I had to walk.
Something in my dreams was clinging to me, like ants on my skin. I had to shake it off. I slipped out from under the covers, and my feet padded the wood floor.
This hadn’t happened to me in a long time, not since just after my father had died. Those first few nights I’d had nightmares about how he might’ve suffered. They’d said it’d been instant, that the other car had struck directly at the driver’s seat, but I feared he had, for only a split second, seen what was going to happen. Did he feel pain? Was he afraid?
The nightmares stopped, though, when I remembered where he’d gone, that he was finally with my mom again. And I did my best to be strong for them, to keep going, so they wouldn’t worry as they looked down on me.
Being strong was only getting harder.
Moonlight washed through the windows in the great room and flung shadows across the floor. There was something unsettling about the silence, like I could feel the lives lived in this house, Alec’s family. Passing the hall to Hanna’s room calmed the feeling, though. She was good for Alec. There was anger in him, tightly pent-up rage, and I was sure her presence greatly helped him in controlling it.
The moonlight stopped when I turned down the hall that led to the gym. There were only doors in this hall, no windows. I couldn’t even see my feet. I turned to go back.
A yell—no, more like a grunt of angry exertion.
It came from the direction of the gym. I crept toward the closed doors. I could only see them because their white paint stood out against the coffee-colored walls. No light escaped from under the doors.
The sounds grew clearer as I neared. It sounded like someone was fighting, not arguing, fighting. The voices were only grunts and yells, and there were thuds like something being hit. I moved faster.
I cracked the door just enough to be able to see. One dull light barely illuminated the left side of the room, the wild, blurry activity there. At first, I thought it was the lack of light that made it blurry, but it was the speed. The four men I saw at breakfast every morning converged over and over on a fifth. I covered my mouth to keep myself from screaming at them, demanding they stop. The fifth was the only one not wearing protective gear, the only one being attacked.
He was also the only one not being hit.
Alec moved so quickly I could barely see what he was hitting. The way the men reacted to his strikes was the only thing that gave it away. They doubled over, twisted away, and fell back. It didn’t seem like they were really hurt with all the gear on. It took them only seconds to attack again—and only seconds more to be hurled back.
Alec’s eyes were blank. His expression was detached, but in a different way. It wasn’t like he was hiding or burying. There was no pain. There wasn’t even rage. It was the lack of all that, like he was letting go, like the exertion, the violence, allowed him to physically deal with whatever was hurting him. He was able to fight back, to wipe his mind clear. I felt relief at seeing it.
I felt a lot of things.
His raggedy jeans sat low on his hips, and he wore no shirt. He was perfectly sculpted. The shadows accentuated every cut of his chest and arms, but only partially obscured the drawings covering him—the left side of his chest, both arms, and over his right shoulder onto his back. I hadn’t anticipated tattoos. Tattoos on the epitome of the polished man... My heart sped, and my skin grew warm.
I pushed the door open a little more.
It creaked.
***Alec***
It was late when Alec returned home. He’d sent Vincent back hours ago, after they completed their surveillance, and then he drove—for miles, to nowhere. He just needed speed. Speed could almost serve as an outlet for rage. Not this time, though. It wasn’t enough.
At the gate, he turned toward the other house on the property at which the others were staying. He left the car running and walked inside. They never locked the door. If anyone tried to trespass, the intruders would need protection from the men in this house.
He walked up the stairs and knocked on Vincent’s door.
A half-awake Vincent appeared a few seconds later.
“Training. Now,” Alec said.
Vincent stood straighter. “Yes, sir.”
Alec walked back to the car and drove up to the main house. He felt like a piece of shit for waking them, but he also knew Vincent would understand.
On the way to the gym, he stopped in the laundry room and found a pair of his jeans. Hanna would ask questions if he trained in his slacks. She wouldn’t understand; she would be concerned. He put on the jeans and left the suit and dress shirt in the pile intended for the drycleaners.
He waited in the gym for only a few minutes before the others arrived. They went for the closet with the gear and began putting it on.
“We came in through the garage,” Vincent said. “No one heard.”
Alec nodded. “Thank you.” It was partially an honest thanks and partially a command for Vincent to suit up in gear. He needed all of them tonight, especially Vincent. He was the most capable, gave the most challenge. Alec had to take his mind off his anger. Internal rage was so much more difficult.
They finished strapping the last pieces of gear.
Alec stood in the middle of the padded floor. He always used this room, with the padded floor; he didn’t want them to be hurt. “Let’s go.”
They moved faster, surrounding him.
“Full out,” Alec said.
They glanced around at each other. They’d been around long enough to understand. They just couldn’t possibly understand why he was so pissed, why he was on the edge of losing it.
“Go,” Vincent ordered, and the attack commenced.
Then Alec’s mind began to calm, or rather, it busied with the flurry of attack. His men were good—good enough to be a serious challenge, more than he’d ever encountered before. If for nothing else, he needed them around simply for that. He hated when his anger got the better of him, and that hate just added to the rage. Fighting these men was the only thing that could keep him under control.
He’d managed to keep himself in check through the evening, but once his task was done, once there was nothing else to occupy his mind, his thoughts had returned over and over to…
He struck Charlie square in the chest, and he fell back and slammed into the wall. Charlie could take a shot well; he was coming at him again a few seconds later. There was barely enough room in Alec’s head to remember not to hurt them seriously.
Vincent choked him from behind, and Alec flipped him over. Vincent’s breath expelled as he landed on his back at Alec’s feet. James hurtled forward, and Vincent rolled out of the way.
Then Anthony tried coming from the side. Alec side-kicked him back and then used the same leg for a thrusting front kick at Charlie.
The bodies blurred. Alec could barely keep track. He wasn’t actually thinking anymore. This was what he needed, the blankness. His body was moving on its own. He had enough experience that his body knew what to do. Violence was easy; it came naturally. It had always been a part of his life, and he knew, no matter how much he tried to fight, it always would be a part of his life, a dominant force. He had to accept it, deal with it. There was only one thing that could tame it, that could make him feel normal—and that one thing was completely out of reach, even more so now.
A creak, the door.
“Stop,” Alec commanded. The flurry ceased.
Adriane. She was standing just inside the door.
***Adriane***
All activity stopped. The only sound was the panting of the four other men.
I started to back away. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking in walking inside; I wanted to stay away from him.
“Stop,” Alec said again, in a completely different voice—gentle, a request.
I stayed where I was.
“Please come in,” he said.
I wanted to escape, but I opened the door and slipped into the shadows beside it.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” It was a dismissal.
Still with their gear on, they began filing out—except one. Vincent. He pulled off his headgear and exchanged a glance with Alec.
Alec nodded toward the door.
Vincent obeyed, but his gaze flickered in my direction before he disappeared with the other men into the darkness of the hall.
Alec turned to pick up a towel from the floor in the corner then wiped his face, chest, and hair. His skin still glistened slightly, and his hair was disheveled.
He turned to face me.
I took a breath and swallowed. I couldn’t find the blanket of numbness. The shadows were the only thing concealing me. I pulled my gaze away and tried to deaden my expression.
He moved closer, slowly. “I’m sorry.”
I looked up. He didn’t look angry or even annoyed, only cautious and apologetic.
“It must have scared you,” he said, “seeing that.”
“Did they hurt you?”
His eyebrows twitched lower. “No. It was just a practice.”
I took a step closer, out of the shadows. “Why—” I stopped myself.
“It’s useful to be able to protect ourselves.” He said nothing more, offered no more explanation.
“Please be careful,” I said.
His expression twisted in confusion, and then there was frustration, as if it annoyed him to be confused, like he wasn’t used to it. “Aren’t you angry with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“This afternoon,” he said. “You were upset.”
“Because I put…all of you in danger.”
“But it’s taking so long; I know you’re homesick, and I…I invaded your privacy.”
I shook my head. “I just want you to be careful.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
He maintained eye contact. He looked angry—not at me, but definitely at something.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head, as though he had a bursting headache and he was trying to cut off all senses. His teeth ground together and tensed the muscles in his jaw all the way up his temple.
I reached out and took his hand, to try to comfort.
He looked down at our hands.
I held tighter. I didn’t care if it wasn’t wise for me to touch him, if it would hurt me. He needed comfort.
He took a silent breath and moved to step away.
“No,” I murmured.
He met my gaze. I squeezed tighter.
His eyes cleared and his expression leveled. He moved closer and took my other hand. “I’ll make it better,” he said. “I promise.”
Hope squirmed into my head, hope for friendship. “I don’t want you getting too deep into this.”
“Nothing can be done to stop it at this point.”
I nodded and took a breath.
“It’s late,” he said. “I should get you to bed.”
He walked with me back through the house. It felt different when he was with me, like I could feel only the good parts of the lives lived here.
As we passed the hall where Hanna and Ben slept, I spoke softer, almost a whisper. He leaned in to hear—but he didn’t touch me, nor did his gaze brush along the low cut of my tank top. Even though he didn’t look, I was shocked I didn’t feel uncomfortable. My lack of, uh, support had been one of my reasons for hiding in the shadows in the gym. I didn’t dress like that in front of men, in front of anyone.
“Are you coming to breakfast in the morning?” I asked.
“I’ll be gone extremely early.” He glanced at the grandfather clock at the opening of the hall that led under the stairs. “A little more than an hour, actually.”
“You’ll be tired.”
He laughed under his breath. In all the time of intently listening to every sound he made, I’d never heard him laugh, not even under his breath.
“I would say not to worry,” he said, “but I have a feeling it would be a waste of my breath.”
“Quite astute of you.”
He laughed again.
We stopped at my door.
“Have you been bored?” he asked. “Do you—”
“No,” I said. “I have Hanna to talk to.”
He nodded.
He hesitated to leave.
“Is your head better?” I asked.
He tilted his chin curiously.
“You had a headache.”
He paused. “Much better. Thank you.”
“You should take some aspirin anyway.”
He smiled a little, but it was hindered, like something was bothering him—maybe the headache still. I doubted he was the type to admit to pain.
Without stepping, he leaned closer.
I froze.
He tilted his head and lightly kissed my cheek. I knew it was just a friendly gesture, like when my parents used to tell me goodnight, but my skin warmed so much it had to be burning him.
His lips lingered for a second or two. “Goodnight, Adriane,” he murmured, and pulled back slowly. Then he turned and walked down the hall.