Page 17 of Ruthless Prince

“Because of the reason you just told me. You’re a good girl, and good girls don’t need to get involved.”

I stand back up. “What if I don’t always want to be a good girl?”

“Then I would say you need to be careful because you don’t want your father finding us alone together.”

What if Vincent just crossed this room and … what? Kissed me? How would I even react to something like that?

“Then you should leave so I can do yoga,” I respond, feeling proud of my comeback.

“Or I can teach you a few things.” His cocky grin makes my stomach flutter.

“Teach me what?”

He nods at the punching bag. “Have you ever used this?”

“No.”

“Then let me show you how.”

Curiously, I walk over to Vincent and let him show me the correct stance.

“So, raise your hands up and punch like this.” He shows me the move.

I copy him. “Like that?”

“Sure, but …” Gently, he grabs my hips and angles me away from the bag. “Stand more like that.” Is it just me or do his hands linger on my waist for a moment too long before he lets me go?

“I think I got it,” I say, my voice breathless. I punch and kick at the bag a few times. “I have to admit, this isn’t really my cup of tea.”

“That’s probably because you’ve never been angry enough you need to take your anger out on a punching bag.”

“You’re probably right.” I’ve lived a very cushy life, but I don’t like Vincent pointing that out. It makes me … uncomfortable in a way I’m not sure I fully understand.

“What are you angry about?” I ask him.

“My father.” He punches the bag. “Him dying.” Another punch. “Losing two fights.” Punch. “Not able to keep my promise and avenge him.” Punch.

I rest my hand on his arm, feeling his hard muscle underneath my palm. Vincent looks at me intently. “You’ll get the answers you’re looking for. Just don’t give up.”

The room goes silent as we lock eyes. Nothing else matters right now except for us.

Until my father walks into the room. “Vincent, there you are.” I quickly back away from Vincent and head over to my father.

“What’s going on in here?” Father demands.

“Vincent and I were just talking,” I explain.

Father looks at me for a long moment. “All right. Vincent, I need to talk to you. You’re back in the competition.”

Vincent blinks. “What?”

“The man who beat you, Bear, was found dead today. An overdose. So, you’re back in the competition. Just make sure you win this time.” The threat is obvious. If Vincent keeps losing, will my father make him leave?

The thought of Vincent being gone makes me sad in a ways I don’t fully understand.

“Oh,” Father continues, “and don’t be in the same room as my daughter when she’s dressed like that.” He gives my work out outfit an ugly sneer before leaving.

Tears sting my eyes, and I look down so Vincent can’t see them.

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