Page 27 of Steel Rain

But there was a part of me - not a very prominent part, at the moment - that knew these were unreasonable thoughts that were more suited for a 20-something boot. Not for a 30-something man with twenty years as a fucking Navy SEAL. I was a professional. I was a trainer. Andshe was a damn student!

That was a power dynamic that did not interest me.

At least it never had before. Fuck!

She was doing something to my brain. She was muddying the waters. I wasn’t a fan of this at all. Complications had a way of breaking a man. And I endeavored to be unbreakable.

So why were my eyes always trailing back to the woman with the steel gray eyes, and short, flat black hair? It was that haunted look. The kind of little-girl-lost-in-the-dark-woods. Snow White. But not the old kind. The version where she wore armor and carried a sword.

In a blink, we went from running drills to sparring.

There were two circles. An inner and outer ring. Every five minutes, the inner ring would move and the guys would spar whoever was in front of them. And to my cock’s utter delight, she was decimating most of her opponents, and coming to a stalemate with the rest.

She was in her element. Visceral. Vicious. Like her body knew its purpose. A body that was beaten and sharpened to be the deadliest of points.

If the men were surprised by her performance, they didn’t talk about it. They let it out in sideways glances, to see if the other men around them witnessed their struggle. But if those guys were judgmental, then they deserved to be judged in return when she had them in her iron grip.

I smiled to myself, as I gave the final command that ended the sparring. “Roll up!”

The Irish circled around me, facing inward. I led them through their cool down and stretches. Back stretches, bends, hamstring stretches, calf stretches. Hitting all their major muscle groups.

Once I had them on their knees, sitting back on their haunches, I made them close their eyes and listen to their breaths. As is the natural way of pack animals, the longer they breathed, the more in synch they became. When their shoulders and chests all rose and fell at the same rate, I began to tell them a story.

“A martial art, at its core, is the art of fighting. Which is why you soldiers are here, learning.” I looked about at their closed eyes. Their heads were slightly bowed. “But a good practice is not just about learning to defeat your enemy. It is about leaving your ego at the door long enough to have the humility to learn. To grow. And to create a space for yourself and your comrades to similarly expand in their practice.”

My eyes drifted to her again. Her lips were flat, her eyes shut, and her hair was matted, tucked behind her ear. Still, a few stray hairs fell forward and framed the side of her cheek.

“To be the best fighter you can be, you must learn to leave your ego, your past, your trauma behind.” I took a deep belly breath, centering myself. Because what came next was a lesson that I could stand to learn as well. “To be the best partner, the best student, the best teacher, you must accept your past. Accept, and do not let it overwhelm you.”

I slowly opened my eyes. Gray eyes were staring right at me. Her brow was furrowed in an angry scowl, as if something I had said struck a nerve. And she didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit.

“Let it flow through you like air.” Then I opened my hands to my sides. “Bend, but do not break to it.”

Her nose scrunched in a barely restrained snarl. Her cheeks flushed. The wild, vicious look in her eyes made the beast inside me rise and take notice. The serenity of a moment ago was destroyed. Smashed to pieces like glass thrown onto the rocks.

“We’ll pick up at the same place tomorrow,” I said, suddenly switching to admin mode. “Make sure you rest, ice your muscles, elevate what you need to, and consider taking an ice bath.”

There were a few grumbles at my suggestion.

But they opened their eyes, and in one practiced movement, we all put one hand on the mat, then the other, and bent down low into a bow, our foreheads to the back of our hands.

Then, in silence, each one of them grabbed their things and left the gym. She didn’t even spare me a glance as she walked out with O’Malley, her gym bag hoisted over her shoulder, reminiscent of when I had seen her entering the Green mansion the night before. When I had grabbed her to me, and almost planted my lips on hers.

Those two were close. Too close. He was in a position of power over her, and technically her superior. I’d need to pull him aside and have a word with him about that later.

What was it about a bag on her shoulder that made her look like a warrior, carrying a shield on her back? She was every fantasy, and every vision I had.

If only she wasn’t my subordinate.

Chapter 14

Sin

Thedaysweregrueling.Not that different from when I was at boot camp, but with far less predictability and discipline. There was something more dangerous about the Irish mob. The lawlessness of it all. This place made me want to rip my own skin off, it was so … hostile. I could taste it in the air like CS gas, or pepper spray.

In the Army, there was the comfort of a paper trail. Here? Eoghan could slit my throat and no one would ever know the difference. I’d be buried in the woods, and no one would realize I was gone. Except maybe Guile, if I didn’t return a call or something.

I don’t even know if Sibby would care at this point. She made it clear the last time I was here that I had abandoned her, and she’d never forgive me.

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