Page 6 of Quake
A new city wasn’t going to solve my problems.
A new hair color wasn’t going to help me find closure with my sister’s murder.
I could pretend all I wanted, don my stupid superhero mask and play the part of the person I thought I deserved to be, but in reality, I’d only run away and brought all my baggage along for the ride.
If someone had followed me home last night, I had no idea how to protect myself. My fear was so crippling it would have gotten me killed.
I had to do something.
I stepped into the shower, the hot water searing my skin and soothing the kink in my neck.
I had to do something. But what?
What?
Fight back. The words came to me, cutting through the steam and slapping me around the face.Fight back.
Was the first step that simple? I could go to that gym I kept seeing signs for down on Sydney Road. Learn to fight back with my fists. Learn how to protect myself if he came looking for a complete set of twins. I could really become Juliette Spicer, badass, instead of pretending I was.
I couldn’t go out after dark anymore, but if I went to that gym after work, then I’d be home before it was a problem.
Turning off the shower, I got dressed and grabbed my keys and phone before I could change my mind.
Outside, it was a bright summer’s day.
The sun beat down on my bare shoulders, stinging my pale skin, and I was already cracking a sweat. Partly because of my shattered nerves, but mostly because of the heat. Or was it the other way around?
I crossed over the road, taking a wide berth around the place the police had roped off the night before. Nothing was there now, the footpath free of flashing lights, crime scene markers, and that horrible white sheet. A block down, I found the side street where I’d seen the sign for the gym. Hardly glancing at it, I followed the red arrow printed at the bottom, walking away from the main road and into an area that had both houses and garages backing onto the footpaths on either side. A line of cars were parked to the left, tip to tail with hardly any room for them to back up and get out.
I found the gym half a block in. At first glance, it looked like the back of a mechanic’s garage with an open roller door and a cavernous space beyond. It was so bright outside that I couldn’t see far, but I heard plenty. Male grunting, fists smacking into stuff, the sound of the radio over the speakers—alternative rock music from what I could tell—and the stench of leather and sweat. Great. Stinky boys.
Staring at the opening, I glanced up and down the street, but it was empty save for a lone car that passed my position and turned onto Sydney Road, disappearing around the corner.
Go inside, I thought to myself.Go inside. Go inside. Go inside.What harm could it do? If they didn’t have any classes or training programs, then they’d say no and point me in the direction of someone who did. All I had to do was go inside and ask. I was a customer, and they wanted custom. Match made in heaven.Stop being such a scared little girl, Jules.
Taking a deep breath, I boldly stepped into the gym, my eyes gradually adjusting to the change in light. The sounds of fists hitting punching bags filled the space, and my heart began to pound as a dozen pairs of eyes turned to stare at me…all of them male.
Swallowing hard, I turned, and to my utter relief, I found a notice board just inside the door that was packed full of flyers and what looked like class schedules.
“Would you get a look at that…” someone said, then let out a low whistle.
“I love it when they wander in off the street.”
Did they think I came here to gawk at their muscles? I began to squirm, doing my best to block the words out, my gaze scanning the flyers. I shouldn’t have come in here. It was the wrong place. No one could help me.
When I was finally able to register what I was looking at, a flyer for self-defense classes popped out at me. Reaching up, I gently grasped the corner, wondering if I could take it to look at later on. You know, when I ran home and died of embarrassment. I’d always been a bit awkward, but this was taking it to new heights. I was completely rattled.
“Shut it,” a male voice boomed behind me. “I want a hundred fist push-ups from the lot of you by the time I come back.”
Wincing, I was about to yank the flyer down and make a break for it when I felt the presence of someone standing behind me.
My heart lodged in my throat, and I turned, my gaze slamming into a tall man about my age, maybe older. About thirty, I suppose, but I was having a hard time making eye contact so I couldn’t be sure.
“Hey,” he said, his blue eyes seeming to see right through me. “I’m Caleb, the manager here. You interested in taking some classes?”
I hesitated, struck completely dumb. He was really good looking. Dusky blond hair, chiseled jaw, iridescent eyes, stubble on his chin, broad shoulders, and the outline of well-sculpted muscles underneath his tight, black T-shirt. I studied the outline of the logo that sat over his left pec—a pair of boxing gloves with angel wings—before feeling the telltale heat of embarrassment on my cheeks.
“Uh, I um…” I began awkwardly, my confidence shot to hell.
