Chapter 6 - Joanna
I can't stop shaking.
Not from fear this time. From something else entirely. Something that has my heart racing and my skin flushed and my body responding in ways I haven't felt in so long I almost forgot what it was like.
The mop handle is slippery in my palms as I work, muscle memory taking over because my brain is absolutely useless right now. All I can think about is Danny in that storage room. The way he'd looked at me. The way his voice had gone rough when he said I smelled like strawberries.
The way I'd seen his cock straining against those thin shorts.
Oh God.
My face burns at the memory. I'd tried not to look. Really tried. But it had been impossible to miss, that massive bulge, thick and hard and so obviously there because of me. Because I'd been standing between his legs, touching his face, holding his hands.
He'd been hard. For me.
The thought makes something clench low in my belly. Makes my thighs press together as I scrub at a bloodstain that's already clean.
I need to stop and focus.
But I can't focus. Can't stop replaying every second of those minutes in the storage room. The way he'd gripped the chair like he was holding himself back. The strained sound of his voice when he'd told me to leave. The way he'd apologized for being turned on.
*I can't help it. You're just—*
He hadn't finished that sentence. Hadn't said what I was. But the evidence had been right there, thick and throbbing and impossible to ignore.
A man like Danny Cross. Hard. For me.
I still can't quite believe it.
Ten years in prison, he'd said. The rumors were true. Ten fucking years. That's the part I should be fixating on. The part that should have me running for the exit. Because people don't go to prison for ten years for minor offenses. That's serious time. Violent crime time.
He's dangerous. Actually, genuinely dangerous. Not just in the ring but out of it too.
I should have asked what he did. Should have demanded to know before I let myself get within five feet of him. Before I stood between his legs and touched his face and pretended my hands weren't shaking for entirely different reasons than they'd been three nights ago.
But I hadn't asked. Couldn't bring myself to. Because some part of me—some stupid, reckless part, didn't want to know. Didn't want the answer to change the way he'd looked at me. The way he'd protected me. The way he'd let me take care of him.
Prison.
Does that explain it? Did ten years without a woman make him desperate enough that even someone like me: chubby, tired, a single mom with stretch marks and dark circles under her eyes was enough to get his blood rushing south?
The thought stings more than it should.
I dunk the mop in the bucket, water sloshing over the sides.
My reflection ripples on the surface. Distorted, unrecognizable.
That's how I feel right now. Like I don't recognize myself.
Like the woman who just spent ten minutes in a storage room with a violent ex-con, getting wet from the sight of his erection, isn't actually me.
Except it is me. And I am wet.
God, I'm so wet it's uncomfortable. My panties are soaked, clinging to me, and every movement reminds me of it. Reminds me that my body doesn't care about Danny's past or his violence or how completely wrong this is. My body just knows what it wants.
And apparently, what it wants is him.
I risk a glance toward his corner.
He's still there. Still facing the wall. Hasn't moved since I left the storage room fifteen minutes ago. His shoulders are tense, hands braced against the concrete like he's holding himself up. Or holding himself back.
Is he thinking about it too? About the way we'd been so close? About what might have happened if I hadn't left?
My thighs clench together again and I force myself to focus on the floor. On my job. On literally anything else.
One of the cleaners passes by with a trash bag. "You okay, Joanna? You're looking a little flushed."
"I'm fine," I say too quickly. "Just warm."
He gives me a skeptical look but doesn't push it. "If you say so. Almost done here anyway."
Right. Almost done. Then I can go home, crawl into bed next to Daisy, and try to forget that Danny Cross exists.
Try. And fail spectacularly.
I'm halfway through the final section of floor when the noise starts outside.
Voices. Loud. Angry. Getting closer.
The handful of people still in the warehouse—a few stragglers at the bar, two cleaners, the three Savage Riders on duty, all turn toward the entrance. The heavy metal door rattles. Someone's pounding on it from outside.
"OPEN UP!"
More pounding. More voices joining in.
"WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
One of the Riders, Beast, I think, moves toward the door, hand going to something at his waist. The other two flank him. Rampage appears from somewhere, walking fast, his expression dark.
Danny pushes off from the wall. Every muscle in his body is suddenly coiled tight. Ready.
"COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!"
That voice. I recognize that voice.
Oh no.
"It's that guy from the other night," a random guy says. "The one Bruiser scared off."
The man who'd grabbed me. The one Danny had warned away. He's back. And he's not alone, from the sound of it.
The pounding gets louder. More insistent.
"Open it," Rampage says to Beast.
"There's at least five of them out there. All drunk by the sound of it."
"I don't care. Open it."
“Your choice”
Beast shrugs his shoulders and pulls the door open.
Leather Jacket stumbles in first, followed by four other men. All of them are clearly wasted. Red-faced. Aggressive. Looking for trouble.
"Where is he?" Leather Jacket slurs, scanning the warehouse. "Where's that big fucker who—"
His eyes land on Danny. Standing maybe thirty feet away. Arms crossed. Completely still. Watching.
"There you are!" Leather Jacket points, swaying slightly. "You think you can disrespect me like that? Make me look like a bitch in front of everyone?"
Danny doesn't respond. Doesn't move. Just watches.
"I'm talking to you!" Leather Jacket takes a step forward. His friends follow, emboldened by alcohol and stupidity. "You embarrassed me, man. Made me look weak."
"You embarrassed yourself," Danny says. His voice is low. Calm. But there's something underneath it. Something dangerous. "You put your hands on her when she said no. I just made you leave."
"She's a fucking cleaner! Who cares what she—"
Danny moves so fast I almost miss it. One second, he's standing still. The next his fist connects with Leather Jacket's face with a sickening crack.
Leather Jacket drops like a stone.
Everything explodes into chaos.
His four friends rush Danny all at once. The Savage Riders surge forward. Rampage is shouting something, but I can't hear it over the sudden roar of violence. Bodies collide. Fists fly. Someone crashes into the bar, bottles shattering.
I drop my mop and run.
Not toward the exit, that's where the fight is spilling, blocking the main door. My instincts scream at me to get small, hidden, get away from the violence erupting around me. I spot the storage room and sprint for it.
Behind me, I hear the meaty thud of fists hitting flesh. Grunts of pain. The crash of something heavy, a chair maybe, hitting the concrete. Yelling. Someone's cursing, rapid-fire and vicious.
I reach the storage room and throw myself inside, slamming the door behind me. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely turn the lock. The sound of fighting is muffled but still there—shouts, impacts, the terrible symphony of men hurting each other.
I press my back against the wall and sink to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. This is my fault. That man came back because of me. Because Danny defended me.
The walls vibrate with a particularly heavy impact. Someone slams against the storage room door, and I bite back a scream, scrambling further into the corner. But whoever it was moves away. The fight continues.
I can pick out Danny's voice through the door. Not words, just the deep rumble of it. A roar of pure rage that makes my blood run cold. He's not holding back now. Not like he did in the ring where there are rules and refs. This is something primal. Uncontrolled.
This is the man who went to prison for ten years.
More crashes. The sound of someone hitting the floor hard. Beast's voice cutting through the chaos: "Stay down, asshole!"
How long does a fight like this last? Minutes? Hours? I have no concept of time anymore. Just the pounding of my heart and the sounds of violence and the knowledge that this is happening because of me.
The warehouse goes quiet.
Not silent. I can hear heavy breathing, low voices, but the sounds of fighting have stopped. I stay frozen in my corner. Don't move. Don't make a sound. Just wait.
Footsteps approach the storage room. Heavy boots. Getting closer.
A knock on the door.
"Joanna." Danny's voice. Rough and strained but unmistakably his. "It's me. It's safe."
I don't move. I can’t make my body work.
"Joanna, please." A pause. "I know you're scared. But it's over. They're gone."
My hands are shaking as I reach for the lock. Turn it. The door opens slowly and Danny's there, filling the doorway.
He looks like something out of a nightmare.
Blood on his knuckles. Fresh blood, still dripping. More blood on his chest, his face. A cut above the one I'd just bandaged earlier. His eyes are wild, pupils blown, chest heaving.
But when he sees me curled up in the corner, something in his expression breaks.
"Jesus, Joanna." He stays in the doorway, doesn't come closer. Like he knows he looks terrifying right now. Like he's trying not to scare me more than I already am. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
"Are you—" My voice cracks. "Are you hurt?"
"No. I'm fine. Are you okay?"
I nod. Not sure if it's true but I nod anyway.
"The others?"