TWENTY-SIX
Arlo woke me up at the crack of dawn. I’m definitely not a morning person, and that’s something I’ve struggled with my entire life. Even back in prison, it was my worst nightmare how early we were always woken up, something Cherryl used to bully me over. That bitch.
I suggested we had a later start, using the excuse of his parents and sister sleeping, but Arlo wouldn’t budge. Apparently, the basement of their house is soundproof, and there was nothing to worry about.
And now, two hours later, at almost seven in the morning, we’re still practicing. He found a perfect gun for me – and I do not know the name or the type because I didn’t bother remembering – and it’s not as heavy as I thought it would be. The weight is perfect, as is the size. Not too big for me to feel overwhelmed but not too small either. Just perfect. Arlo even had my initials engraved on the barrel, which made me feel all fuzzy on the inside.
My man steps behind me, one hand holding my hip. The small touch sends a wave of electricity down my body, and I can’t help but enjoy the brief moment of small intimacy. As if he can feel my inner thoughts, he grips my hip a little tighter, and my entire stomach does a backflip.
My hand holds the gun steadily, and his free hand comes to cover it, readjusting my aim slightly. Thus far, I’ve managed to miss four people posters entirely, luckily to hit one’s eye, and the rest are all over the place.
“Don’t close your eyes,”
he murmurs, his hot breath fanning my neck. “Both of your eyes need to be open; otherwise, you’ll miss it. Also, you need to put all your strength into your feet and the arm you’re using the gun with because the force of shooting is what’s sending you back every time.”
I take a deep breath, sweat dripping down my forehead. My entire body feels as if it had been set ablaze, and whether it’s because of the intensity my body’s been put through the past two hours or because of how close he’s standing behind me, I’m not sure.
“Okay, I’ll try.”
I nod, but I’ve been repeating the same words since we came here. It just proves that Arlo is a fucking saint. He’s so patient with me, correcting my stance before I shoot each time, and he’s not been annoyed or complained, not even once.
He steps back, and the loss of contact makes me sad. I shake my head and focus on the instructions he’s given me, straightening my back, putting all strength into my feet and my right arm, keeping both eyes open, and taking the shot.
The sound of the bullet exiting the barrel reverberates through the basement, the bullet lodging into the wall behind the paper target. A small smile forms on my lips as I step forward, seeing that I shot through it.
It’s not perfect – I didn’t hit the heart or between the eyes, but I did manage to hit straight into the throat. A sense of pride blooms through me because out of all the shots I’ve taken – minus the lucky accidental one – this one is the most lethal.
Arlo claps, and my head turns to the side, looking at him. He’s leaning against the wall, a wide grin on his face, before pushing himself off and walking toward me.
“That was fucking perfect,”
he kisses my forehead. “I’m so proud of you, butterfly. You’ve done well.”
“Thank you.”
He checks his wristwatch, then looks back at me. “Now, it’s time for breakfast.”
I whine. “Just another ten minutes.”
He shakes his head. “No. You need food and rest because this afternoon, we’re going back to physical training. The schedule for the next two weeks is two hours of shooting in the morning, two hours of physical combat in the afternoon with a day of break on Sundays.”
A small groan slips from me when he mentions physical training. I know it’s necessary and definitely needed for me, but I hate it. I hate that he created a regime specifically for me. It includes doing push-ups, doing laps, squats, and even lifting weights, and that’s everything we do before the actual combat practice.
Arlo chuckles. “Before you know it, it’ll be over. Don’t groan and complain. You’re doing great.”
“Sure I am,”
I grumble. “But that doesn't mean I’m happy about it. I’m sore. My muscles hurt, and yesterday, I was barely able to lift my arm.”
“I know,”
he chuckles. “I can tell by the way your entire body is tense. I can always send you to get a full-body massage.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think I’d be comfortable with being touched by a stranger.”
“Then… how about I give you a massage?”
My brow quirks up. “Do you know how to give a massage? Or are you going to figure it out like you did when you gave me stitches?”
He winces a little. “Again, sorry about that. But it’s a massage; I’ll buy some oils and light a few candles to help you relax a little.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Blair, there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you in this world. All you need to do is ask, and I’ll give you everything your heart desires.”
A small chuckle slips my lips, and I shake my head. Mainly because I know he means the words he says.
“And I’m thankful for that.”
I take his hand in mine. “But for now, let’s just focus on getting me stronger.”
He nods. “Breakfast first.”
By the time I’ve showered and gotten ready for the day, he is done preparing me breakfast. It’s a basic one, but filled with everything my body needs. He’s truly an excellent cook, and I wouldn’t mind having this man cook me breakfast every single day for the rest of my life.
His parents are still asleep, and Aria just darted past us, mumbling something about being late for practice. We didn’t even get the chance to respond because she was out the door just as quickly as she came. She only managed to snatch a banana and a tangerine off the kitchen counter before storming off.
“She’s a rather active person, isn’t she?”
Arlo snorts, taking a bite of his breakfast. “Don’t let her intense volleyball practice fool you. She’s the laziest little piece of shit you’ll meet. I’ve been begging her to train her body more seriously, but no, she’ll do maybe twice a month shooting practice. She’s too arrogant for her own good. Apparently, Mom telling her that she’s exceptionally talented at shooting is enough for her to believe she’s some sort of a genius.”
“Well, not to defend her, but she’s in high school. Let the girl live.”
“Speaking of high school,”
Arlo puts his fork down. “Once all of this is over, you’re enrolling in high school.”
That makes me halt, my hand freezing mid-air, holding the fork. I’m not surprised he knows that I never attended high school. My mother pulled me out of it when I was fifteen, right before all of the abuse started, under the pretense of moving away. Evidently, that didn’t happen. She just didn’t want anyone noticing anything weird about me.
I nod. “Yeah, I’d like that as well.”
He offers a small smile, reaching to hold my free hand over the kitchen table. My heart swells. He’s so adorable, and the little moments, little touches, and little bits of intimacy he’s giving me are the most precious to me. I’m no moron – I know that couples eventually have sex.
But as of right now, the thought of being that intimate with anyone, even if it’s Arlo, makes me physically ill. I think he knows it, too, and that’s why he’s never mentioned or even indicated wanting it.
I’m aware that most men have a higher sex drive than women, and the fact that he’s not pushing me or even hinting toward it makes me appreciate him more. Yes, that’s the bare minimum, but after going through hell and back, being given the bare minimum means the world to me.
Arlo respects me. He respects me as a person and respects my decisions. He doesn’t see me as a broken doll that needs fixing or as a possession of his own. He sees me as an equal, and that’s how he’s treating me.
“Finish up your breakfast, then you should take a nap. We’ll continue in the afternoon.”
I nod. “What will you be doing?”
“I’ll go meet Freya,”
he grunts under his breath.”
My brow lifts. “Can I come with you?”
“You’d want to?”
“Yeah,”
I shrug. “The way you spoke of her got me intrigued. And I’m curious to see how she’d be of help. I’m not doubting her skills to create poisons, of course, but I hardly see how we can use them.”
“For example, she can create a poison in a larger quantity. Then we can put it in the water supply, coat the AC with it, and create poisonous oxygen. A lot of things of the sort. She can be very useful.”
There’s a hint of admiration behind the hostile tone in his voice, and I can’t help but wonder why he dislikes Freya that much.
“Did anything happen between you and Freya that’s causing you to hate her that much?”
He grunts. “The first time we met, she called me a spoiled brat.”
“That’s it?”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“What do you mean that’s it?”
Arlo scoffs. “Who says something like that to the person they’ve just met? That’s when I realized the two of us aren’t going to be on good terms, and for the most part, we’ve successfully avoided each other. I won’t deny her skill, but as a person? Fucking terrible. So I’ll suggest skipping out on the meeting.”
I take a deep breath and contemplate his words. He knows her better than I do, so I decide to trust him and give a small nod. Either way, I could definitely use the nap he mentioned because I’ve been running on little to no sleep.
Once he cleaned up after me – which I did find ridiculous; I’m more than capable of washing my own plate – he quite literally tucked me into bed, wrapped me up like a burrito, and kissed my forehead before leaving.
It knocked me out like a charm.
I never knew I had a thing for sweaty men. But right now, I can barely focus on trying to spar with Arlo because his body is my main focus. He’s wearing a compression shirt, and if I squinted my eyes enough, I could probably count every single ab of his. His muscled arms seem even larger with the way the shirt is hugging his skin, and the ink on his flesh just adds to the appeal. He’s completely covered in tattoos.
His cheeks are flushed from the intense past hour we’ve shared, and I’m almost at my limit. Arlo, on the other hand, seems like he’s not even started getting tired. Yes, he’s sweaty, his white hair wet, a few droplets running down his forehead, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s not even close to being tired.
It doesn’t help that the grey sweatpants look like they were molded for him, as if they were tailored just to fit him. It’s a perfect sight, and I’m struggling to follow along. Of course, I didn’t manage to land a solid blow, but my defense has improved, and I see the look of pride on his face each time I dodge successfully.
“Can you go for another hour?”
Arlo asks.
“Yes,”
I pause for a moment to catch my breath, feeling the exhaustion slowly surfacing. I shove it aside for the time being, forcing my body to work a bit more. Arlo’s brows crease, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he stands straight and steps back a little.
“Alright, hit me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me; hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you, Arlo.”
“You won’t be able to, butterfly,”
he chuckles. “But try to hit me.”
Something wakes up inside of me. It’s probably the competitive part of me that wants to prove him wrong, and although I know I’m not on his level just yet, it doesn’t deter me. In fact, it makes me want to prove myself to Arlo even more, to show him that all of this won’t be for nothing – that I’m worthy of his efforts.
With a small scowl on my face, I rush forward, using my left foot, trying to kick his ribs. He catches it with ease, then tosses it back at me, making me stumble back a little. The worst part? He barely used ten percent of his strength, yet it quite literally forced me back a step. With a small growl, I dart toward him again, and again, and again.
I try every trick in the book – every trick he personally taught me and a few I remembered from Hudson. Yet, nothing’s enough to so much as catch him off guard, let alone land a solid blow. I’m not even aiming for his face, because realistically, I don’t want to see that pretty face bruised.
With a deep breath, I pause to calm down. The aching of my body takes a backseat, and I’m focused on trying to wear him down as much as possible, then hit him. The plan is severely flawed, but it’s the best I’ve got so far.
“Come on, Blair,”
he taunts. “Is that it? Can’t you do better than that?”
“You little–”
I stop myself before I blurt out something I might regret. I know that he’s trying to bait me, to get me angry just to see how much anger affects me in these situations, and I don’t want to let him win. If I do, all the voices in my head will be right – that I’m a monster just like my mother, someone who’s unable to control themselves.
I continue with my pathetic attacks, my fists always being blocked. Not once did he let me actually hit him, and I’m grateful that he’s not going easy on me. He’s trying to teach me, and going easy on me could potentially cause me to die.
My shoelaces come undone, and I don’t notice it until it’s too late. By the time I figure it out, I’m already falling flat on my ass. This has to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my entire life, tripping on my own shoelaces.
Arlo’s quick to catch the back of my head, though not quick enough to prevent me from falling. Instead, he falls on top of me, holding the back of my head to prevent an injury. He props his elbow down on time and doesn’t fully land on top of me, with a few inches of space between our bodies.
“Jesus Christ,”
he breathes out. “Are you alright, Blair?”
I nod wordlessly. “I’m okay, thank you for catching me.”
He smiles. “I’ll always be there to catch you, Blair.”
A small laugh slips past my lips. “That’s just corny.”
“You love it, admit it,” he grins.
“Fine, I love your corny and cheesy lines.”
“Good, because I have a lot saved up.”
Before I can think about what I’m doing, my hand lifts up, and I push back a strand of his hair, trying to see his face better. Those gorgeous blue eyes widen a little in surprise before they soften. All I can see is absolute adoration and devotion. He doesn’t need to say it – I can see it in his eyes clearly.
“You’re very pretty,” I mutter.
Blush creeps up his neck, and his already pink cheeks get a shade darker. His upper lip lifts into a teasing smirk, his teeth showing and the diamond gem shining.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,”
I whisper. “Very pretty.”
“You’re the pretty one.”
“We are not having that argument right now.”
Arlo chuckles and nods slowly. “Alright, fine, we’re both pretty.”
“Hey, can you do something for me?”
His answer is immediate. “Anything.”
I swallow, trying not to chicken out. My hand rests on his cheek, trembling a little. However, a single glance at his gorgeous eyes tells me that I have nothing to be scared of. He’ll never laugh at me or make me feel embarrassed at any requests I might have.
“Can you kiss me?”
I whisper.
“It would be an honor.”
Before I can say anything else, he dips his head, and his lips fall on mine. My stomach does a backflip, the taste of his lips sending shivers down my spine. My heart almost leaps out of my chest, and the moment he grips my hair, I’m gone.
Everything in me wants this man. Everything in me wants to feel what it’s like to be loved by him, to completely have him as mine. But a part of me is still hesitant to let him see me in my most vulnerable state, so, for now, I settle for the overly consuming kiss.
He pours all of his devotion and affection into the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine. It’s passionate, and as the seconds pass, it’s getting rougher and more determined. He breaks the kiss, only to start placing open, wet kisses down the side of my neck and my shoulder. The sensations wake something in me, something I didn’t think I’d ever possess.
Because no matter how rough the kisses are, the undertone of softness is there, and I can tell he’s trying not to overwhelm me.
He nibbles on my flesh, a small moan slipping from my lips. It provokes a deep growl from the depth of his throat, and he starts kissing upward again, from my neck to my jaw, until his lips are on mine again.
Arlo’s free hand cups my cheek, tilting my head to the side slightly to give him better, deeper access. It’s like the storm of passion, the battle of affection, and the road of trust – everything that this man is.
And all of it is completely mine.