Page 16 of Prince Charming

He loved this place, this big room especially, with the bags hanging from the ceiling.

It was unpretentious, unlike most gyms nowadays.

When he’d bought the building to open a boxing gym, he knew he wanted to keep it basic for people like him.

All the upmarket stuff was in the next room for the fancy fuckers who came to run twenty minutes on a treadmill before posting a green juice selfie on their social media. Back there was a juice bar, vending machine that spat out protein bars and hot coffee. He hired fitness instructors to deal with the clientele while cashing in on the get fit fads during the year.

Tag’s domain was this large brick space with the smell of sweat and blood in the air.

Two reconstructive surgeries on his cheekbone and he almost resembled his old self.

Miracle. The doctors said. Lucky, another told him.

Even now, he knew he should be at home before the burgeoning headache erupted into a full-grown migraine. A bonus gift from the accident.

Against the doctor’s advice, he was itching to get back inside the cage.

Walking a little further, the ebb and flow of music continued.

What he saw froze him in the doorway.

He’d assumed Marianna had gone home for the night.

She was an enigma who avoided him as much as possible.

And he was the guy who couldn’t leave well enough alone, even when her signs showed she wasn’t interested in his friendship.

They’d met in the weirdest, most cruel of circumstances when theSoulsfinally got the drop on theBratvaunderboss, a year ago. Disbanding his filthy porn warehouse. Marianna had been among their female captives.

And now here they were all these months later in this weird limbo.

He remembered how forthcoming she’d been when he’d offered her the job and apartment above the florist shop owned by theSouls. He’d laughed when she’d told him in a cold Russian accent,“I have no desire for a relationship if that is what you are here for.”

Tag wasn’t about that.

Feeling a peculiar sense of responsibility for the quiet woman. They’d never talked about what happened. He still didn’t know how she ended up in the States, trapped in a porn ring.

Tag wouldn’t call Marianna panicky, but she wore the potent aura of a woman who didn’t trust a fucking soul.

What he knew about her, he could write on his thumbnail.

Seeing her dancing in the shadows, with the skill of someone who knew what they were doing, fucking floored him.

She was a ballerina?

Each twirl and lift of her leg was too precise for it to be a random dance.

On and on, her spins continued.

She didn’t stumble.

Transfixed in the water-like moves, his stomach muscles clenched like a greedy fucker tasting hot sauce for the first time.

He didn’t know much about proper dancing, other than grinding on a woman in a nightclub. Christ, she wasgood.

He felt a tug in his lower gut as he watched.

Tag knew he shouldn’t. He was spying on something private she obviously only did when she thought no one else was around.

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