Chapter 10 Tamayo
TAMAYO
When Pat told me that Zarina was in the training room, I almost didn’t believe them.
The Gallo princess working it out in a gym smelling of sweat and rubber?
I had to see it. But after watching her pummel the boxing bag with the feral viciousness of a cornered cat, I can’t imagine her not shaping her body into a weapon.
I push off the doorjamb and roll up my sleeves.
I’m still in my suit, my jacket thrown over a chair in the kitchen before I walked over here.
Zarina doesn’t stop attacking the bag as I slip boxing pads on, pulling the straps tight with my teeth.
She finally notices me when I saunter over, bouncing on my toes, and scowls in my direction.
Like I’m one of the people she’s imagining as the bag.
She bites the Velcro strap of one of her gloves to tug it loose and yank her hand free.
She pulls out her earbuds. “What do you want?”
I hold up both hands, ready to surrender. “Let’s do some combos.”
She blows hair out of her face, pieces plastered to her temple shining with sweat. “Fine.” She tucks her earbuds into the pocket of her joggers and shoves her hand back into the glove braced between her arm and side. “But if I accidentally punch you in the face, that’s your fault.”
I snort. “Deal.”
She yanks the strap tight around her wrist and pats it down with her chin. The bruises on her neck are brighter somehow, like the pump of her blood has fed them. And it only serves to remind me why Zarina is in the training room, punching a bag like it personally wronged her.
This morning’s meeting would be funny if it were a joke. Unfortunately, the only person laughing was Marcus.
“Let’s do a simple one-two-one.” I take up the stance and clap the pads together.
Zarina shoots me an unimpressed look. “Whatever.”
She attacks without warning, completely ignoring the combo. I dodge a right hook meant for my head and meet her gloved fists with the pads as best I can. I’m not warmed up, my muscles too tight and my body too slow. She lands a jab to my shoulder, and I stumble back.
“I said combos, not spar.” I keep the distance between us.
Zarina bats her eyelashes. “My bad.”
I shake my hands out and roll my shoulders back. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Rather fight about it.” She cracks her neck.
“Which asshole are you imagining me as?”
“Right now? You.”
“Me?” I frown.
“You with your stupid cautionary hands and your limited vocabulary. Spoke up all of what, once? Twice? Thanks for the support.” She lunges forward, jabbing for my face, and then for my kidneys.
I block and dodge. “Fuckin’ useless fake fiancée,” she spits each word, scowl darkening to a glare.
“Can’t even support your fake future wife. ”
“Princess—”
“Don’t.” She aims a jab at my face, and I barely duck in time. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
I clamp my mouth shut and focus on not getting beaten to a pulp. Zarina growls, teeth bared, as she takes it all out on me. Her anger and her helplessness and her lack of control. I let her lay it on me, not worried about myself, my body.
Not when she’s taken the brunt of the beating already.
The Accardis’ attacks on my family and my territory don’t hold a candle to the ringer Zarina’s going through.
Her parents betrayed her, went so far as to sell her out to the most monstrous man in the city.
The same man who has attacked and bruised her—twice.
The same man who attempted to kidnap and marry her to close a deal that will make him a king in Louredo.
And this morning was a rotten cherry atop that melted sundae.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing, the way Marcus and Alonso twisted and manipulated the video footage to justify themselves.
It wasn’t a trial. There’s no jury of her peers or reigning judge.
And while Jimmy let me know afterward that he didn’t believe their lies, it hardly matters. The damage is done.
“Spineless.” Zarina aims a jab at my face, but I lift my pad-covered palm just in time. “Coward.” Each insult accompanies a targeted attack I hurry to block. “Good for nothing.” She lands a kick to my ribs, and I stagger backward. “Fight back!”
I don’t.
Because I know this isn’t about me—not really.
I might have been able to stand up more for her today, but it wouldn’t have changed anything.
I know Zarina realizes that in her logical brain.
But she’s not thinking with that part now.
She’s in her body, reacting to feelings that have no basis in reason.
All I can do is let her work them out however that manifests.
And right now, it means letting her beat me up.
I duck and dodge and block and use the pads to absorb the impact of her fists. She circles me, snarling and punching, yelling more heated insults. I don’t egg her on. I simply take it. Like she did this morning until she couldn’t anymore.
She slips inside my defenses and wraps an arm around my neck, yanking me down. I brace against her back and arm while her forearm presses against my windpipe. Her lips brush over my ear. “Stop being noble. Be the gangster you fucking are and fight me.”
“Zarina,” I warn.
“I’ve told you what I need.” She shoves me away and wipes sweat from her chin as I straighten.
My gaze slips from her sweaty brow to her heaving chest. “Are you sure—”
“Fight or get the fuck out.”
I yank one pad off then the other. If she wants a fight with the gangster in me, I can give her that. Without grabbing gloves, I square up. She arches a brow without saying a word, and I smirk.
“Second thoughts?” I ask.
She snorts. “If you wanna break your wrists, that’s on you.”
“I won’t.”
“Prove it.”
I do. Because, for whatever reason, I always succumb to Zarina’s wishes, always try to meet her needs.
Even if it means signing up to be insulted and bruised.
I attack fast as a cobra, feigning right before jabbing left, my hand wide open against her upper arm.
A smack reverberates between us, and she rolls her eyes, like slap-fighting is an insult to her pride.
I would break and bloody my knuckles, but I refuse to mar her skin for this.
Maybe if orgasms were involved.
“You’re going soft for a gangster,” she needles.
My smirk widens as I sing her own words back at her. “Prove it.”
Zarina tries. She bares her teeth in a snarl and attacks.
Her glove glances off my chest, skittering up my collarbone before she twirls out of reach.
I advance, but she throws another combo with enough force to trip me backward.
I duck a swing at my head, barely stop her knee to my gut.
For every three I block, she lands one so heavy it staggers me.
And she doesn’t relent. She doesn’t pull her punches.
She doesn’t wait for me to recover and fight back.
She presses forward, using any advantage I allow her.
And stupidly, I allow her several. I thought she wanted another punching bag, but she told me what she needed.
A fight. And despite acting the part, I hadn’t committed to the bit.
Not that she hasn’t figured that out already.
I barely block a punch aimed for my diaphragm before it knocks the wind out of me.
Rather than dance out of reach like I have been, I press my own advantage—my lack of gloves.
I grab Zarina’s wrist and yank her forward.
She crashes into my chest as I trap her hand between us, my other hand catching her free arm and pinning it behind her back.
“Wow,” Zarina deadpans, “a hug. Someone help me, I’m so scared.”
I arch a brow in challenge. She matches my expression with her own before she rears her head back.
But I was expecting that. I let go with a little push as she throws her weight back, and she loses her balance, crashing to the ground in a heap.
I sidestep her legs as they try to trip me up, snatching her ankle and using her momentum to flip her onto her stomach.
Before she can recover, I plop down on top of her with a hand pressed into the middle of her back.
“My wrists appear intact,” I taunt.
“For now.” Zarina writhes under me, bucking her hips in an attempt to throw me off.
I re-center my weight and slide my free hand into her hair to grab a fistful with a harsh tug. “I believe the too-soft gangster just wiped the mat with you, princess.”
“Fuck you, Tamayo.” She rams a gloved fist into my forearm and immediately hisses, the action serving only to smack her own face into the mat.
But she doesn’t give up. She bucks her hips again, tries to get a hand underneath herself for leverage.
I yank her back harder by her hair, neck arched and face red.
She grinds her teeth and glares at me out of the corner of her eye.
Her elbow aims for my side, but she can’t reach without rolling over, and she can’t roll over without dislodging me. A huff of frustration escapes her.
I lean forward, my weight bearing down on her and forcing the air out of her chest until I’m flush against her.
My fingers tighten in her hair, elbow heavy on her bicep as my other hand catches the punch she aims for my face before it can land.
I brush my lips over her ear as I grind down on her ass. “I’d much rather fuck you, princess.”