb-ass up before Juliet overheard him. I did not want her to be uncomfortable here. Connor took the hint—as well as a hard, sharp elbow to his solar plexus—and shut the hell up, and we continued with our sparring session.

  Since I’d warned the other guys off from Juliet, they’d adhered to my orders, and no man bothered her once. They continued to go about their normal business throughout the evening, until I realized it was closing time. The guys trickled out and Connor checked if I needed him to do anything, but I waved him off knowing how eager he was to hook up with the gymnast and her friend.

  I went to the office and toweled myself off, changing into the clean shirt I kept in my bag before turning off the light and locking the door after me. The lone sound of fists against a punching bag met my ears, and I followed it around the ring to where she was still going
strong.

  She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and had shucked her ripped-up gray T-shirt as she pummeled the bag. Her ear-buds were still firmly in place, and she’d tucked her ponytail into a roll on top of her head, loose strands sticking wetly to the back of her neck. I heard her sharp exhales with every punch thrown, seeing her ribs contract tightly with the pushing out of breath. My eyes traveled the length of her back, noting the indentation her spine made all the way down, the well-developed muscles there flexing and moving with every powerful thrust of her arm.

  It was obvious she’d completely lost track of time, and hadn't noticed me standing at a respectful distance behind her. I reached out and tapped the back of her shoulder, as lightly and as quickly as possible. She flinched, recoiling away from me, and the shoulder I'd touched, dipped low under my hand as she jumped a mile away. Her shocked, fearful, wide brown eyes, met mine as she continued to back up, feet moving fast.

  I lifted my brow, raising my hands slowly in the air to show I was no threat. "Hey," I said, as she scrambled to pull an ear-bud out. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just came to let you know I'm getting ready to close up."

  She’d been breathing hard through her nose, and at my words, she visibly started to relax, her fists unclenching. I frowned slightly, knowing that her reaction went way beyond being startled. She’d actually been petrified for a second.

  "Yeah, sorry," she breathed, stepping past me and snatching up a towel. "Let me get my stuff together and then I'll get out of your hair."

  I averted my eyes when she started to towel off the sweat on her arms and torso, suddenly aware that she was dressed only in her sports bra and yoga pants, and that she looked amazing. More than amazing. And then she suddenly seemed self-conscious as though realizing the same, and quickly pulled her T-shirt over her head. I cleared my throat and took another step back, giving her plenty of space.

  "So you decided to come back," I said. She nodded her head once as she zipped herself into her fitted leather jacket and grabbed her bag.

  "I did," she said finally. "I figured that if the owner himself would come all the way out to Bloomfield to apologize, and pay five dollars for a drink he didn’t want—”

  “Yeah, about that. I don’t actually drink lattes.” For some reason, I needed her to know this.

  “I’d figured that,” she said with a half-smile.

  I’m such a moron.

  “Anyway, I could at least give this place another chance, right?" We both smiled and she followed me toward the front doors.

  "Well, I'm glad you came back," I replied. "You've got too much talent to waste, anyway. You ever thought about sparring? Competing?"

  She looked shocked. "Me?" she said, gesturing to herself. "Oh, no. Not really my thing."

  "No?" I said. "That's a shame. You could really do some damage in the women's MMA leagues."

  She smirked and shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm just in it for the fitness."

  "I can tell you've had some training before," I said, leaning against the door and folding my arms. "You ever take lessons or something?"

  "I had a trainer," she said, her voice coming out softer. She glanced away. "In New York…where I'm from… But I moved here with my family last year. So since I've been here, I haven't had any training."

  "I'll spar with you," I offered with a shrug. "If you want. I'm thinking about putting on a women's self-defense course. You could be my guinea pig. Maybe even my assistant."

  "That's nice of you to want to do that for women," she said. "But, um...no, thanks."

  I didn't press the issue, but I noticed the way she couldn't look me in the eye and how she was almost mumbling. Something was definitely up with her, but now was not the time or place to try to figure it out.

  I pushed open the door for her, following her out into the cold night, and pulled the door shut behind me, locking it firmly before sliding the gate across. I glanced over my shoulder at her, noting that she seemed to be waiting for me. I finished locking the gate and turned to face her.

  "How you getting home?" I asked. I was planning to take the subway myself, and was about to offer to see her home. Mom would have turned in her grave if she knew I'd let a young lady walk home all by herself late at night.

  She pointed over her shoulder to a car across the street with the headlights on. "That's Ruby," she said. "She’ll take me home."

  I lifted a hand vaguely in the direction of the car. It was too dark to really see anything, but then I saw the window roll down and a hand stick out, waving at us. I nodded at Juliet, preparing to turn, but something in her face stopped me.

  "I want to say thank you," she said in a rush. "For…for sticking up for me when those guys ran up on me. For trying to help me out. I'm sorry I brushed you off like that. And…and going out of your way to come to the café. All that was...was really sweet of you. And I just want to say thanks."

  I was surprised and a little embarrassed. It made me uncomfortable to hear my actions verbally laid out like that, when I hadn't done anything for any reason other than to do the decent thing.

  "Really, no trouble," I said, taking my turn to avert my eyes and lower my voice. "Just don't like shit like that, is all."

  She glanced at me, and her lips pulled into a full smile. "Well...it was really sweet of you," she repeated.

  I nodded. "Get home safe," I said. "Your girl is waiting on you. I'll see you around."

  "Good night," she said. As she headed off, I watched until she’d made it across the street all right and was safely in her friend's car.

  My mind was spinning as I hopped on the train. I couldn't figure her out. Most women I could peg pretty easily within the first few minutes of conversation, but she was a complete enigma to me. I was genuinely surprised at her thanking me when I'd assumed all I'd managed to do was annoy her. I was also still puzzled by her reaction to me tapping her, her unwillingness to spar with me...

  I shook my head. I was probably being analytical. Maybe she was just naturally jumpy, and maybe, maybe she was intimidated at the thought of sparring with a guy.

  Either way, I wanted to find out.

  Chapter Six

  Him

  I was checking over the weights by the punch bags and glanced up at Juliet as she walked over. She gave me a short smile as she dropped her bag on the ground and stretched her arms. I nodded in reply and turned back to my inventory list as she set to work on the bag.

  After a few minutes, I finally gave in to my inner voice, the one shouting at me to watch her. I glanced over, studying her form for a moment, making damn sure I didn’t look like a goddamn loser pervert.

  Now that she wasn't drowning in oversized clothing, I could study her better and critique her form. Her previous training was evident, but it was also evident that she’d been away from it for a while. She wasn't quite as sharp as she should be, but her punches were as hard as ever.

  Finally, I set my clipboard down and stepped over to her. Carefully. I made sure to stay within her peripheral vision, not wanting to frighten her like I had a week before. Her eyes shifted toward me automatically and I motioned for her to take her ear-buds out. She complied, lifting an eyebrow at me.

  "Hey," I said. "Not to interrupt. Just noticed something. When you throw an uppercut, make sure you lower your shoulder a little and throw from the hip. Twist a little." I stepped up beside her, slightly moving around toward the back, instincts telling me to keep my hands where she could see. "Can I show you?"

  She visibly tensed, but nodded hesitantly. I stepped behind her, angling slightly so I was nearer to her right side. "When you throw the right," I began, gently pressing on her right shoulder, "lower this side a little more." I moved her shoulder gently. "Turn your hips with it and lift your heel off the ground." I knew I might be pushing it, but I let my hands settle just above her hips, lightly, and manipulated the action I wanted them to take. I nudged the toe of my shoe against the heel of hers, prodding her to lift her heel as sh
e rotated her hips. "All the power should come from here." I patted her right hip lightly, then stepped back.

  She was flushing, and nodded without meeting my gaze. "Thanks… I'll, uh, remember that."

  "No problem," I replied. "Otherwise you're perfect." I immediately realized what I'd said and how it might have sounded. I cleared my throat, turning to move back toward my damn clipboard.

  When I finished my inventory, I stripped off my clean T-shirt and replaced it with a beat-up, ratty shirt to workout in. I headed back out toward the punch bags, glancing briefly at Juliet. I was pleased to see she was applying the technique I'd given her.

  I stretched my neck and arms and started in on the bag in front of me. I was so consumed in what I was doing, that time flew by. After a while, I felt the tap of fingers on my shoulder and I turned sharply.

  "You taking off for the night?" I asked, slightly out of breath. I used my towel to dry my face.

  "Yeah," she replied. "I need to go home and get ready for work."

  I cocked my head. It was nine on a Friday night. "The café?" I asked, knitting my brows.

  She shook her head, her ponytail swaying. "No. I bartend over at Trinity’s Lounge a couple nights a week. Usually on the weekend."

  I wasn't surprised to hear that Juliet snagged a job at Trinity’s. Trinity’s Lounge was a swank place in the Strip District. I’d never been there, but some of the guys had, and they’d always come back with stories about the waitresses. Given the upscale clientele, the owner reportedly hired only the most beautiful women to ensure a high amount of business. Bet she was the prettiest girl there.

  "Two jobs, huh?" I asked. "Must keep you pretty busy."

  "Three, actually," she replied, to my surprise. She smiled. "I also teach dance on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings."

  I was impressed. "Dance?" I repeated. "What kind of dance?"

  "Ballet," she said. "I teach twelve-to-sixteen-year-olds."

  "No wonder your posture's so good," I said, noting her straight back and elongated neck. It made sense; there was a grace about her movements, everything from the way she walked, to the way she threw her punches. Grace certainly wasn't taught to professional fighters. "So you've got a busy day tomorrow?"