Page 9 of Queen's Ransom

“So cake tasting Sunday is going to be off the hook?”

Celia grinned. “You have no idea.”

Helena returned her smile, and the hummingbirds took flight in Celia’s stomach again. She rotated away before her thoughts ran off with her actions, distracting herself by taking in the home gym. Not much had changed about the room since she’d last trained there. One half of the room was filled with fitness machines and training stations: a magnetic wall strip with knives and stars behind a throwing lane that dead-ended in a cork strip on the wall; a rowing machine and spin bike; and a bolted-down cage that included TRX bands, a bench press, and free weights. Mats occupied the other half of the space and a mini fridge was tucked in the far corner. Sitting atop the fridge was a stack of folded towels and a basket of combat gear: gloves, garrotes, telescopic sticks, and more. The scent of chlorine lingered, floating in from the infinity pool in the smaller room next door. Neither the gym nor the pool were the original intended use of the house’s basement—a food cellar, then an earthquake shelter, then a war bunker, if Celia remembered her local history correctly. The upgrades made it so the Madigans had anything and everything they needed to work out at home. Important on nights when family drama was top of mind, and there seemed to be a lot of those nights. And now it was Celia’s family drama, on top of whatever other Madigan drama she probably didn’t know—or want to know—about.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” she said. “You’ve done enough—”

“Hawes didn’t give me a choice.” Helena withdrew two water bottles from the fridge and set them on the floor next to the mats. “He ordered me out of the lair. I’m too keyed up, and I imagine you are too.”

She wasn’t wrong, but if Helena didn’t want to be there… “But you don’t have to—”

“I’m right where I want to be,” she replied, voice gentler, as she lowered herself onto the mat. “I meant what I said at the shop. I owe you better… as a friend.” Before Celia could reply, Helena stretched her torso over one leg, hands clasping her foot.

Celia curled her fingers, fighting the desire to reach out and push aside the curtain of gold that hid Helena’s face. In part to see her expression, in part to feel if the long blond strands were as soft as they looked. It was a fascinating, attractive dichotomy. Something that appeared so soft, so ethereal, on someone who was otherwise so sharp in her features, words, and focus. Celia wanted to understand the contrast, wanted to understand Helena better, but there were reasons not to reach out. Helena’s prior disappearing act, the fact Celia was newly single, the limits around what she could and should know about the Madigans.

But there were also numerous reasons to act. Helena had played a key role in keeping Chris safe and in keeping their family safe last summer, hustling Celia, their mom, and the kids out of town to a safe house when things got dicey. She’d played a bigger role in getting Dex out of her life. Celia didn’t think her ex would stay gone—he never did—but for the first time since high school, Celia had space and freedom in her world. She’d thought maybe Helena would like to fill some of that space, help her exercise some of that freedom. Celia was interested, but then Helena had pushed her away, then disappeared altogether.

Stretching the opposite direction, Celia contemplated the vast differences in her life between last January and this one. The fact she was even contemplating acting on her interest in someone the same gender, in someone besides Dex, the only person she’d ever been with, was nearly mind blowing. The attraction part wasn’t new. On the rare occasions she’d let herself consider a life after Dex, Celia hadn’t limited herself to one gender. Not when she’d seen her brother experience attraction to men and women and not when she herself had felt attraction to all different kinds of people. But acting on it… She’d never had the chance, and now that she did, she was nervous. She felt a bit like a fraud. Could she really call herself pansexual—that was the term she felt best described her sexuality—when she’d only ever been with Dex?

Did she have any business worrying about her sex life at all? Yes, she was single for the first time in a decade and a half, but she had been shot at tonight and had two teen kids, a senior parent, and a business to worry over. She needed to focus on taking care of those things first, and working out and sparring with Helena helped make her better able to do that. To protect the people and things she loved and cared about most. She just had to ignore the attraction that fluttered in her belly whenever Helena was in the same room. Focus instead on being a good friend.

“You know,” she said, “the friend thing cuts both ways. You’ve had a lot of family stuff to sort lately too.”

Helena tossed back her hair and switched legs. “So have you.”

“And you know about most of mine.”

Helena’s stretch collapsed, her chest falling onto her knee, and her hair fell forward again. “Cee, I can’t…”

Celia acted before she could second-guess herself, using her index finger to draw back the curtain of blond on one side. “My brother was a fed, and now he works for your family. I get there are things you can and can’t tell me.”

A flicker of a smile. “Always did like that about you.”

“But I mean it. The friend thing goes both ways.” She withdrew her hand and levered up, waiting for Helena to do the same. “If you need someone to talk to—on a nonincriminating meta level—or just someone to spar with, I can be there for you too.”

Helena’s smile widened. “Especially while trapped in my house.”

Celia laughed. “And after.”

Helena pulled her hair into a ponytail, then pulled herself to her feet. “For now,” she said, offering Celia a hand up, “let’s just work out the ohmigod-we-were-shot-at-tonight stress.”

“I feel like that’s my internal monologue. Not so much yours.”

Helena shrugged. “Closer than you might think.”

Celia doubted it, but Helena didn’t give her time to dwell, assuming her usual position on the mat. As they circled each other, Helena moved like she was out for a weekend stroll, her limbs loose and posture confident, but her eyes were sharp, tracking Celia’s steps. Celia tried to mirror her, tried not to telegraph her maneuvers, but it was hard not to revert to the defensive position she’d spent much of her adult life in.

Helena kicked out first. Celia blocked the kick. A bevy of jabs and hooks followed, and Celia blocked and dodged, spinning and using her momentum to return a jab. Helena blocked. Celia countered with a kick. Another flurry of motion—hits, kicks, blocks—all while circling. Nothing landed, but the rapid-fire exchange and constant movement had Celia breathing heavy, starting to sweat, and smiling more than she had all day.

Helena was likewise grinning though not the least bit winded. “So, about that Bentley…” Her smile morphed into a crooked, tempting smirk. “When does she get her new brakes?”

“Monday,” Celia replied with a smirk of her own. If Helena wanted to word play some more, Celia was down. “She’ll still go plenty fast, though.”

Celia considered her next attack, then unleashed a sequence of swings and kicks that Mel had taught her. The new moves allowed her to skirt Helena’s shoulder with her knuckles, Helena’s side with her toes. More than she’d ever landed before. The victory, however, was short lived. Lightning fast, Helena grabbed her by the ankle and took her to the floor. Closing her eyes, Celia caught her breath and smiled as the good kind of adrenaline lit her up from the inside. Fuck, this felt good.

A shadow fell over her. “You’re good, yeah?” Helena asked.

Celia opened her eyes and counted the tendrils of blond hanging her direction. Lots of little victories. “Yeah.” She clasped Helena’s offered hand and bounded back up. “Gotta try that move.”

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