SERAPHINE
Leroi makes me meditate on the rooftop terrace for hours. It’s my unspoken punishment for getting close to his precious little Miko.
When I complain about being hungry, he brings me breakfast bars and juice. When I say I can’t concentrate, he grabs the sides of my head and makes me recite mantras that block out all thoughts of killing him.
He’s infuriating.
I wasn’t even trying to flirt with Miko. Well, not much anyway. Just enough to let Leroi know I had options and wouldn’t wait for him to grow a set of balls. Half the time, he treats me like I’m a fragile little virgin. Other times, he’s giving me part of what I want and making me feel bad about it.
He’s handsome, dangerous, protective—everything a girl could ever need, yet he refuses to act on his attraction. He’s a tease.
I see the way his gaze lingers on my lips and wanders down my body and in the thick erection he gets whenever I come too close. Then the moment I turn my sights to another man, he turns into an asshole. He wants me. No matter what he says.
If I can’t use Miko to make Leroi jealous, I’ll just find someone else.
“Seraphine.”
His sharp voice pulls me out of my musings and I open my eyes. Leroi sits opposite me on the mat with his hands resting on his crossed legs. His expression is unreadable, but my skin burns under the heat of his glower.
Swallowing, I sit straighter. “Yes?”
“You weren’t following the breathing exercises,” he says.
I raise both shoulders. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
“An apology,” I say before I can stop myself.
He tilts his head, motioning for me to elaborate.
“I should have gotten dressed the moment I let Miko in. It was wrong of me to make him think I was interested.”
He studies me for several moments before asking, “And?”
“And I’m sorry.”
“I accept.” Leroi rises from his sitting position and offers me a hand. “But you need to learn to control your impulses. Part of that includes thinking before you act.”
With a nod, I take his hand and let him pull me up. I’m not sorry for trying to make Leroi jealous, but it was shitty of me to use Miko. He deactivated my collar, and without all his research, we wouldn’t have made half as much progress in my quest.
Leroi takes me downstairs so I can get dressed and then serves a brunch of a Spanish tortilla with a huge green salad. Afterward, we go to one of his apartments on the floor below. Thick black mats carpet the floor and mirrors cover an entire wall.
My gaze wanders across an array of free weights, exercise machines, and punching bags on stands. “What is this place?”
“This is where Miko and I exercise when it’s raining.” Leroi gestures around the room. “And it’s where you’ll build lean muscle and burn off some of your excess energy.”
“But I’m not energetic.”
He turns to me with his brow raised.
I stare back. The handler Dad hired to train me provided a cross trainer machine so I could get enough cardio while still chained to the wall, and he also made me do body weight exercises. If I didn’t perform my quota of reps, he activated the collar. The thought of that creepy old guy making another girl exercise braless makes me want to electrocute his eyes until they explode into sparks.
Leroi takes my shoulder and walks me to a punching bag on a stand. “Wait here.”
He disappears into a room and emerges with two pairs of boxing gloves.
“Put these on.” He shoves them into my hands. How did he know my size? “I’m going to teach you to punch. Whenever you’re feeling frustrated, I want you to come down here and work out your aggression.”
I slip on the gloves, and Leroi stands back, watching me smash my fists into the bag. I imagine pummeling Dad in the liver and making him cry for mercy. Dad morphs into Gregor, and then Gregor morphs into Samson. I’m so focused on revenge that the rest of the room disappears.
“You’ve got a good right hook,” Leroi says, jerking me out of my trance. “You need to work on your left.”
He stands behind me, adjusts my posture, and demonstrates the technique. The heat of his body envelopes mine, and the space fills with his masculine scent. Whatever he says disappears into the ether because all I can concentrate on is his presence.
“Now, try again,” he says.
I throw a punch with my left and glance at Leroi for approval. He shakes his head and returns to guide my movements. This time, when I try again, he gives me an approving nod.
“Good girl.”
The praise hits me straight in the clit, my cheeks flare with heat, and all my blood travels to the needy spot between my legs. Leroi folds his arms across his chest and gives me a look that communicates that he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Are you sure you don’t have excess energy?” he asks.
Scowling, I punch the bag again, imagining it’s him. What a dick.
“Did you adopt Miko?”
I deliver an uppercut to his imaginary face. In my mind’s eye, punching bag Leroi staggers backward at the force of my blow.
“No. Family isn’t always built on blood,” he says.
My gaze darts to the real Leroi before I return my attention to the bag. “What does that mean?”
“He asked me to take him away from his situation.”
A breath catches in the back of my throat. “Was he like me?”
Leroi’s features harden. “He wasn’t a prisoner, but he was in a bad place. I couldn’t refuse his request for help.”
“Why not?”
“Because when I was in a worse position, someone also took care of me.”
I nod, my throat thickening, my mind already conjuring up the scene of a boy standing over a dying man with a gun, the room spattered in blood. Leroi’s mentor would have strode in, strong and imposing and dressed in black, exactly as Leroi looked in the basement. The backs of my eyes sting, and I think of anything to change the subject.
“Did you teach Miko to be a hacker?” I try a high kick that makes the bag swing.
Leroi chuckles. “He came with computer skills. I only paid for the equipment to help hone his talent.”
“You really care about him, don’t you?”
“Of course. He’s like a little brother.”
I pause, my fist stilling on the bag. The implications of his words wrap around my throat with a leathery grip. If rescuing a younger person while on a job makes them family, does that explain why Leroi keeps pushing me away?
Without looking in his direction, I ask, “Does that make me your little sister?”
“No,” Leroi replies. “You’re something else.”
“What?”
He places a gloved hand on my shoulder and lowers his lips to my ear. “Keep punching.”
My hackles rise. I deliver a flurry of jabs to the bag, resisting the urge to bite back with a retort. The imaginary version of Leroi reels back from each hit, while the real one watches on in my periphery.
“This would be so much more satisfying if I had a knife,” I say from between clenched teeth.
“Still frustrated?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My left fist slams into the bag. “Punching bags don’t bleed.”
He huffs a laugh. “Are you feeling murdery?”
“That isn’t even a word,” I say with a scowl and deliver a right hook.
Leroi places both hands on my shoulders. “Cool down, drink some water, and come with me. If it’s blood you want, I have exactly what you need.”
