Chapter 8 Verity
Verity
The stench of man-sweat and testosterone, undercut with a sharp lemon fragrance, hit me hard when I walked into the basement gym. I scanned the room, searching for the twins, but it was empty.
Gyms were not my favorite place. Unlike my sister, I had zero interest in fitness or learning lethal martial arts moves. Sure, I sometimes did a Pilates class and had once taken part in a fun-run. Not that there'd been much fun involved.
No fun at all, in fact.
So why was I here, two days after pizza and movie night, dressed in a pair of pink yoga pants and a tee, at 7 AM? Oh yes. Orders from the big man himself.
No, not God. Although Declan had God-like attributes, such as a heavenly body and a face designed to deliver me into temptation.
Declan had informed me via Conal that I needed self-defense lessons. I'd pointed out to Conal the estate was well-guarded. But it wasn't enough. He'd reminded me I wouldn't be here indefinitely.
No doubt they all wanted to get rid of me asap.
The door opened while I stared into space. I spun around and flushed at the sight of Conal wearing black shorts and a tight technical tee. Sweet baby Jesus.
I instantly regretted not choosing a loose tee. Despite the moderate temperature in here, my nipples had perked up at the sight of him and were currently saluting the delicious male a few feet away.
"Good morning, sweetheart." He tapped his phone and BTS blasted out from hidden speakers. A surprised smile touched my lips. I hadn't pegged Conal as a K-Pop fan.
"Let's warm you up a bit before we start." My mind immediately sank into the gutter, provoking another blush that likely clashed horribly with my green bruises.
"Treadmill?" I squeaked, caught between horror and disbelief. I didn’t run. Like, ever.
"Yeah. Start slow for 10 minutes, then try some short sprints."
He hopped onto an adjacent treadmill while I stared at the control panel on my futuristic machine. There were so many buttons. I had no clue.
"Need a hand?" An amused voice cut through my confusion. I saw he'd stepped off his treadmill.
My heart raced. I didn't need to run. Surely having him this close, thus pushing my heart rate into the stratosphere, counted as a cardio workout, right?
"I've not used a treadmill before," I admitted.
"They're easy. Here, clip this onto your top, so if you lose your footing and fall, the treadmill stops.
" He reached over my shoulder and plucked a small plastic clip off the in-built shelf.
His fingers brushed the overheated skin on my belly as he lifted the waistband of my yoga pants and fastened the clip to it.
Butterflies swarmed in my gut. Conal said something about speed and incline, but I heard nothing over the blood rushing through my veins. Why did he have this effect on me? I really needed to get over my stupid crush.
The belt beneath my feet lurched backward, catching me by surprise. I stumbled, knocked off balance, but his arm shot out, bracing me against his solid chest.
"Relax. Walk for now, then when you're comfortable, press these buttons to speed up and down." He pointed to two large red buttons, which even my nephew would have figured out meant faster and slower.
Had Anton killed my last remaining brain cells? It sure felt like it. Perhaps he'd given me a traumatic brain injury when he smacked me around the head.
Once I found my walking rhythm, Conan hopped off and left me to it. I kept my gaze focused on the TV screen ahead. The latest news stories played on mute while more K-Pop filled the room. To my right, Conal sped up, running at a pace that would legitimately kill me.
If I tried to keep up with him, I'd have a heart attack for sure.
After five minutes, I increased the speed slowly until I reached a slow jog.
Sweat trickled down between my breasts, soaking into the pink sports bra that barely held my tits in check.
Not picking up an over-sized tee had been a mistake.
A rookie error. It simply hadn't occurred to me I'd be running.
I also regretted not eating something to fill the empty pit of nothingness in my stomach. A slice of toast might have helped quell the nausea. None of us needed another puking episode. I still had PTSD from the last one.
After ten agonizing minutes, I prayed for death to save me.
My heart pounded inside my chest as it struggled to cope with the demands of my lungs while my legs burned with lactic acid.
Meanwhile, Conal sprinted like Usain Bolt on the adjacent treadmill, having barely broken a sweat. How was that fair?
Just as I was about to collapse, the door swung open a second time and Ronan strolled in.
Like Conal, he also wore a pair of shorts, but unlike his brother, he'd forgotten to throw a tee on.
So not only was I treated to the vision of another hot guy in shorts, but I also had to deal with acres of tatted muscle. The man had abs to die for.
My concentration slipped, my feet stumbled, and I cursed loudly.
Death from ogling abs would at least be a fine way to go. Better than death by fire or a gunshot wound to the gut.
Thankfully for my long-term health, the plastic safety clip detached from the treadmill and the belt stopped. I bent over and sucked in air like a drowning woman, fully aware my face had turned puce.
A small part of my brain wondered what the glamorous Bridget looked like when she hit the gym. Because of course that woman was a gym bunny. With her toned figure, she had to be. Bitch.
"Looking good, Pixie Girl," Ronan chuckled as he sauntered over and helped me climb off the stupid murder machine. My legs wobbled like a newborn foal's, but he steadied me with his corded forearm.
A hint of citrus wafted under my nose, softer than the lemon disinfectant clinging to the equipment. Citrus and musk. His signature scent. A scent that made my thighs clench and my nipples perk up again.
"Pink suits you, Pixie Girl." He handed me a bottle of water, still smirking. I noticed his gaze drifting down my chest. Thankfully, the new blush blended nicely with my beetroot red face.
"Saoirse lent me these. They don't fit very well.
" I plucked at my top, feeling self-conscious. The bra was way too tight, and the yoga pants were not my style, but they were better than the joggers I'd found in the closet from my last visit three years ago. I’d tried them on, only to discover they didn’t fit my ass, as I'd filled out since then.
I needed my own clothes, but since I'd been so rudely kidnapped, there was zero chance of that happening.
"Take a breather, then we'll find out how much you remember from your self-defense lessons," Conal said after hopping off his treadmill. Unlike me, he still looked fresh as a daisy. Life truly was a bitch.
A grumpy Conal pinned me to the floor for the millionth time, apparently unhappy I couldn't even break a simple hold. As he’d just reminded me, if some low life attacked me from behind, rape and murder awaited.
"I thought Dario had showed you this shit?"
"He did. I forgot."
With a deep sigh, Conal extended a hand to help me up. My eyes drifted over to the weights, where Ronan was busy benching something ridiculous. He grunted under the strain, every muscle bulging.
A hot flush seared my skin, and for a moment, I struggled to suck in a breath. When I looked back at Conal, he handed me a water bottle.
"Here. Looks like you need to cool down for a minute." Now I flushed even more, embarrassed about being caught ogling Ronan. Did the twins know I still had a crush on them like a stupid teenage girl?
Of course they did. Even Saoirse knew, and she rarely noticed anything unless it smacked her in the face like a wet haddock.
I flopped down on a bench and closed my eyes. Pretending not to care seemed like a good move. Knowing Conan had caught me eye-fucking his twin brother was not the highlight of my day, week, or even life. Although, on the list of my ten most embarrassing moments, it barely rated a mention.
"Here, put these on." Conal threw a pair of boxing gloves at me. I stared up at him through damp tendrils of hair. "Learning to throw a decent punch might help, so let's switch things up and do some work on the bag before you try hitting me."
I picked up the gloves while muttering obscenities under my breath and trailed after him.
Ronan and Conal were both accomplished fighters.
I'd watched them in the ring many times.
To my knowledge, Thea's husband, Kyril, was the only guy who'd ever beaten the twins.
Hardly surprising given his size and aggressive personality.
Thea had once described him as a honey badger on steroids, while laughing.
I'd concluded my sister needed a lot of therapy to explore why she'd agreed to have a kid with an unhinged lunatic like Kyril. Thank God the other four guys in her life didn't rank so high on the Dark Triad. And also, that his kid, Clemmie, was not a diagnosed psychopath.
"I'm not punching you."
Conal rolled his eyes. "No, you're punching the bag for now. We'll build up to you trying to hit me."
It took energy I didn't have not to roll my eyes in return.
"You're taking the piss. We both know there's zero chance of me landing a punch on you."
"Your sister managed it."
Of course she did. My sister was stronger, smarter, sassier, and unlikely to end up dead if someone attacked her. I remained the weak link in our fucked-up family. Like always.
"Fine." Would a few more bruises really matter?
An hour later, I collapsed, legitimately dead. The guys now knew I had zero self-defense skills.
"Are you sure you and Thea are sisters?" Conal stared down at me, his brow furrowed in concern.
I didn’t bother answering, hoping he might assume I'd died and leave me the fuck alone. Finally, a plan worth embracing.
"Just say it." My stomach hurt. All of me hurt.
A mix of hunger and anxiety sent cramps rippling through my belly.
Hunger, because I'd not eaten anything since a few mouthfuls of cheese sandwich last night, and anxiety because the longer Conal stood staring down at my pathetic self, the more useless I felt.
"Say what?" When I reluctantly opened my eyes, he seemed more amused than exasperated.
"That I'm pathetic."
He kneeled on the mat. "You're not pathetic at all.
Nobody's expecting you to turn into a ninja after one lesson, sweetheart.
" His grin made my panties melt and my cheeks turn even redder.
Not that he'd be interested in a sweaty mess like me.
Not with a harem of supermodels and influencers queued up for the party in two days.
"Good job as hell will freeze over first. I'm not built for fitness." Conal chuckled at the angry sound my stomach made.
"Go get some breakfast and we'll practice some more tomorrow morning."
He stood and yanked me to my feet. When I stumbled, his arm caught me around the waist. The difference in our size made me feel petite, which I most definitely wasn't. It still sent a shiver of delight humming through my veins, though.
I raised a hand in a mock salute and hustled out of the gym before he changed his mind. If I didn't eat something soon, there was a danger my stomach might cannibalize itself.