Page 25 of Steel Rain

It knew if you ate, if you slept, if you took care of your body, and would punish you for your misdeeds. It grappled you for every victory and taunted you in defeat. I liked that in a mistress.

The warehouse was a cold, barren space, two stories high. There was an annex, a garage, with an apartment above. It was a small studio, which I lived in now. This big empty space might have been a big, industrial garage or storage room in another life. It’s caretaker would have lived in the residence.

The sheer size of it was any gym owner’s wet dream. Sure, it was cold, and had nothing but those ancient radiators to keep it just above freezing, so the pipes didn’t break in the upstate New York winter.

Now that it was filled with working bodies, it would warm up easily. If I worked them out hard enough, their sweat would drip from the ceiling, making it rain indoors. It was a sadistic little challenge I had made up for myself. Work them to their breaking point, and end the class right before they thought they could do no more. Three hours, four days a week, they were mine to bend and crack.

“Circle up!” I ordered, and they all formed a ring around me. When I had their undivided attention, I picked one out of the bunch. The one I had seen with Snow White the night before.

O’Malley was a good-natured sport, eager to please and make himself useful. The kind of kid that’s a joy to train. With a come-hither motion, I brought him to the center of the circle.

This was old hat to him, so he assumed a fighter’s stance, ready to try to counter what I did. Ever the optimist, despite knowing that he’d never, ever, be able to stop me.

I lunged forward, coming down to one knee, and stepping through until my shoulders were at his hips, my hands behind his thighs. I continued my forward momentum up to my feet, taking his legs out with me.

He tried to land a strike on my back, and even got a good one in on my shoulder as he grabbed onto my Gi as I pulled him up, but he ultimately had to let go, doing a back fall as I flung his legs out from under him.

I ended it by wrapping my arm around his left rib, and right shoulder, with my head down by his, so that my bicep crushed his throat. It was a blood choke, designed to stop the blood from his heart getting to his head. He tapped out once the pressure threatened to make him pass out, and I released him.

I stood up, offering him my hand. He took it and, without missing a beat, he popped up and assumed a fighter’s stance, ready to go again.

The kid had some great bounce to him.

“I don’t care how you make them submit, today’s technique is about sweeping the legs,” I told the class.

I re-did everything, but slower this time, with O’Malley not trying to counter as I explained the move step by step.

All the while, I felthereyes on me. Her slate gray eyes, that missed nothing.

I had shown them this technique before. The pointwasn’tto teach them things they didn’t already know. It was to ensure they didn’t develop bad habits and forget. Repetition was key to making muscle memory.

“Partner up!” I ordered them, and people naturally partnered with someone. Usually their friends. No one wanted to be the last person looking for a friend. In a lot of ways, many of us would never grow out of the juvenile fear of being the last to be picked for dodge ball.

I expected Flanagan, since she was a woman and new, to have the dubious honor. But I was surprised when O’Malley sprang right for her and the two started practicing. Back and forth, they went, sweeping each other out, offering minimal resistance, then increasing it as they went.

Were they friends, then? Like her and that Guile kid?

I narrowed my eyes as I watched them. They had an easy smile as they helped one another off the ground. I hated the way they freely touched one another without any kind of embarrassment or hesitation.

What I felt, I knew, was jealousy. A jealousy that I had no business feeling.

She might not have a conventional beauty, but she was attractive. She was sexy. There was a magnetic quality about her that caught a man’s attention by the fucking balls, and I wasn’t immune to it. Was O’Malley playing the “nice guy” game? Become her friend then try to get into her pants?

Fat chance. She’d never go for something that slick.

I observe each pairing and watch them, offering corrections as I went. Because I was a weak man, and dreading the possibility of touching that porcelain skin, I saved her and her partner for last, wishing I could avoid them entirely.

Best case? The two of them perform the technique flawlessly. But that hope was a level of optimism that had no place in real life.

O’Malley went in, and his shoulder was wrong. It was too high on her hips, not allowing her to fully hinge over his back as he pushed past her body.

“O’Malley!” I said, gently, already knowing that I’d need to modulate roughness out of my voice.

With a gesture and wave of my hand, I ordered him to step away from Flanagan.

“When you’re doing this, you need to get your shoulder here,” I said as I bent low, pushing forward, my shoulder notching into her hip where she bent. “Not here.” I demonstrated, by raising my shoulder up higher to where he was on her stomach.

I could feel her skin through the rough fabrics of our Gis. Then I smelled her. Like a cool spring under a moonlight of spring blossoms. Not quite sweet, not quite musky. But something cold, and fresh. Like the first lungful after a hard hunt. I had never, ever, smelled something so divine.

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