Page 38 of Brutal Vows

Which is not a thought I form lightly, not even to myself.

I twist the handle and swing open the door.

Bright colors nearly blind me as I flick the lights on. Dozens of pillows and stuffed animals fill the bed. I step forward and lift the edge of the comforter, unsure what to make of the material, and furrow my brow in confusion when heavy beads shift within the layers. The bedside table nearest the bed overflows with books and medical articles. Snack wrappers and empty water bottles fill the trash can. A few teeter on the rim, ready to join the others that didn’t quite make it into the bag.

Papers, pens, unopened snacks, sticky notes, and other office supplies lie scattered over her desk. Three empty purses hang off the back of her desk chair, while another two dangle from the closet door handle.

Mostly scrubs fill the hangers in her closet—each design just as colorful and unique as the set she wore when I captured her—but the far section holds a decent amount of clothes for different occasions. Clean workout clothes overflow the fabric bins lining her shelves. A few mismatched socks lie tucked in the spaces between.

I turn and scan the room.

Some may call it messy, especially compared to the rest of the apartment, but all I see is Loretta’s true character.

She’s not a neat freak. Nor is she compulsively meticulous. If anything, she devotes everything when she’s focused on a subject. The snack wrappers on the floor and the open medical articles prove it—even without seeing her in action, it’s clear she missed the trash because she refused to look away from what she was reading.

I squat and lift the comforter again to look under the bed. When I can see through to the other side, I confirm mysuspicion. There are no dust bunnies, but the floor isn’t spotless like the rest of the apartment.

Mia gattinawill always put her sister before herself. Whatever Livia wants, Loretta will ensure she gets it.

It’s Livia who prefers a clean house. Loretta’s bedroom is her only sanctuary away from the world. Her only safe place from her sister’s cold shoulder.

Knowingmia gattina, though, she’d scrub the place in a heartbeat if Livia asked for it.

I grind my teeth at the thought until I realize I’m as despicable as her twin.

She didn’t invite me, yet here I am, standing in the middle of her sanctuary. No wonder she was burying her boxing gloves so hard into the punching bag. Her anger needs an outlet.

I want to be her outlet. I want her to give me everything. Her pain. Her secrets. Her body. Her heart.

If it means being her punching bag, so be it. I pull my shirt off over my head and drop it onto her bed, covering several of her stuffed animals, and stalk back into the kitchen.

Her eyes widen when she looks over her shoulder at me, and I realize this is the first time she’s seen me without a shirt. She drops her hands and steps away from the bag.

Despite the questions lurking in her eyes as she studies the scars on my chest, she doesn’t ask.

“Do you have sparring pads?” I ask.

She shakes her head, rips open the hook and loop strap on her left glove, pulls her hand free, and sucks down the rest of her water before responding.

“I don’t have gloves your size either. Other than a few things in the front closet, what you see here is what I have.”

She gestures to the wall. Despite being tucked in the breakfast nook and out of sight of the living room, every item has a designated spot.

Satisfaction sparks in my chest as I study her collection. She lacks gear for couple or group activities. It’s all for solo workouts.

Between this knowledge and the guard’s vapid comment, I decidemia gattinadoesn’t invite men over to her apartment.

The thought of being her first sparring partner in the intimacy of her home invigorates me. I grab another water bottle from the fridge, crack it open, and hand it to my woman before running through a quick stretch and warm up.

“Are you ready,mia gattina?”

“Ready for what?”

“Take off the gloves. I deserve it for what I’ve put you through.”

“Excuse me? Why would I hit you when you’ve clearly warned me not to countless times already?”

Her incredulous tone feeds the feral beast lurking in my soul. I didn’t mean to insult her by telling her to take off her gloves, but I did. If it helps her take her frustrations out on me, then so be it.

---