Page 90 of Scarred Sins
“For example, she can create a poison in a larger quantity. Then we can put it in the water supply, coat the AC with it, and create poisonous oxygen. A lot of things of the sort. She can be very useful.’’
There’s a hint of admiration behind the hostile tone in his voice, and I can’t help but wonder why he dislikes Freya that much.
“Did anything happen between you and Freya that’s causing you to hate her that much?”
He grunts. “The first time we met, she called me a spoiled brat.’’
“That’s it?’’ I blink. “Seriously?”
“What do you meanthat’s it?” Arlo scoffs. “Who says something like that to the person they’ve just met? That’s when I realized the two of us aren’t going to be on good terms, and for the most part, we’ve successfully avoided each other. I won’t deny her skill, but as a person? Fucking terrible. So I’ll suggest skipping out on the meeting.’’
I take a deep breath and contemplate his words. He knows her better than I do, so I decide to trust him and give a small nod. Either way, I could definitely use the nap he mentioned because I’ve been running on little to no sleep.
Once he cleaned up after me – which I did find ridiculous; I’m more than capable of washing my own plate – he quite literally tucked me into bed, wrapped me up like a burrito, and kissed my forehead before leaving.
It knocked me out like a charm.
I never knew I had a thing for sweaty men. But right now, I can barely focus on trying to spar with Arlo because his body is my main focus. He’s wearing a compression shirt, and if I squinted my eyes enough, I could probably count every single ab of his. His muscled arms seem even larger with the way the shirt is hugging his skin, and the ink on his flesh just adds to the appeal. He’s completely covered in tattoos.
His cheeks are flushed from the intense past hour we’ve shared, and I’m almost at my limit. Arlo, on the other hand, seems like he’s not even started getting tired. Yes, he’s sweaty, his white hair wet, a few droplets running down his forehead, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s not even close to being tired.
It doesn’t help that the grey sweatpants look like they were molded for him, as if they were tailored just to fit him. It’s a perfect sight, and I’m struggling to follow along. Of course, I didn’t manage to land a solid blow, but my defense has improved, and I see the look of pride on his face each time I dodge successfully.
“Can you go for another hour?” Arlo asks.
“Yes,’’ I pause for a moment to catch my breath, feeling the exhaustion slowly surfacing. I shove it aside for the time being, forcing my body to work a bit more. Arlo’s brows crease, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he stands straight and steps back a little.
“Alright, hit me.’’
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me; hit me.’’
“I’m not going to hit you, Arlo.’’
“You won’t be able to, butterfly,’’ he chuckles. “But try to hit me.’’
Something wakes up inside of me. It’s probably the competitive part of me that wants to prove him wrong, and although I know I’m not on his level just yet, it doesn’t deter me. In fact, it makes me want to prove myself to Arlo even more, to show him that all of this won’t be for nothing – that I’m worthy of his efforts.
With a small scowl on my face, I rush forward, using my left foot, trying to kick his ribs. He catches it with ease, then tosses it back at me, making me stumble back a little. The worst part? He barely used ten percent of his strength, yet it quite literally forced me back a step. With a small growl, I dart toward him again, and again, and again.
I try every trick in the book – every trick he personally taught me and a few I remembered from Hudson. Yet, nothing’s enough to so much as catch him off guard, let alone land a solid blow. I’m not even aiming for his face, because realistically, I don’t want to see that pretty face bruised.
With a deep breath, I pause to calm down. The aching of my body takes a backseat, and I’m focused on trying to wear him down as much as possible, then hit him. The plan is severely flawed, but it’s the best I’ve got so far.
“Come on, Blair,’’ he taunts. “Is that it? Can’t you do better than that?”
“You little–’’ I stop myself before I blurt out something I might regret. I know that he’s trying to bait me, to get me angry just to see how much anger affects me in these situations, and I don’t want to let him win. If I do, all the voices in my head will be right – that I’m a monster just like my mother, someone who’s unable to control themselves.
I continue with my pathetic attacks, my fists always being blocked. Not once did he let me actually hit him, and I’m grateful that he’s not going easy on me. He’s trying to teach me, and going easy on me could potentially cause me to die.
My shoelaces come undone, and I don’t notice it until it’s too late. By the time I figure it out, I’m already falling flat on my ass. This has to be one of the most embarrassing moments of my entire life, tripping on my own shoelaces.
Arlo’s quick to catch the back of my head, though not quick enough to prevent me from falling. Instead, he falls on top of me, holding the back of my head to prevent an injury. He props his elbow down on time and doesn’t fully land on top of me, with a few inches of space between our bodies.
“Jesus Christ,’’ he breathes out. “Are you alright, Blair?”
I nod wordlessly. “I’m okay, thank you for catching me.’’
