Chapter 10 #5
Nodding, I walked over to the treadmill, looking at the machine like I’d never seen one before.
Stepping on the belt, I looked at the screen, wondering how to start it.
Shio reached in between and began pressing buttons, close enough for me to feel his authoritative aura.
Trailing my eyes from his face to the flexed veins in his arm, I swallowed a moan creeping up my trachea.
The tattoos on his dark flesh were tastefully done, the ink telling a story far more interesting than my own life.
Chicago—the only word I could read, permanently drawn on his skin, stood out the most. Picasso himself must have been the lucky artist responsible for the art on him.
They were too well done. My older brothers also had tattoos, and since they were fair-skinned, the details were visible.
Looking at Shio’s arms, it proved their ink to be cheap, uneven, and culeros (ugly).
There was no comparison; Shio’s ink was perfect.
Everything about him was, down to the crisp sheets in the guest room and the natural oils placed at every sink I’d encountered in my three days here.
Too clean. Too controlled. Meticulously cautious.
Extremely attractive.
As he continued tinkering with the settings, an alluring scent wafted up my nose.
It was masculine, rich, and strong. I leaned in slightly, trying to catch hints of his aroma as if it were my oxygen source.
The moment I inhaled deeply, I felt a calming sensation.
Lavender—as if a warm blanket had been wrapped around me, followed by praline—a sweet and nutty sensation, like my favorite ice cream.
It was the only reason I could identify it.
Oud and bergamot couldn't be missed either, dark and heavy.
Before I could delve deeper into the scents radiating off this fine specimen, the machine hummed to life, forcing my feet to move.
“?Dios mío! (Oh goodness!),” I screeched out.
No warm-up. No warning.
The belt was moving too fast for walking, but too slow for running. A manageable jog was forced out of me, but I was maintaining for now. Just as my body had grown accustomed to the pace after a few minutes, Shio reached in again, the delightful scent overpowering me, and increased the speed.
“Wait. Wait! This is too fast.”
My heart rate tripled, and my lungs became desperate for reprise. My forehead was now drenched in sweat as the belt roared at an alarming speed. I felt at any moment I’d trip over my feet and topple into the elliptical behind me.
“I don’t know what the fuck your father is cooking up over there across the water, but I’m not the nigga to plot on,” he spoke in an even tone like I wasn’t fighting for my life millimeters away from him.
Shio looked calm, but his eyes weren’t. I could see the seriousness—the deadliness.
I’d seen what he could do when he had my papa’s own men turn on him, and then again when he pulled the gun on me without a second thought.
I didn’t need a treadmill scare to know what kind of man he was.
The proof was in the car being angled at the bedroom door.
I had no plans to piss this man off in any way, shape, or form.
Crossing his hands in front of him, he licked his lips and tilted his head back. My legs struggled to keep up with the belt, but I knew if I missed a step, I’d seriously injure myself, or worse.
With his eyes still locked on my frantic ones, he kissed his teeth before stating, “I’m bringing you around my family. You’re staying where the fuck I lay my head at. If your people are on anything other than whatever the fuck they think I can do for you…”
He gripped the railing and leaned in, bringing his sensual scent with him.
The gold Jesus piece around his neck dangled as he watched me try to keep the pace.
I wasn't breathing; I don't even think I was actually running. I was just trying not to fall because if I did, I’d be on my way to a hospital, if this scary man would even take me.
With him so close in my personal space, keeping up with the speed was becoming more and more difficult.
My lungs burned, and his watching me as if I were prey had me scared and aroused.
“The Rodríguez Cartel will be the least of your worries. If you can’t keep up with a five-speed on a treadmill, there ain't shit you can do with me, Solana. Anda con cuidado, joder. No estoy bien conectado. (Tread fucking lightly. I ain't wired right.) That’s lesson number one.”
He hit the emergency stop button just as I was about to go flying backward.
He grabbed my forearm to hold me in place, and once I was steady, he let me go.
It felt like my heart was trying to escape through my throat.
To try and ease some of the pain, I bent over to catch my breath.
I shook uncontrollably as my body pumped adrenaline through my glands.
I felt his hand in my hair, and I didn’t know whether to cry or beg.
If this man thought I’d be able to do anything else after that, he really was loco (crazy).
When I felt the slight tug on my tresses, I knew then that he was French braiding my matted strands.
The touch was unexpected, but I didn't flinch because I didn’t want him to stop.
I knew who I belonged to, and I had long ago accepted it.
Still, whatever braiding technique he was doing felt so good that I had to hold back a moan.
As frightening as Shio was, I wasn't afraid of him. I knew he could hurt me without trying, but he had an aura that made me feel safe. I hadn’t realized how comfortable I was in his home until this very moment.
I’d been doing nothing at all, but hadn’t felt the urge to go out and party as I would’ve back home.
Shio felt like a protector, so even though I haven’t made it a priority to hang around him, I knew I was safe under his roof.
I had no plans to try him, physically, mentally, or sexually, even though he may assume otherwise.
“I’d hate to have to do you dirty, Solana. Don’t fuckin’ test me. I’d always been the nigga to ace them shits. Stand up.”
On command, I stood, still feeling as if my chest might cave in at any moment. The weight of my hair shifted my head backward, and now that I had a clear view of the mirror in front of me. I pulled my gathered hair over the right side of my shoulder. My tangled hair was now in a neat, thick braid.
Glancing to my side, Shio was no longer there. Hearing the weights clang together, I found him at the bench, lifting nearly double his own body mass.
“Turn the machine on and press beginner.” He lifted the bar with ease. “Like I said, light day.”
My heart was pounding as if it wanted to jump out of my chest, run up the stairs, and out of this house without me.
I bent over for the twentieth time this morning, trying to catch my breath as my palms rested on my knees, moist from perspiration.
My arms felt like flan, my stomach was queasy, and every muscle in my body was on fire.
If this was his idea of “taking it easy,” I would hate to see what a tough day looked like.
I felt like I was going to throw up, but it had been days since I ate solids, so all I could do was spit.
The braid had given up halfway through the workout, stray hairs sticking to my face like glue.
I looked like a slob while Shio had barely broken a sweat and looked like he was ready for his closeup for a fitness magazine.
The only reason I could think of for his lack of exhaustion was that he wasn't human. He pushed through his workout without a moment’s hesitation while I cried, complained, and cursed for the entire two hours of torture.
Yes, we’d been down in this hellish zone for one hundred thirty-five minutes.
I’d been counting every miserable second, hoping it would end soon.
Dios, envió el rapto. (God, send the rapture.)
“You good?” he sounded from doing pull-ups on the huge machine he’d made me try. While I had to use the stool to help me do the two I did, he had removed it and was solely lifting his whole body over the bars with no help.
Dropping my head back down from staring at his back, I gave a thumbs up even though I wanted to tilt my hand one hundred and eighty degrees.
Hell no, I wasn't feeling good. I wasn’t “feeling” at all, being that my whole body was on the verge of collapsing.
I’d never worked out, and he had just put me through Army recruitment training at the crack of dawn without a single ounce of water or a bite of food.
“Here…”
Looking up, he had a bar in his hand along with a bottle of water. Grabbing the water first, I twisted the top off frantically and chugged it down. The room temperature water felt great going down my throat, even though I preferred my water ice cold.
“You’ll cramp up if you drink cold water after a workout,” he said as if he knew what I'd been thinking. Once the water was nearly gone, I took the wrapped snack and noticed it was a cookies and cream protein bar.
“Come on.” He turned on his heels before I could reply.
?Jesús! How does he still smell so good?
I swallowed down my thoughts and made the painful trek behind him.
Climbing the stairs was harder than the actual workout.
My body felt both weightless and heavy, and my mind hadn’t decided if it wasn’t to float away or give up as we ascended the staircase.
I wasn't a bath type of girl; I preferred showers because they were faster, but I would need to soak my limbs if I was going to do another one of these “light” sessions.