24. Chapter 24
TIERNEY
“Again!” I yelled. My body falling into the familiar stance Ahren had been drilling into me for the last week.
His deep laugh sent shivers through me. “Why don’t we take a break with the hand to hand? You haven’t had enough time on the bar in days.”
A petulant whine escaped me. Not that I had a problem lifting weights, but I preferred sparring. Well, one day it will be proper sparring. For now, it was just Ahren knocking me on my ass. But I found myself aching for his hands on me.
I was stupid for pushing him away. There’s no two ways about that. I wanted that kiss—hell; I wanted him. What I didn’t want was his pity. Turns out, I was wrong—spectacularly so.
Whatever this thing was simmering just beneath the surface. That magnetic pull I felt anytime he was near. That burst of fire and magic when we touched. We both felt it, but it seemed neither of us knew how to proceed—or maybe he did and I was just too broken to get it.
I tried talking to Ahren, not that I was good with words. I was more of a shoot now and don’t bother with questions, girlie. He was my opposite, smooth as that expensive whiskey he loved so much.
Every time I brought it up, he would insist we focus on getting me stronger—like that would fix everything.
“Six weeks and three days, Rossdale. I’m all better. We can step this up.” I taunted.
He shook his head slowly, that perfect smile breaking across his face.
Sweat beaded on his tanned skin, drops sliding hypnotically down the taut planes of his stomach. My fingers burned with jealousy, aching to trace along their path.
“Your form is good. We have to work on strength and speed, then we can put it all together.”
I scoffed. “Fine. How much on the bar today?”
He laughed. “Eighty-five today.”
I nodded. “Let’s do it.”
I kneeled beside Ahren, both of us working silently to add the plates on the bar and sliding the spring collars into place, securing the weight on the bar.
“Keep your back straight,” he murmured, placing his hand gently against the skin on my lower back.
I pulled the weight up, racking the bar in front of my collar bone before pushing out a breath, using the momentum to push the bar overhead.
“Beautiful. Good form.” Ahren said, clapping his hands together .
With my arms locked into position, I lowered myself into a deep squat, then pushed myself back up. By the time I made it to the fifth rep, my arms were trembling.
“Two more. You’ve got two more in you,” he commanded.
My energy was spent, yet something primal rose to meet his challenge, hungry for the chance to earn his praise.
I pressed up, raising the bar for the final time—straining under the combined weight of the bar and his heavy gaze.
“Do you need help?” he asked, his hands freezing mid-air as they reached for the bar.
My jaw clenched tightly under the strain. Unable to reply, I jerked my head. No way in hell was I letting him see any more weakness than he’d already seen. With shaky arms, I lowered the bar, racking it at my chest.
A genuine smile curved his lips, not the cocky smirk he usually wore, but an actual smile and damn if it wasn’t beautiful.
“That’s the hard part. Now just lower it to the floor. These aren’t bumper plates, so don’t fucking drop them.” His voice, rich as dark velvet, smoothed away the rough edges of his abrasive wit.
I nodded, pushing out a steady breath as I lowered the weight to the floor.
Black spots danced before my eyes, Ahren’s face darkening with concern as it blurred in my field of vision. I dropped to the mat, pressing my forehead to my knees, focusing on my breathing.
“Here, drink this,” he said, offering me water. “You’re doing great.”
“Eighty-five pounds is nothing.” I scoffed. “I feel like a fucking child.”
His head shook back and forth, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. His expression sobered, mirroring my own. "You're still healing. You shouldn't push yourself too hard. You don't want to set your progress back. Besides, eighty-five pounds is every bit three quarters of your body weight. "
I pushed out a long breath and took another long pull on the water bottle. His words made sense. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling he was just placating me. Finally, after a long pause, I nodded.
"I'm serious," he said, moving, so he was directly in front of me. "Lifting will help you get stronger. I don't bullshit. I promised to help you get back what you lost—what they took from you. Believe me or don't; not my job to convince you."
He stood, easily lifting the bar I just struggled with, carrying it to the rack, removing the plates and putting everything back in its place.
"I think I'm done for the day." I murmured, my voice soft, but still carried in the gym. "My muscles are fried. I'm exhausted and I stink."
A deep chuckle answered me. "Yeah. I need to hit the shower, too."
Quickly gaining my feet, I crossed to the doorway where he waited.
With every step, desire and envy flared in equal measures, taking in his body all hard lines and firm muscles.
Not a trace of softness or weakness to be found.
I longed for strength like his, to wrap myself in it, to feel strong again—even just a taste—
Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached up and pressed my lips to his, snaking my arms around his neck. He froze for only a breath before melting against me, pulling me closer with a growl.
His tongue darted out, swiping across the seam of my lips, and I eagerly opened for him. I didn't have much experience kissing, mainly because I didn't have much experience with people—I hoped he couldn't tell.
We clung to each other; the heat ratcheting up bit by bit with every slide of our tongues against each other .
His hands roamed my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He was the fire that burned me and the balm who soothed the ache all at once.
He pulled away, and a needy moan escaped me.
"Hold that thought," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to my lips.
His fingers brushed along my arms until only our fingers were linked.
I followed along as he descended the stairs. Only now did I register the sound of Zeus and Apollo barking in the distance.
We reached the door, and he pulled his pistol from the back of his pants. Fuck! Did he just work out with a gun strapped to him? That was fucking hot.
He brought his finger to his lips, his eyes silently begging me to stay put.
I nodded, my breath sawing in and out of me in short pants.
This was it. We had been waiting for weeks and not one hitter had come for us.
Sure, Ahren paid off Henri, but there were dozens of lower-level assassins looking to make a name for themselves.
Still, I couldn’t help but think that it had been eerily quiet.
He cracked the door open, taking a peek before pushing it all the way. The sight of him sweeping the pistol searching for intruders, lethal grace, deadly and beautiful, only stoked the fire he ignited earlier.
"Ahren. Look." I whispered, pointing to the exact spot on his doorstep I always left my roses.
A rock about the size of Ahren's fist sat atop a picture of Larissa, her face bloodied but defiant.
"There's a note," I murmured, bending down to pick up the small scrap of paper .
"It's play-time. If you want your lady doc back, you have to follow the clues. Oh—and tick-tock Rossdale. You have twelve hours to get to the first clue." He read out the words over my shoulder.
Cold fury raced down my spine. Fuck. This. My eyes flicked to his, finding the same fire mirrored in his eyes.
"Looks like it's time to go hunting."
"Count me in."