Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
After a quick breakfast, Renae and I load up into her car so she can drop me off at the gym. As I step out and reach the door, my heart is beating like I've been running for miles. The butterflies are getting more and more aggressive, and when I walk into the gym, they're practically swarming.
To my surprise, the gym is relatively empty today. Keith is at the front desk, but he waves me over as soon as I come in.
"Hey, kid. The boss is going to be a little late. He's meeting with the contractor to go over tile choices or something. He said to have you warm up on your own and that he'll be here soon."
"Thanks," I tell him, the anticipation rocketing even higher inside of me now that I have to wait.
Heading over to the bag, I wrap my hands and start my warm-up, trying to remember what Porter taught me. It's embarrassing to think that I didn't pay nearly enough attention to my lessons because I've been so distracted by my trainer, but after a few minutes, I start to find a rhythm.
A shadow passes over me, tall but thinner than Porter. The difference in size is my first giveaway that something is wrong, but at first, I think it's just another person here to work out.
"Need some help?" the shadow asks from behind. I freeze at the unfamiliar voice and slowly turn.
It's the size that throws me off at first. He's built just like Ian, about 6 feet tall but wiry. It's not Ian, but the similarities are enough to give me a shot of adrenaline. That and how freaking close to me he is.
"Um, no thanks," I chirp pleasantly, hoping it will be enough for him to take the hint and leave. I turn back to my punching bag, but the guy doesn't move. He clears his throat, and I turn again, a little more annoyed this time.
"What is it?" I ask.
His eyes rake over my body and send a shiver of disgust crawling up my spine. He's probably in his 20s, full of that cockiness so common in younger guys.
"I'm Jerry."
"Nice to meet you, Jerry. Now, I need to finish warming up, so if you'll excuse me…"
Jerry reaches out and grabs my elbow, pivoting me like he's trying to correct my form, but I'm not stupid. It's just an excuse to get his hands on me. I yelp and try to pull away, but his grip is iron. Panic starts to set in, and suddenly, my boxing lesson doesn't seem all that unnecessary anymore. Will I have to fight this guy off? Can I?
"You're a pretty little thing. Hold your arms like this. Stop tensing up, I'm just trying to help."
"Let go of me," I snap, struggling to get away.
Jerry's eyes narrow and he leans closer, his hand squeezing my elbow even harder, and when he pulls me closer, there’s a thread of roughness in the gesture. My heart pounds and tears prick my eyes. I've never been handled this way, with this kind of roughness and disregard for my body, and it makes my palms sweat and my hands shake.
"Get the FUCK off her."
Porter's voice is a whip cracking, and a flood of relief washes over me. Jerry's grip releases and his gaze jerks over toward the owner of the gym, his expression turning panicked.
Now, all of a sudden, Jerry is meek and respectful. What a joke! "Porter, sir. I was just helping her correct her stance, that's all."
Porter strides towards us, his eyes locked on Jerry. They're dark, and his jaw is clenched, his hands in fists. His muscles are coiled, and suddenly, he explodes into movement. He's faster than anything I've ever seen, and before I can process what's happening, he's shoving Jerry away.
"Bailey, go," he barks out.
I scurry behind Porter, hiding myself, but I'm watching them from the safety of his massive, broad back.
"Sir, really, there's been a misunderstanding—" Jerry says, but he's silenced by Porter's fist colliding with his cheekbone.
The crack of Porter's knuckles against Jerry's jaw rings out and echoes through the gym. It's followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground, and my eyes are wide as I watch Porter grab Jerry's shirt by the collar, dragging the dazed man toward the door.
"You're fucking banned," Porter growls. "If I see you anywhere near my gym or Bailey, I'll call the police. And that's if you're lucky. If you're not…" He jerks the smaller man up until they're face to face, and Jerry can see the ice-cold fury in Porter's whiskey-brown eyes. "I'll handle you myself."
With that, he unceremoniously shoves Jerry outside. Jerry is too groggy to argue, and he stumbles out onto the sidewalk. Keith, who had stood by the entire scene, comes over and pulls the door shut, flipping the 'Open' sign to 'Closed'.