Chapter Nineteen
In which Violet channels Neo from the Matrix.
Violet…
Two days later…
After a 'stimulating' morning of reviewing spreadsheets and my budget forecast for the shelter for next year, I come into my room to find a pair of my leggings and a sports bra sitting on my bed. Roman walks in, taking the pile of folders from my arms and putting them on the dresser.
This room was already beautiful, but he made it warmer with vases of blush-colored peonies and vivid daffodils that seem to magically appear every other day.
When he noticed that I like to wrap a blanket around my shoulders when I watch Tiny House Hunters to wind down, a cashmere throw in a vibrant red was spread across my bed the next day.
Looking at my sports bra, I wonder if he sifted through my underwear drawer to get it and I flush, looking away from the bed. "Do we have plans?" I raise my chin, trying to look haughty..
"We do," he says. "You've been doing so well with your gun practice, but I need to get a look at your self-defense skills."
"Oh, that's easy," I say. "I don't have any."
HIs laughter echoes down the hall. "Well, let's change that," he says, nodding at my clothes. "Get dressed."
"Don't you have a crime empire to run?" I complain, however, my treacherous feet are still carrying me over to the bed and I pick up my workout clothes.
"I do," he says "But I can multitask."
I meet him in the gym ten minutes later, my hair pulled up in an untidy pile on the top of my head, and vibrating with anxiety.
Every time I get within touching distance of this man, there seems to be more mauling than touching.
However, right now Roman does seem serious.
He's wearing a pair of gym shorts and nothing else, all those ripping muscles on display, his tattoos twisting over his chest and arms, and down one thigh.
He looks like a UFC fighter, or some pagan God from ancient Russia.
Shaking my head, I irritably try to focus as he pretends I wasn't just staring at him with the same longing that a model has for cheesecake.
"Let's start with some basics," he says, spreading both hugely muscled arms. Damn him! This is not going to work unless he puts a shirt on. "How would you handle it if I came running at you?"
"I'd scream and curl into a little ball on the floor," I answer honestly.
He circles me, leaning in close. "You're wearing perfume today."
"Huh? Oh, it's one of those full-size 'sample' bottles the twins had, Yves Saint Laurent Libre, do you like it?" Why am I asking him this, like he cares what perfume I wear?
Roman rests his chin on my shoulder and breathes deeply, I cringe as goosebumps pop up instantly along my shoulders and neck.
"It's good," he says, casually walking away as if he hadn't just turned me into a boneless mess.
"But I like your usual scent better, that citrusy tang turns me the fuck on. "
I must look like a puffer fish right now, mouth open, eyes wide and outraged, but he chooses to overlook it. "Let's start with some basic techniques."
Oh, he was serious. He really did want to teach self-defense.
After an hour, I'm sweating like a goat, sprawled on the mat while he's still fresh, bouncing lightly on the soles of his feet.
"The challenge with you, Violet, is that you understand technique, you've picked it up so quickly.
What you don't have is the fire. Have you heard your sisters?
They scream like they're disemboweling someone and believe me, according to my trainers it's a little terrifying. They show their fire. Where is yours?"
Sitting up with a groan, I cross my legs and wrap my arms around them. "I save my fire for high-budget discussions with the shelter's board and city officials, " I say, rotating my head. It feels like it nearly popped off after a couple of his tackles.
"That's your problem," he says. "I know the shelter is your passion, but your personal safety should be the most important priority. If that doesn't help, think of your sisters. Would you leave them unprotected?"
"According to you," I say crossly, "they'd do just fine protecting me." But he knows he's got me. Letting Iris and Rose be in danger? There's nothing worse.
Roman's green eyes are glimmering, watching the play of emotion on my face.
"So let's try it again," he says. "This time I want you to be loud.
I want you to scream, I want you to get pissed off.
I want you to swear. Make your fire part of your technique, part of how you move.
And believe me," he dips his head to whisper, "I know how loud you can get. "
Smacking him on the arm, I flinch as my palm stings. I stride over to the far corner of the mat, bringing up my hands and beckoning with my fingers, pretending I'm Neo in The Matrix.
"Bring it."
His first charge has me huddled in a heap on the floor again.
"You suck at this," he says, pulling me upright. I stumble back when he shoves lightly at my shoulder.
"What the hell, Roman?"
"This is the best you can do?" Another push on my other shoulder and this time I knock into a wall.
"Roman!"
"What if some asshole came into the shelter, going after one of the kids. Maybe an abusive stepdad?" he says. This time, he slaps my ass and I whirl around. He's already out of reach. "You're just gonna stand there and let him take her?"
"No!" I snap. "There's contingencies in place. We always have plans."
"Not when the son of a bitch is standing right in front of you with his fist raised, now do you?" he says reasonably. This time the back of his hand lands against my bare stomach with a loud swack!
The burn spreads across my skin. "You cut that shit out!" I shout at him.
The devil's grin creeps across his face. "Now we're getting somewhere. First position." He takes a menacing step forward. "You're gonna let me push you around again?"
He comes at me and I shout, "Oh, fuck you!" I twist out of his way as he'd taught me, using his momentum to jam my elbow hard at the side of his jaw, causing him to stumble a couple of steps. "Oh, crap Roman, I didn't mean-"
He wipes the smear of blood off the corner of his mouth, looking absolutely delighted. "What did you just say?"
"I said…" I step backward, clenching my fists. "I said, fuck you. I'm not weak. I put that fucking shelter together all by myself."
"Oh, but with Daddy's money," he says mockingly.
I know he's trying to get a rise out of me, and it's working. When he comes at me this time, I hook my arm through his as he passes, leaping onto his back and wrapping my other elbow around his throat, legs squeezing his waist like I'm trying to crush his internal organs.
"You don't know who you're fucking with!" I shout.
He spins gracefully on the balls of his feet a couple of times. It doesn't throw me off, but I'm getting dizzy. "Who am I fucking with?" he taunts.
"Violet Monroe, and you're pissing me the fuck off!"
God, that feels good.
I'm still clinging to him like a howler monkey on a palm tree and he doesn't seem to mind, looking back at me.
"You've always had to be so polite, haven't you, sweet Violet?
" He reaches back with both hands, cupping my ass and bouncing me higher.
"It feels good to get pissed off, doesn't it?
To shout out the occasional 'fuck!'" He shouts it at the top of his lungs, the sound bouncing back from the windows of the gym.
"It feels good to say 'fuck those guys!' All the people you have to deal with, The Chads, your dickwad stepfather. What do you say?"
"Fuck 'em all!" I shout and laugh at the same time. It feels so good; the stream of fury leaving my throat lighter. I feel unstoppable.
"Good." He deftly flips me over his head and sets my ass down on the mat. Walking to the far end, he goes into a crouch. "Let's try it again."