Page 85 of King Of Order

‘You’re getting paid for the privilege of traveling me everywhere, so shut it,’ she smiled. ‘As your client, I insist.’

I had to keep her safe but short of keeping her inside, the only option was to accompany her everywhere.

‘Yoga, huh?’ I conceded, smiling again, though my mind was racing. ‘I could use the stretch, I suppose.’

Chiara beamed, thrilled that I was coming along.

She imagined a pleasurable session; I braced to keep a hawk-eye on her the whole time.

I planned on watching her, shadowing her movements, and staying one step ahead of anyone who might try something.

I’d be scanning each face in the yoga studio, checking every car in the parking lot, perhaps even crashing down her instructor if he so much raised a hand to her.

She was happy, and that’s all that mattered—for now.

As we prepared to head out, I slipped my gun into my holster under my jacket, its weight familiar against my side.

A half-hour later, I was standing in the middle of a bright, incense-filled studio surrounded by people who believed that contorting their frame was peak fitness.

I stood out like a sore thumb, starting to question my decision to come along.

I glanced at Chiara, who was already rolling out her mat like she’d done this a thousand times.

‘This is ridiculous,’ I muttered, my arms crossed over my chest. ‘Do yoga fanatics know how absurd they look?’

She peeked up at me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘Yes, Rio. They know, and they don’t give a flying fuck. Get down, you need to blend in.’

I scoffed, pulling out the mat she’d brought for me, missing my firearm, now tucked in a locker in my bag. ‘Blend? In ‘this’?’

I gestured around the room, shaking my head.

‘I merge in with tactical gear and a Wilson and a Glock, not with—’ I glanced at the instructor, who was already humming under their breath, ‘—whatever the hell this is.’

Chiara smiled and nudged me. ‘Come on, just do it.’

‘What if my balls hang out of my bottoms? Worse, what if they hang out of his pants?’ I growled, pointing at some fucker with way too loose high-cut shorts on.

‘It’s natural, let them breathe.’

I scoffed as the yogi started the class, talking about ‘breathing into the poses’ and ‘finding our center.’

More irritation bubbling up inside me.

Chiara seemed content, flowing through the movements like she was made for this, her body arching and stretching with no effort.

On the other hand, I was holding in every sarcastic comment I wanted to let fly.

After about ten minutes of forcing my limbs into positions that no man should ever find himself in, I leaned over to her.

‘Do they all look constipated, or is it only me?’ I whispered, my voice dripping with disdain.

Chiara shushed me without even looking. ‘Stop it.’

I scowled and tried to focus on the instructor’s message, which seemed to involve opening your hips and feeling rooted.

Feel grounded? I felt like an idiot.

‘What does ‘open your heart’ even mean?’ I muttered louder this time. ‘Are we doing yoga or getting life advice?’

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