Twisted Love: Chapter 5

I slammed my fist into the mannequin’s face, reveling in the sharp burst of pain that jolted up my arm at the impact. My muscles burned and sweat dripped down my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t stop. I’d done this so many times I didn’t have to see to land my hits.

The smell of sweat and violence stained the air. This was the one place I allowed myself to unleash the anger I kept under careful wraps in all other areas of my life. I’d started Krav Maga training a decade ago for self-defense, but it had since become my catharsis, my sanctuary.

By the time I finished pummeling the mannequin, my body was a mess of aches and sweat. I toweled the perspiration off my face and took a swig of water. Work had been a bitch, and I’d needed this release to reset.

“Hope you worked off your frustration,” Ralph, the owner of the training center and my personal instructor since I’d moved to D.C., said dryly. Short and stocky, he had the powerful build of a fighter and a mean mug, but deep down, he was a teddy bear. He’d knock my lights out if I ever told him or anyone else that though. “You looked like you had a personal vendetta against Harper.”

Ralph named all the training dummies after TV characters or real-life people he didn’t like.

“Shitty week.” We were alone in the private training studio, so I spoke more freely than I would have otherwise. Besides Josh, Ralph was the only person I considered a true friend. “I could go for the real thing right now.”

Dummies were good for practice, but Krav Maga was a hand-to-hand combat method for a reason. It was all about the interaction between yourself and your opponent and responding quickly. Couldn’t do that if your opponent was an inanimate object.

“Yeah, let’s do it. Gotta end right at seven, though—no overtime. There’s a new class coming in.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Class?”

The KM Academy catered toward intermediate to advanced practitioners and specialized in one-on-one or small group sessions. It didn’t host large classes the way most other centers did.

Ralph shrugged. “Yeah. We’re opening the center up to beginners. Just one class for now, see how it goes. Missy bugged me about it until I agreed—said people would be interested in learning it for self-defense and that we have the best instructors in the city.” He barked out a laugh. “Thirty years of marriage. She knows how to stroke the ol’ ego. So here we are.”

“Not to mention, it’s a good business decision.” KMA had little competition in the area, and there was likely pent-up demand for lessons, not to mention loads of yuppies who could afford the prices.

Ralph’s eyes twinkled. “That, too.”

I took another swig of water, my mind spinning. Beginner lessons…

Might be a good idea for Ava. For anyone, really, man or woman. Self-defense is a skill you never want to use, but which could mean the difference between life and death when you do have to use it. Pepper spray only gets you so far.

I fired off a quick text to her before Ralph and I started our session.

I still wasn’t happy playing babysitter, but Ava and I had settled into a wary “truce”—her word, not mine—since her olive branch the week before. Plus, when I commit to something, I commit to it one hundred percent. No half-assery or phoning it in.

I promised Josh I’d look after his sister, and that was what I’d do. Sign her up for self-defense lessons, upgrade her house’s shitty alarm system—she’d thrown a fit when the security company woke her up at seven in the morning to install the new system, but she got over it—whatever it took. The more she stayed out of trouble, the less I had to worry about her and the more I could focus on my business and plan for revenge.

I wouldn’t mind more of those red velvet cookies though. They were good.

I especially wouldn’t mind if she delivered them wearing the tiny shorts and tank top she’d worn to my house. An unbidden image of a bead of sweat trailing down her bronzed skin into her cleavage flashed through my mind.

I grunted when Ralph landed a punch in my gut. Fuck. That was what I got for allowing my thoughts to stray.

I set my jaw and refocused on the training session, pushing all thoughts of Ava Chen and her cleavage out of my head.

An hour later, my limbs felt like jelly, and I had several blossoming bruises on my body.

I grimaced, stretching out my limbs while the low hum of voices filtered through the closed door to the private studio.

“That’s my cue.” Ralph clapped me on the shoulder. “Good session. You might even beat me one day—if you’re lucky.”

I smirked. “Fuck you. I can already beat you if I want.”

I’d come close to doing it once, but part of me liked the fact I wasn’t the best—yet. It gave me a goal to strive toward. But I would win. I always did.

Ralph’s laugh rolled through the sweat-dampened space like thunder. “Keep telling yourself that, kid. See you Tuesday.”

After he exited the room, I checked my phone for new messages.

Nothing.

A tiny furrow creased my brow. I’d texted Ava almost an hour ago, and she was a compulsively fast replier unless she had a photoshoot. She didn’t have one today. I knew because I made her promise to tell me every time she did, along with the location and clients’ names and contact info. I always ran background checks on the clients beforehand. There were crazy people out there.

I sent a follow-up text. Waited.

Nothing.

I called. No answer.

Either she’d turned off her phone—something I told her never to do—or she could be in trouble.

Blood. Everywhere.

On my hands. On my clothes.

My heart rate ticked up. The familiar noose around my neck tightened.

I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on a different day, a different memory—that of me attending my first Krav Maga lesson at sixteen—until the red stains of my past retreated.

When I opened them again, anger and worry coalesced into a block in my stomach, and I didn’t bother changing out of my training clothes before I exited the center and took off for Ava’s house.

“You better be there,” I muttered. I blocked and flipped off a Mercedes who tried to cut in front of me at Dupont Circle. The driver, an overgroomed lawyer type, glared at me, but I didn’t give a shit.

If you can’t drive, get off the road.

By the time I arrived at Ava’s place, I still hadn’t received a reply, and a muscle pulsed dangerously in my temple.

If she was ignoring me, she was in deep shit.

And if she was hurt, I would bury the person responsible six feet beneath the ground. In pieces.

“Where is she?” I dispensed of the usual greetings when Jules swung open the door.

“Who?” she asked, all doe-eyed innocence. I wasn’t fooled. Jules Ambrose was one of the most dangerous women I’d ever met, and anyone who thought otherwise because of the way she looked and flirted was an idiot.

“Ava,” I growled. “She’s not answering her phone.”

“Maybe she’s busy.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Jules. She could be in trouble, and I know your boss. Wouldn’t take much more than a word from me to derail your internship.”

I’d done my research on all of Ava’s closest friends. Jules was pre-law, and the internship between a student’s junior and senior years was critical for admittance into a competitive law school.

All traces of flirty coquettishness melted. Jules narrowed her eyes. “Don’t threaten me.”

“Don’t play games.”

We glared at each other for a minute, precious seconds ticking by before she relented. “She’s not in trouble, okay? She’s with a friend. Like I said, she’s probably busy. She’s not glued to her phone.”

“Address.”

“You’re hot, but you can be a real overbearing asshole.”

“Address.”

Jules huffed out a sigh. “I’m only telling you if I can go with you. To make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

I was already halfway to my car.

Five minutes later, we were speeding back to D.C. I was going to bill Josh for all my gas expenses when he returned, just out of spite.

“Why are you so concerned? Ava has her own life, and she’s not a dog. She doesn’t have to jump every time you say fetch.” Jules flipped down the visor mirror and retouched her lipstick when we stopped at a red light.

“For someone who claims to be her best friend, you’re not concerned enough.” Irritation coiled in my stomach. “When have you known her not to reply within minutes of receiving a text or a call?”

“Uh, when she’s in the bathroom. Class. Work. Sleeping. Showering. A photo—”

“It’s been almost an hour,” I snapped.

Jules shrugged. “Maybe she’s having sex.”

A muscle jumped in my jaw. I wasn’t sure which version of Jules was worse—the one who always tried to convince me to mow the lawn shirtless, or the one who relished baiting me.

Why couldn’t Ava have lived with one of her other friends? Stella seemed more accommodating, and given her background, Bridget wouldn’t ever say the shit Jules said.

But no, I was stuck with the redheaded menace.

No wonder Josh always complained about her.

“You said she’s with a friend.” I pulled onto the street where said friend’s house was located and parked.

“A male friend.” She unbuckled her seatbelt with a beatific smile. “Thanks for the ride and conversation. It was…enlightening.”

I didn’t bother asking her what she meant. She’d just feed me a heap of sugar-laced bullshit.

While Jules took her sweet time, I exited the car and banged an impatient fist against the front door.

It swung open a minute later, revealing a skinny, bespectacled man with confusion stamped on his face when he saw Jules and me standing there. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s Ava?”

“She’s upstairs, but who—” I shouldered my way past him, which wasn’t hard considering he weighed a hundred sixty, tops.

“Hey, you can’t go up there!” he yelled. “They’re in the middle of something.”

Fuck. That. If Ava was having sex—a dangerous rhythm pulsed behind my temple at the thought—that was all the more reason for an interruption. Horny college guys were some of the most dangerous creatures in existence.

I wondered if she’d gotten back together with her ex. Josh mentioned the weasel had cheated on her, and she didn’t seem like the type who’d crawl back to someone after they treated her terribly, but I wouldn’t put anything past Miss Sunshine and Roses. That bleeding heart of hers would land her in a heap of trouble one day.

Once I reached the second floor, I didn’t need to guess what room she was in—I heard sounds bleeding through the half-open door at the end of the hall. Behind me, Jules and Spectacles pounded up the steps, the latter still blabbering about how I couldn’t be up here even though I was already fucking here.

I didn’t know how humans survived this long. Most people were idiots.

I opened the door all the way and froze.

Not sex. Worse.

Ava stood in the middle of the room, clad in a skimpy black lace getup that left little to the imagination. She huddled next to a guy with spiked blond hair holding a camera. They were whispering and laughing while staring at the camera’s display screen, so engrossed in their little tête-à-tête they didn’t notice they had company.

My temple pulsed harder.

“What…” My voice sliced through the air like a whip. “Is going on here.”

It wasn’t a question. I knew what was going on. The setup, the rumpled bed, Ava’s outfit…they were in the middle of a photoshoot. With Ava as the model. Dressed in something that wouldn’t be out of place in Playboy magazine.

The strappy concoction Ava wore barely covered the necessary bits. It looped around her neck, baring her shoulders, and plunged to her navel in the front. The high-cut bottom left her legs and most of her ass bare, and other than the areas covering her breasts and between her legs, the sheer black lace revealed more than it covered.

I’d never seen her like this. It wasn’t just the outfit; it was everything. The usually straight black hair that fell in luscious waves down her back, the made-up face with the smoky eyes and glossy red lips, the miles of golden skin and curves that etched themselves into my brain forever.

I was caught between disturbing lust—she was my best friend’s sister, for fuck’s sake—and inexplicable fury that other men were seeing her like this.

Ava’s eyes widened with alarm when she spotted me. “Alex? What are you doing here?”

“I tried to stop him,” Spectacles panted, out of breath. Living proof that skinniness does not equal fitness.

“He’s here for you, babe.” Jules leaned against the doorway, her amber eyes glowing with amusement. “You look super hot, by the way. Can’t wait to see the pics.”

“You are not seeing the pics,” I ground out. “No one is seeing the pics.” I yanked the blanket off the bed and tossed it over Ava’s shoulders, covering her up. “We’re leaving. Right now. And Blondie here is deleting every photo he took of you.”

Her jaw dropped. “No, I’m not, and no, he’s not. You can’t tell me what to do.” She threw the blanket on the ground and lifted her chin in defiance. “You’re not my father or brother, and even if you were, you have no say in what I do in my free time.”

“He’s taking photos of you half-naked,” I snapped. “Do you know how destructive those can be if they’re leaked? If a future employer sees them?”

“I volunteered for this,” she snapped back. “It’s boudoir photography. Artistic. People do this all the time. It’s not like I’m baring it all for a porn site. How did you even know I was here?”

“Oops,” Jules said from behind us. She didn’t sound sorry at all.

“You might as well be.” The simmering in my blood had reached a full boil. “Get. Dressed.”

“No-oh.” Ava’s glare intensified, and she dragged out the word “no” until it had two syllables.

“Hey, dude, I don’t mean no harm.” Blondie let out a nervous chuckle. “Like she said, this is art. I’ll edit it so her face is in shadow and no one can tell it’s her. I just need the photos for my port—what are you doing?” He squawked in protest when I snatched the camera out of his hands and started deleting photos but fell silent when I leveled him with a death glare.

“Stop! You’re being ridiculous.” Ava tried to retrieve the camera, to no avail. “Do you know how long those photos took? Stop. You are—” She yanked on my arm. It didn’t budge. “Being—” Another yank, same result. “Unreasonable!”

“I’m protecting you, since you clearly can’t do it yourself.”

My mood darkened further when I saw the pictures of her lying on the bed, staring sultrily at the camera. How long had she and Blondie been doing this, alone? It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had been going through his mind the entire time. It was the same thing that would’ve gone through any red-blooded male’s mind. Sex.

I hoped Blondie enjoyed his working pair of eyes while he still had them.

Ava stepped back for a minute, then lunged for the camera in a poorly concealed attempt to catch me off guard. I’d expected the move, but I still grunted at the impact as she scrambled over me like a fucking spider monkey. Her breasts grazed my arm, and her hair tickled my skin.

My blood heated at the sensations.

She was so close I could hear her breath coming out in soft pants. I tried not to notice how her chest heaved or how smooth her skin felt pressed against mine. They were dangerous, twisting thoughts that had no place in my mind. Not now, not ever.

“Give it back,” she ordered.

It was almost cute how she thought she could order me around.

“No.”

Ava narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t give it back, I swear to God I’ll walk out into the street wearing this outfit.”

Another bolt of fury sizzled through me. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Our faces were inches apart, our words so soft no one could hear them except us.

Nevertheless, I lowered my head so I could whisper right in her ear. “If you step a foot outside this room in that outfit, I’ll not only delete every picture on this camera, but I will destroy your ‘friend’s’ career until he has to resort to advertising shitty five-dollar-an-hour headshots on Craigslist.” A wintry smile touched my lips. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

There are two ways to threaten people: attack them directly, or attack those they care about. I wasn’t above doing either.

Ava’s mouth trembled. She believed me, as she should, because I meant every word. I wasn’t a senator or a lobbyist, but an obscene net worth, thick files of blackmail material, and years of networking had granted me more than my fair share of influence in D.C. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yes, I am, and don’t you forget it.” I straightened. “Get dressed.”

Ava didn’t argue, but she also refused to look at me as she disappeared into the bathroom across the hall to change.

Blondie and Spectacles gaped at me like the devil himself had poofed into their house. Meanwhile, Jules grinned like she was watching the most entertaining movie of the year.

I finished deleting the photos and shoved the camera back into Blondie’s hands. “Never ask Ava to do something like this again.” I towered over him, relishing the subtle shake of his shoulders as he tried not to cower. “If you do, I’ll know. And you won’t like what happens next.”

“Okay,” Blondie squeaked.

The bathroom door opened. Ava brushed past me and said something to Blondie in a low voice. He nodded. She placed a hand on his arm, and my jaw ticked.

“Let’s go.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended.

Ava finally looked at me, her eyes flashing. “We’ll go when I’m ready.”

I didn’t know how Josh dealt with her all these years. Two weeks in, and I already wanted to strangle her.

She murmured something else to Blondie before she stalked past me without another word. Jules followed, still grinning.

I cast one last glare in Blondie’s direction before I left.

Silence permeated the car as we drove back to Thayer. Jules sat in the backseat, tapping away on her phone, while a stone-faced Ava stared out the window from the passenger seat, her shoulders tight.

I didn’t mind silence. I craved it. There were few things I found more irritating than incessant, pointless conversation. The weather, the latest blockbuster, who broke up with who…who the fuck cared?

Still, something compelled me to turn on the radio halfway through the drive, though I left the volume so low I almost couldn’t hear the music.

“It was for your own good,” I said over the teeny-tiny beats of the latest rap hit.

Ava turned her body further away and didn’t respond.

Fine. She could be mad all she wanted. The only thing I regretted was not smashing Blondie’s camera altogether.

It wasn’t like I cared about her silent treatment. Not one bit.