Chapter 5
NORTH CAROLINA
Adria dodged the first blow and shot her right fist across her body.
“No, Adria, what do I keep telling you? You have to keep your hands up,” Eric said, taking a step back.
He moved behind her and adjusted her stance.
“If you want to hit me with this arm,” he grabbed her right wrist, “you need to twist at your waist and keep the left hand up, NEVER let your guard down.”
Adria nodded. “Again,” she said.
The two of them ran through drills until Adria’s limbs were jelly and sweat poured off her.
It had been a little over two months since the boys had left, and not a day went by that she didn’t think of them.
Thankfully, Frances hadn’t offered her any new work.
She needed some time.
They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about what working would look like for her. Would the brothers think of it as cheating? Would they want to partake?
Adria shook her head. It was dangerous to think that they would care at all.
She wasn’t even sure how she felt about any of it. The only thing she knew was there were ten more months left in their contract. Ten more months with Elena.
Whoever she was.
Bryson had said that she wasn’t a girlfriend and Adria believed him. But she was still a beautiful woman, and eight weeks had gone by and she hadn’t heard from any of them.
“Shower and then dinner,” Eric said before patting her on the head and moving out of the sparring area.
Adria lay on the mat, breathing heavy. She was getting better at close combat.
Eric was teaching her upgraded self-defense along with a style called Jujutsu.
In this style of martial arts, the person’s size didn’t matter.
Instead, it focused on your opponent’s size, and using it against them.
That, along with unarmed strikes and immobilization techniques.
Boxing, Adria wasn’t so good at. Jujutsu, however, was right up her alley. She excelled and enjoyed the sparring matches with Eric. She had even almost won—once.
Adria passed the kitchen on the way to the shower.
The scent of moqueca, a Brazilian fish stew, filled the air, simmering gently on the stove. Eric was trying to cheer her up by feeding her one of her mother’s recipes.
A few weeks ago, the two of them had started going through her father’s office.
Before the Winters boys, she couldn’t even walk down the hall to the north wing without breaking into a cold sweat.
Now she was moving in and out of the room with ease.
And for the first time in her life, she was able to go through her father’s boxes and files.
Most of it was junk, but they had found a purple tattered and yellowing cookbook that appeared to belong to her mother.
Its presence was a miracle—the item somehow overlooked during her father’s methodical erasure of Sofia Farias from their lives.
Each stained page was a lifeline to a woman whose face grew hazier in Adria’s memory with each passing year.
When she traced her fingers over her mother’s handwritten notes in the margins, or inhaled the lingering scents of turmeric and bay leaf trapped between pages, Adria could almost hear her mother’s voice again, and could almost feel her presence in the kitchen.
“What do you think?” Eric asked between bites.
Adria took a large spoonful into her mouth, garlic and spice hitting her tongue. It had some heat, but the coconut milk cooled the tongue before the spice became unbearable.
“Really good,” she said, nodding.
It was the truth. The soup was delicious; however, it didn’t have its desired impact. The flavors were subtle and palatable, but when her mother made it, they were bold and intense. Adria couldn’t help but notice her absence and, as a result, ruminate on the other absences as well.
“Why don’t you just call her?” Eric said.
“Hmm,” Adria replied.
“El, the woman you sold them to. X told you who she is, get her number, call, visit, do something,” Eric said.
Adria shook her head.
When Elena had come to the auction, she had introduced herself as Kate. She had bid on the boys as Kate. If Adria were to call her or show up at her doorstep, Elena would know that she had checked up on her.
“I don’t understand it. Her and Bryson are supposedly friends, so why haven’t they just called you?” Eric said. It was probably the hundredth time he had mentioned it.
Adria pushed her spoon around her bowl saying, “They are probably busy.”
It didn’t feel right to say, but what else was there?
They changed their minds.
She shook off the thought. So what if they did? Bryson had been forced by family politics and his own father into slavery. Her slavery.
And she had carried the whip, literally.
It wasn’t that far-fetched to think that after they had some distance, they saw how dysfunctional the whole thing was.
Red flag after red flag. That’s what she was.
She had gotten the job done, sure. But what was the cost? Adria knew she had manipulated them and even crossed lines she herself had vowed never to cross.
Now they were free—well, sort of.
They had ten months left at Elena’s and then they would be free, but if Kate was a true friend, the three of them would be sitting poolside right now. Drinking bourbon and smoking cigars.
“Any news from X?” Eric asked.
“He’s working with his contact, Vega. He might have a job for me. Something that could still help us with the property we lost to Callen,” she said.
Eric raised an eyebrow. “A job?”
Adria dabbed her face with a napkin.
“Yea, apparently my talents did not go unnoticed at the auction, and Vega thinks I might be able to help him with his own unruly spawn.”
Eric’s drink splashed as he coughed into it. Recovering, he hit her with a huge white grin. “Adria Federov, prince trainer,” he said, holding back laughter.
Adria scowled. “That is exactly why I’m reluctant to take it. But it’s a job, and with Callen in the Triune now, we could use all the leverage we can get.”
She stabbed at a seasoned shrimp with unnecessary force.
Callen being a part of the Triune was another issue—one that made her stomach twist into knots.
It was dangerous with no upside, but Adria was all full up on what-ifs.
All she could do now was keep moving forward, even as every step felt like walking on broken glass.
X’s land deal with Vega dangled before her like a lifeline she both craved and dreaded. Ethics and feasibility aside, she didn’t know if she was in any shape to train anyone right now.
“There is something I wanted to show you,” Eric said, getting up from the table.
Adria watched him move into the kitchen and bring out her mother’s worn purple cookbook.
Eric paged through until he found whatever he was looking for before putting it in front of her.
The page was blank.
Adria tilted her head.
Eric leaned in and traced his finger along the paper. “It’s raised. Look closer, in the light.”
Adria stood, bringing the book closer to her face and angling it slightly. There was an embossment of sorts. Her finger traced the worn page.
She went into the study and grabbed a pencil.
With soft movements, she etched on the surface of the paper, soft deliberate strokes until the image revealed itself.
She frowned. “It’s a mountain?”
Eric stood behind her. “What does it mean?”
Adria wasn’t sure. “Maybe a family crest?”
“What does Farias have to do with the mountains?” Eric said.
“I don’t know.”
Adria wanted to dismiss it as a frivolity, a meaningless symbol, except something about the image nagged at her mind. Like a memory that she just couldn’t place.
Eric’s phone vibrated, and he stepped away, taking the call.
“Yes,” he said, answering it.
“Who?” he asked, moving his gaze to Adria.
“One sec.” He pressed the phone against his broad chest. “An Elena Kings is here to see you.”