Chapter 3
Ethan
The treadmill whirs beneath my feet as I push through the final mile of my morning run. I increase the incline, punishing myself with the extra effort. But my mind keeps drifting to last night's encounter with the mysterious Amazon warrior who threw me around like I was nothing.
I’ve been trying to focus on my workout, but it's useless. All I can think about is muscled limbs gleaming with oil, and the slick warmth of her coconut-scented skin beneath my fingers.
Stopping the machine, I grab my towel and drag it over my face, wiping away sweat.
Then I head toward the spa area of my gym.
I don’t always have an ice bath after my morning workout, but today I need one.
The workout hasn’t been enough to rid me of the restless feeling in my limbs, or the annoying single-mindedness of my thoughts.
Steve, the second member of my security team, is sitting just outside the door to my gym, scrolling through his phone while he waits for me to finish my workout. I detour toward him on my way to the plunge pool.
“Steve,” I say. “Did Randy fill you in on what happened last night?”
The big man lumbers to his feet. “Sure did, Mr. Kane.”
“Randy told you about the woman in the boxing gym?” When he nods, I say, “I want to know how she got my phone number. It was probably a misdial, but I want to be sure. I need you to find out who she is."
“You got it, Mr. Kane. Did she say what her name was?”
“She didn’t.”
Steve shrugs, tucking his phone into his pocket with one meaty hand. “Shouldn’t be hard to track her down. It’s likely she has a connection to the boxing gym if she was there alone.”
“Good. Get it done.” I head to the ice bath. I need to freeze my goddamn balls.
Sure enough, the ice-cold water distracts my thoughts from the mystery woman.
And forty-five minutes later, I'm showered, dressed, and in my dining room, eating breakfast. While I eat, I scroll through my tablet, reviewing the financial and real estate news.
This is my morning routine, and I always sit where I can gaze out of the window at the view.
I like seeing LA spread out before me, full of possibility.
So many old buildings to be replaced with modern ones. So much money to be made.
My employees have instructions not to bother me while I eat, so when Steve clears his throat in the doorway, I know it must be something urgent.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Sorry to disturb you Mr. Kane.” He pulls a piece of paper out of a folder he has tucked under his arm. “We discovered this on the floor inside the entrance to your building, and we think someone pushed it under the door.”
He hands me the page. It’s thicker than normal paper, more like light card, and it’s about eight inches square. One sentence is hand-written in large, neat capital letters that cover the entire page:
I WANT TO KILL ETHAN KANE.
The word ‘kill’ is underlined. Twice.
I stare at it wordlessly, a chill creeping up my spine.
This is a first for me. But something like this was bound to happen. I’m not about to win any popularity contests. Some people don’t like it when I tear down buildings, and they get even angrier when I tell them where they can shove their objections. Go figure.
The investor I’m partnering with for my next development project has concerns about my public image.
As part of our deal, I reluctantly agreed to let his PR company try to improve it.
But all the PR company have done is sign me up for fucking charity events and fundraisers, and that approach clearly isn’t working.
“Who wrote this?” I ask Steve, dropping the card on the table next to my egg white omelet.
“We’re not sure yet, sir. It was found early this morning, beside the main door in the lobby. Anyone could have pushed it under the door last night.”
“No cameras?”
“There is one, but we’ve just discovered it doesn’t cover the whole area. We’re fixing that problem now, sir, installing another camera. But whomever left the note wasn’t caught by the security footage.”
I flatten my lips, annoyed by the oversight.
This is my building, and I run my construction business out of the two floors that are below my penthouse apartment and gym. I lease the lower floors to other tenants. Plenty of people go in and out through the main door, but that’s why I have a security system. I’m pissed that it let me down.
“Sorry, Mr. Kane,” Steve says, retrieving the card. “We'll increase your security detail while we figure out who left the threat. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
I shake my head, not liking the idea of more bodyguards following me around. “It’s most likely to be one of the tenants at Crystal Heights. I’ve issued them with eviction notices. They’re blowing off steam, but they’ll get over it.”
“Crystal Heights? That’s the apartment building you’re about to demolish, right?” He rubs his chin. “If we inform the police, they’ll?—”
“No police,” I order. “Handle it in-house.”
He blinks at me, clearly surprised. “Are you sure, Mr. Kane?”
“Reporting it will mean it gets leaked to some tabloid. Might spook my investor, and his fucking PR company will sign me up for even more fundraisers.” I blow out an annoyed breath at the thought.
Steve’s mouth twists doubtfully. “Respectfully, sir, would you at least consider cancelling non-essential appearances until we figure out who sent it?”
“Not a chance.” I push my half-eaten omelet away, my appetite gone. It’s time to head down to my office to start the day. But before I can get up from my chair, Steve speaks again.
“About the woman from last night,” he says. “I found out who she is.”
My heart jumps. “Already?”
Steve’s back is ramrod straight and his arms by his sides. He’s ex-military, and it’s probably just a habit, but he often stands to attention.
“She wasn’t hard to track down.” His tone changes, becoming more careful, as though he thinks I won’t like what he has to say. “In fact, Mr. Kane, she was here yesterday, in this building. She was supposed to train you for that charity boxing match.”
“What? The one I cancelled?”
He nods. “Apparently, she spent the morning waiting in your gym.”
“Rachel didn’t tell her I’d decided not to do it?”
“She did, Mr. Kane. Well, eventually. But that must be why the woman had your phone number.”
I curse under my breath. The charity boxing match was one of the PR company’s stupid ideas.
Yesterday morning, I was supposed to start training for it.
Instead, I’d been notified about yet another challenge to my construction plans by Miles Marzoni, my fucking nemesis, and I’d had to spend the day in emergency talks with my lawyers.
Rachel checked in with me at lunchtime, and by then I was pissed off and short tempered. I’d told her to cancel the damn thing. I’d been too preoccupied to spare much thought for the trainer whose services were no longer required.
“Wait,” I say slowly, as a memory floats to the surface. “Didn’t Balthazar recommend the trainer I hired? Some friend of his fiancée’s, wasn’t it?” I frown, remembering the late-night poker game when he’d told me about her. “No, it was a colleague. A partner in his fiancée’s security business.”
Steve nods. “Rachel said she hired her thanks to a personal recommendation you’d passed on. Her name is Jamie Jennings." He motions to my tablet, still lying next to my plate. “She has a Youtube channel full of wrestling videos.”
I pick up the tablet and hand it to him. “Show me.”
He taps on it for a minute or so, then puts it in front of me.
A video is playing. It’s my Amazon warrior in action, just the way I remember her: red bikini, matching boots, black mask, ponytail, and body oil.
The footage is shot in the same location as last night, but her opponent is a large man wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
He’s bigger than her. Not taller, but a lot bulkier.
But when she lunges toward him, it’s instantly clear who’s in control.
The bikini showcases her incredible body, but it's her strength and grace that captivates me the most. She moves like liquid metal, powerful and precise. The man goes down even harder than I did, and the way she pins him looks effortless. She’s wearing the mask, and I desperately want to see her whole face, to see if she really is as stunning as I suspect.
“There are lots of videos,” Steve says. “She kicks ass in all of them.”
The thought of Steve watching her makes my muscles tense. I have an almost overwhelming urge to snarl at him, to order him to keep his eyes to himself.
It makes no sense. The videos are clearly popular. This one has… shit. More than a hundred thousand likes. He’s not the only one watching, not by a long shot.
“She boxes and wrestles?” I ask, my voice gruff.
“Apparently. Black belt, too, and firearms expertise. Impressive qualifications.” He glances toward the door. “If that’s everything, Mr. Kane, I’ll start trying to find out who sent you that death threat.”
“Go,” I say. As he steps away, my gaze drops to the video. It’s mesmerizing.
I need to meet this warrior woman. I need to know who’s behind the mask.
Something occurs to me. “Wait, Steve.”
He turns back. “Sir?”
“My friend Balthazar,” I say slowly. “When he was being threatened, he hired a security specialist to pretend to be his girlfriend. That way she could stay by his side when he went to events. Someone tried to kill him, and she protected him.”
Steve absorbs this for a moment, then he frowns. “Are you thinking about doing something similar?”
“It’d make sense. I have a charity ball on Friday, and you said I should be careful about going to public events.”
Why am I explaining myself to him? I’ve never felt the urge to do that before. Usually, I just tell him what I want to do, and don’t bother with the why.
Steve nods. “Okay, Mr. Kane. I’ll make a short list of candidates?—”
“No need.” I turn the tablet toward him. On the screen, Jamie has a man in a leg lock and he’s desperately thumping the ground, tapping out so hard, he’s in danger of breaking his hand. “I’ve already found one.”