Twisted Love: A Brother's Best Friend Romance

I slammedmy fist into the mannequin’s face, reveling in the sharp burst of pain that jolted up my arm at the impact. My muscles burned and sweat dripped down my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t stop. I’d done this so many times I didn’t have to see to land my hits.

The smell of sweat and violence stained the air. This was the one place I allowed myself to unleash the anger I kept under careful wraps in all other areas of my life. I’d started Krav Maga training a decade ago for self-defense, but it had since become my catharsis, my sanctuary.

By the time I finished pummeling the mannequin, my body was a mess of aches and sweat. I toweled the perspiration off my face and took a swig of water. Work had been a bitch, and I’d needed this release to reset.

“Hope you worked off your frustration,” Ralph, the owner of the training center and my personal instructor since I’d moved to D.C., said dryly. Short and stocky, he had the powerful build of a fighter and a mean mug, but deep down, he was a teddy bear. He’d knock my lights out if I ever told him or anyone else that though. “You looked like you had a personal vendetta against Harper.”