“I’ll teach you how to fight.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise to my hairline at his words. Teach me how to fight? It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, that fighting and violence were the last things I wanted. But was it really? I needed to learn to protect myself, not just from the Vegas shit, but all this other stuff now too.

  “Nonnegotiable, Lina.”

  I didn’t know if me defying him pissed him off or amused him. It was hard to read Arlo’s expressions the majority of the time, because he kept himself so closed off.

  “Okay,” I said without any heat. I would’ve taken more of the self-defense classes in Vegas before fleeing, but funds and time hadn’t really allowed it. And as I stared at him, I knew without a doubt Arlo could kill somebody with his bare hands if need be. “But can you tell me why you’re doing this? Like, I understand the safety aspect, but why do you care? I’m a nobody.”

  He just looked at me, not speaking, but there was this hard tension around him. I knew I’d still get no answers from him.

  Fine, if he wanted to give me a hard time, then I’d just show him how stubborn I was. “I need to work on my next shift.” The hard set of his jaw told me he was about to argue, but I shook my head. “Listen,” I said before he could go into whatever spiel he was about to say to me. “I don’t know what mess I’m caught up in, because you won't tell me, but I know if you wanted to hurt me, I wouldn’t be in your apartment right now, eating a strawberry danish and drinking bitter-ass coffee.” His lips quirked slightly as if he was amused. “But I have to go to work. I can’t just not. It’s clear you’re not hard up for money,” I said and pointedly looked around his lavish penthouse apartment, “but I don’t have that luxury or privilege. I…” I stopped before I could say I was running and needed all the funds I could get.

  His eyes narrowed marginally when I wouldn’t press on. It was very clear this man got what he wanted without anyone giving him shit about it, but I was already in a deep enough hole with my own problems, and then there was all this other stuff that was now laid in my lap. I just wanted to figure out how things were going to go and if they could even get better at this point.

  But I wasn’t ready to give up on this. If he wanted to “keep me safe” and force me to stay, then there was one thing he’d learn about me, and that was I didn’t give up easily when I put my mind to something.

  We were in this silent stare-off for a couple of seconds, and when he didn’t speak, I exhaled and just pressed on. “I have to work,” I said, softer this time, hating myself that I heard the defeat in my voice. “I know you said it’s not safe, and I’m not stupid, but you don’t understand, I have to make money.”

  “If you’re in trouble, all you have to do is tell me and I can help.” His voice was low and deep, but I didn’t miss the edge, didn’t miss the danger lying underneath.

  “Maybe I don’t want anyone’s help.” The words were so soft I didn’t even know if he heard, but when he spoke, I knew he had.

  “Maybe sometimes we have to ask for help, even if we don’t want it.”

  I was shaking my head before he finished but couldn't find the words to say anything. I looked around his incredible apartment, took in the natural light filling the space, noticed all the expensive, sleek appliances, and didn’t miss how everything screamed of wealth.

  “You can’t possibly know how it feels to struggle.” I was assuming, and I shouldn’t. I knew nothing about Arlo, where he came from or how he’d grown up. When I looked back at him, I could see the hardness back in his eyes.

  “I had some clothing delivered for you.”

  He changed the subject so fast my head spun. He looked pointedly at my shirt and shorts. I didn’t bother asking how he knew my size to order me anything. “You can’t work out in those.” He lifted his gaze back to my face. “We’ll leave in an hour to teach you how to defend yourself, moy svet.”

  I didn’t know what he’d just said in Russian, but I could assume it was along the lines of “ungrateful bitch.”

  I exhaled and finished my danish and coffee, rinsed out my cup, and set it in the sink. I wanted to ask him over and over again why he was doing any of this, letting me stay in this posh apartment, feeding me, clothing me… protecting me. I just wanted to take his face in my hands and… kiss him.

  Instead I picked up the bag he’d gestured toward on the ground by the breakfast bar and walked away, mentally adding up how much I’d owe Arlo after this was all said and done.

  And as I walked back to the guest room to change, I felt him watching me the whole time.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Galina

  This felt like it was a really bad idea as I stood across from Arlo in a questionably stained—possibly once white—boxing ring.

  We’d left almost two hours ago from his apartment. I’d taken in the wealthy part of the city, remembering the glittering skyscrapers that seemed to touch the heavens, where people walked up and down the streets without the fear of getting pulled into a dark alley.

  I’d stared out the window of his car and saw the affluence slowly turned into that ugliness Desolation was so known for.

  I didn’t need to ask if this gym was Russian. That had been clear when we stepped inside and I saw the massive Russian flag hanging behind the boxing ring, coupled with the fact that all I heard was men shouting and talking in another language.

  At first, I’d had in this weird moment of awe as I followed Arlo inside, the gym bag hanging loosely from his strong, broad shoulders. Although all the noise sounded like there were a hundred men crammed inside, there was probably only a handful, all of them so big and loud it made my ears ring. But as soon as they noticed Arlo, the conversation stopped, all eyes on us.

  He said something low but loud enough that it carried through the small interior. And then I watched in confusion and a little bit mesmerized as the men left. As in they left the gym.

  I glanced around. The place appeared run-down, decades old. The boxing ring itself was battered, with dark tape holding some of the roping together that surrounded us, the white beneath my feet stained in brown, rusty shades.

  I looked at Arlo again, the white T-shirt he wore hiding almost all the tattoos on his chest, yet I could make out the dark ink and shapes beneath the thin, light-colored material. “Is this place owned by the Russian mafia?” I had no idea why those words came from my mouth. I felt my eyes flare in surprise and a little bit of fear.

  I didn’t want to get on his bad side, although I didn't know if Arlo had a good side.

  I also had no idea if blatantly talking about the Bratva would piss him off. Not that I knew anything about the former, but if I were to guess, I assumed this place was hard-core mafia territory.

  “It’s owned by Ivan.” He smirked.

  I licked my lips and started moving my hands up and down my thighs. “Ivan, huh?”

  He nodded once. Slowly.

  I said nothing else, just kept running my sweaty palms up and down my thighs. The workout clothes Arlo had gotten for me were nothing but a pair of black leggings, some ankle socks, tennis shoes, and a form-fitted short-sleeve shirt. I was completely covered, modest even, yet whenever Arlo looked at me, I always felt so naked.

  “What did you say to everyone to get them all to leave the gym?” I figured that was a safe enough conversation switch, but when he slowly shook his head, I had a feeling this might have been another “nonnegotiable” situation.

  “I told them,” he finally said, “you weren’t a sideshow, so I politely informed them the gym was closed for a private lesson.”

  This dark tendril moved through me at his words, because I knew what they were. A lie.

  I watched the way his gaze tracked up and down my body, how his eyes moved along my form, lingering on the long lines of my legs, moving back up to skate over the most intimate part of me that was totally covered, so it wasn’t like he could see anything, yet I felt a whole lot of heat in that moment.

  Then he moved his gaze up my flat belly, over the small mounds of my breasts, and finally looked into my face. My nipples hardened under the sports bra and thin Lycra of my shirt. I tried to control my breathing, but I knew I failed. How could a look make me feel like this?

  “I have a feeling that’s not what you said to them,” I said with a hint of teasing in my voice.

  “It’s too bad you don’t speak Russian,” he said, deep and low. “Then you’d know if I was telling the truth.”

  He was infuriatingly stubborn, and it turned me on like nothing else.

  “Interesno, kak by vy otreagirovali, yesli by uznali, chto ya skazal im, chto pererezhu im glotku, yesli oni khotya by posmotryat na vas.” He spoke deep and low, his words flowing through and around me.

  I had no clue what he had said, but for some reason it caused a shiver to consume my entire body. The smallest tilt of his lips showed me he knew what effect he had on me. “What did you say?”

  He took a step closer, and one more until he was now circling me. “You should learn Russian, moy svet.”

  That was the second time he’d called me that, but I was too flustered to ask what it meant. “Maybe you could teach me?” I had no idea why or how the words came out of my mouth, but I didn’t take them back. It was presumptuous to think this man would help me any more than he already was. But as he stopped in front of me and I tipped my head back to look into his too-dark eyes, I idly wondered how much he would give me.

  Arlo was so tall. At five-foot seven, I wasn’t exactly short, but standing in front of him, my head only reached his pectoral muscles. He was so tall, so big that he was easily twice my weight. He made me feel safer than I ever had before.

  I refrained from shivering at the thought and wondering if he was this big… everywhere.

  He reached out, and my body tightened, but his finger just barely brushed my neck. “Gorlo,” he said as he curled his fingers around my throat.

  I blinked up at him, and a second later he twisted me around until my back was to his hard chest. His hand on my throat was firm, but he made sure not to cut off airflow.

  “Plecho,” he murmured, his voice right by my ear as he placed his other hand on my shoulder. He slid his fingers down my arm and curled them around my wrist. “Zapyast'ye.” Arlo moved his fingers down to curl around my hand. “Ruka.”

  God, I was burning alive as I felt his entire body stay flush with mine, as I felt his hot touch skitter along what shouldn’t be erogenous zones but very clearly were as I grew wet and needy. I could feel a moan burning up my throat, but in the next second he tightened his hold on me and jerked my arm behind my back. With the fingers of one hand wrapped around my throat and his other hand keeping my wrist to the small of my back, I felt trapped.

  And then he was gone, my body tilting forward before I righted myself.

  “It’s a good thing I’m going to teach you to defend yourself, because in that moment I could have done whatever I wanted, Lina.”

  I turned around to stare at him, my face hot, which I hoped he took as embarrassment and not arousal. Because it totally was the latter. My breathing was so shallow and fast, yet he was completely composed. Any kind of idea that this man might be attracted to me and that’s why he was helping went out the window as I remembered when he had his body pressed against mine. I hadn’t felt any clear signs he’d been turned on. Not like me.

  And that thought had even more heat rushing to my face with embarrassment.

  “Come on, Lina. Show me what you learned.”

  A part of me—one I should burn to the ground if I was smart—wanted him to call me by my real name. Just say Galina. Call me Galina as you touch me.

  My heart was racing a mile a minute as I stared at him. Arlo was massive, but wasn’t that the point of self-defense, to take down somebody who was bigger than you, who was a threat? But my couple of measly classes wouldn’t help me in this instance. I’d gotten lucky with the drunk in the alley. He’d been inebriated. I’d caught him off guard, and then I’d run like hell. There was no running from Arlo. We were caged within these boxing ropes, but I knew even if I got out, he’d still get me. He’d find me, catch me… do whatever he wanted.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” My words were low and almost laughable even to my own ears. And then he smiled slowly, the first full-blown one I’d seen him give me in my presence. I wondered if this was the first one he’d ever worn.

  It was terrifying… and so attractive.

  He curled his finger toward me in that universal sign for come here. My legs were like jelly, my hands shaking. I felt a drop of sweat slowly trail down my temple. I went back to those classes I’d taken, forcing myself to look at Arlo like he was the threat he was portraying to me right now… the threat he was to everyone else.

  I charged after him, aiming for his legs to take him down, but I only got a few steps before he wrapped a thickly muscled arm around my waist and lifted me off the ground. I gasped with the sudden rush of air and shift of the ground beneath me, and then once again he had my back to his chest, his arms keeping mine pinned to my sides.

  “Show me again,” he said darkly against my ear and let go of me.

  I stumbled forward and tried to catch my breath. I turned around again, not sure what the hell I was doing, yet trying to look for a weak spot. I went after him again, but this time I ducked when I saw the subtle tensing of his arm. I knew he was about to grab me again. I managed to kick my leg out and get him in the calf, but his leg was like cement, hard and unyielding.

  He had me off the ground and spun around so fast I grew dizzy. And then my chest was pressed against the boxing ring rope, Arlo’s massive body against mine, every inch of him burning me where he touched.

  “You should get your money back if this is what they taught you.” I could hear the teasing, annoyed note in his voice, and my own irritation rose.

  “You’re bigger than me, stronger.” I turned my head to the side so I could look at him, but that was a foolish move, as it brought our mouths dangerously close together. “I don’t have my pepper spray, and I don’t have the added benefit of fearing for my life and getting that kick of adrenaline.”

  My breath caught, my lungs tightening, when this dark, strange look covered his face.

  “You should be afraid right now, moy svet.” His words were low… deadly. “You should be more afraid of me than anything else in the dark.” He leaned in an inch. “If you knew who I truly was, you wouldn't be so close to me.”

  I looked down at where his hand gripped the rope on either side of me, the tattoos on his fingers sneaking up the back of his hand disappearing and going up his wrist and forearm. I’d never been one to think tattoos were attractive, but on Arlo, it made him brutally beautiful to me.

  “You’re so tiny, moy svet.” He made a low, gruff sound and pushed away from me. I closed my eyes and breathed out just as he said, “Again.”

  And so for the next several hours, I sparred and grappled with Arlo until I was sweaty and sore, more tired than I’d ever been, but had never felt more liberated in all my life.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Galina

  The following day, the routine was the same. But I’d called off from my shift, knowing it was the smart thing to do even if it felt wrong with my end goal.

  We ate breakfast before Arlo took me to the gym, where he barked out in Russian at the men there, which had them scattering out of sight, and then he proceeded to help me train for a few hours.

  After a light lunch, we came back to his apartment, where I showered, then proceeded to pass out until dinner. My body ached, even my skin hurting from the almost brutal way Arlo had pushed me with self-defense.

  And although I’d never been so tired before, I’d also never felt stronger or more sure of protecting myself. I’d never felt so… safe.

  The sun had set an hour ago, and Arlo ordered Italian, which had just been delivered. The bags were fancy and black, gold lettering stamped across the front. I’d never eaten from anywhere that had delivery bags as swanky as these or, hell, delivery bags at all.

  I was doing everything in my power not to look at him. I felt his eyes on me, so magnetic that I was hyperaware of every little move he made.

  He hadn’t gone to work—or whatever he did to make a living—since he’d brought me to his apartment, and my curiosity was starting to get the better of me, but I refrained from asking. I did have tonight off but was scheduled for Sal’s tomorrow, and I wasn’t going to miss it. No matter what he said.

  I brought my fork to the chicken parm on my plate and cut off a piece, focusing way too damn hard on it. It was either that or look at Arlo.

  The flavors burst in my mouth, the sauce rich and everything combining together as if the cook had been creating a masterpiece. But instead of his tools being a canvas and paints, he used tomatoes, basil, and other seasoning.

  And it was the fact that I was trying so hard not to focus on Arlo, who sat across from me yet felt so close, that I was comparing food with painting.

  For fuck’s sake.

  The tension in my body got too tight, but I finally looked up at him. He was leaning back and his body shifted to the side slightly, a glass in his hand with clear liquid filling it, liquid I knew wasn’t water. He had one arm bent at the elbow and resting over the back of his chair, his focus trained on me. I actually shivered. I had no idea why this man had this kind of effect on me, but there was no pushing it aside.

  There was no ignoring it or trying to act like I had a handle on anything. I didn’t. My life was so messed up at the moment that any kind of relationship, including the sexual kind, shouldn’t have even been a blip in my mind.