“Can I just say, your husband is adorable.” Violet grins at me over her zip-tied hands.
“Less chatting, more breaking free.” I sit cross-legged next to her, eyes on my stopwatch. I intentionally do not look at the brown bag lunch Charlie packed me that sits on the bench across the room. Definitely not noticing how he used a heart instead of an “a” when he wrote my name on it. “The point is to get faster, not more casual about this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Violet mutters under her breath as she slips off her bracelet that’s actually a cord made of extremely strong fiber. She toes off her shoe, loops the cord around her big toe, grabs the other end with her teeth, and proceeds to saw through her binding. A moment later the plastic snaps.
“Ta da!” Violet returns her deceptively useful jewelry to her wrist.
“Good. Next time you’re going to do it blindfolded.”
She puffs out a sigh as if exasperated with my lessons. I know her pouting is all an act, rising from the dramatic part of her personality. Violet is the one who hired me. Our phone call from a few months back sits clear in my memory.
“My brother has a security guard living up my ass.” I’d heard the annoyance in every bitten word. “And not in a sexy way. He thinks this guy is some cyborg superman who will defend me from all evil. But I won’t put all my eggs in his terminator basket. I need to be able to save myself.”
Said security guard lingers along the wall, leaning back against the cement like he’s the most important support beam in the place. Manuel’s face is a blank mask, scanning the private gym I’ve booked for our session as if he expects gang members to jump out of every nook any second.
Not that I fault him for his level of alert. Better to be overly watchful than slacking off in his line of business.
Still, I don’t miss the way his attention inevitably comes back to Violet, tracing over her form.
Is he checking after her well-being with that full-body scan? Or could that be a spark of longing?
Even as I try stifling my curiosity, I wonder if Manuel volunteered for this position. I guess unrequited love could be an added motivator to keeping your charge safe.
If anyone threatened Charlie, I’d dig their still-beating heart from their chest.
Not that I love the man or anything.
Shaking off an uncomfortable zing of energy, I stand and move over to my bag, pulling out a bandana.
“Kinky.” Violet grins as I cover her eyes and knot the fabric behind her head, careful not to tangle her sea-foam curls in the knot. “Do you and Charlie use this in the bedroom?”
Would I trust him to blindfold me?
Stop thinking about sex with your fake husband!
I blame Violet.
“You know,” I say, “I think you’re ready for hands behind your back too.”
She lets out a squeak of affront as I move to reband her hands. She starts testing the bonds the second I let go.
But her task still doesn’t detract her prying questions.
“So am I you or Charlie right now? Who’s the dom?”
Giving into an evil urge, I glance over at Manuel, who is resolutely not watching his trussed-up client.
“Hey, Manuel!” I wave him over. “Let’s make this closer to the real deal. Why don’t you give our favorite singer a turn around the room? Maybe a few spins?”
The guy presses his lips together, but I’m almost certain I see a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He moves toward us in ground-eating strides, then scoops Violet off the ground to sling her in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. She squawks an inelegant sound I’m sure she’d never allow out of her mouth onstage.
Manuel glances at me, one brow curved in question.
“Just a few circuits. An abrupt turn or two. Something she’d deal with if a kidnapper was moving her.”
At that, any minuscule glimmer of humor ices out of his face.
I think if any person were to damage a single molecule of Violet Bluefield’s body, Manuel would take the incident personally and begin a lifelong vendetta. She’s the puppy to his John Wick.
Not a bad person to have on your side.
“You’re both cruel!” Violet yelps as her bodyguard power walks around the room with her. He zigzags at random points and makes multiple 360-degree turns.
“Clock starts as soon as your ass hits the ground!” I walk as I talk, so she doesn’t have a bearing on her place in the room.
When Manuel finishes giving her a good shaking, he sets her down. Though the man committed to his attempts to disorient her, he sets Violet on the thick mat as if she were made of glass. He takes two steps back, then stops, crossing his arms as he looms over her.
“I can tell you’re there,” Violet accuses. “I wouldn’t try to get my bindings off in front of the kidnapper, right, Luna?”
“Good instincts.” I smile across the way at my pupil even though she can’t see me. I nod at Manuel, and he stalks toward the exit, opening the door and then shutting it with a bang without stepping through. That’s when I start the timer, and one of country music’s biggest stars begins writhing around on the ground like a worm at a rave hyped up on ecstasy.
As Violet works to get loose, my mind flips back to her casually suggestive questions. And from there it’s a short leap to my kitchen and sitting on that countertop.
I may have had the high ground, but Charlie dominated me. The way he coaxed my pleasure to the surface as if he understood every secret my body has ever tried to hide. My nipples tighten at the memory, and I cross my arms over my chest so the points pressing against my sports bra don’t show.
My attention gets pulled back to Violet when her restraints snap. She tears off her blindfold with a whoop of triumph. My thumb presses to stop the timer, but I give her my sternest look.
“Sorry.” My friend ducks her head. “Next time I will celebrate my victory quietly.”
I nod and show her the time, and she grins wide. “I bet I can beat that.”
And if Violet weren’t rubbing her wrists like the reddened skin pained her, then I might go another round. But these lessons are meant to keep her from getting hurt, not cause injury.
“Next session we’ll go again. For now, I think we need to revisit rule number one.”
Violet groans. Manuel tilts his head side to side, loosening the muscles in his neck as he moves to stand near the door, hand on the handle.
I don’t let the country singer’s—admittedly adorable—pout sway me. “When you sense danger, what is the first rule?” I use my coldest instructor’s tone.
She rolls to her feet and heads toward the exit.
“Run.”