Page 25 of Captured Heart

She tries again, her palm slapping against mine with more force this time. It’s good, but not good enough. Vic’s going to send his best. Big, burly motherfuckers like Bowman, and she won’t stand a chance if that’s all she’s got.

Just the thought of that sends a bolt of panic shooting through me. But I shove it aside because I don’t care. This is just a job. I’m not getting involved, and I’m definitely not risking going back to prison over some girl I barely know.

“Katie, c’mon. You gotta go harder than that.”

She gives it another go.

“Harder.” I keep pushing until I feel enough force to break a nose. “That’s it,” I say after about her hundredth attempt. “You got it.”

Katelyn shapes a T with her hands. “Okay, timeout, coach,” she huffs. “My hand hurts. And my pride.”

I grab the water bottle from the corner and sit on the ring floor, gesturing for her to join me. “You’re doing fine.”

She flops down beside me, tugging her ponytail tighter. “I don’t thinkfineis going to cut it if some psycho grabs me in a darkened alley.”

I smirk, taking a sip of water before passing the bottle to her. “You’re learning fast. Next time, just aim for the nose with a little more conviction.”

She quirks an eyebrow as she drinks, lowering the bottle after a long sip. “You say that like it’s a guarantee there’ll be a next time.” She nudges me playfully. “Are you planning something I should know about?”

“Not me.” I lean back against the ropes, my knees bent. “But the world’s full of assholes. Better to be prepared.”

She shakes her hand out, wincing slightly. “Yeah, but can the preparation not be so intense? I think my wrist is staging a rebellion.”

“Let me see.”

I take her hand before she can protest, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her soft, warm skin entices me in a way I can’t explain. As I start massaging her palm and the base of her thumb, she goes completely still.

“This hurt?” I ask.

“Sort of.”

I glance up. Her wide eyes are locked on me, her lips parted slightly. “You need to relax your hand.”

She blinks a few times, as if snapping out of a trance. “Right. Relax.”

But she doesn’t. Her fingers stay stiff, so I keep massaging in slow, deliberate circles until I feel the tension ease.

“There,” I say, reluctantly releasing her hand.

She rubs the spot I just worked on, avoiding my gaze. “Thanks.”

“So, why’d you come in so early today?” I ask, shifting the focus off of the weighted silence lingering between us.

“Stress relief.” She shrugs. “This project is killing me, so I just needed to get out of the house and clear my head for an hour. It’sthe one thing in my day that doesn’t involve problem-solving or thinking too hard.”

“Can’t imagine you not thinking too hard.”

“Hey!” She shoves my shoulder. She keeps touching me, and because it’s playful, I don’t think she fully understands the effect it has on me. “I’m perfectly capable of turning my brain off...Sometimes...Rarely...But it happens.”

I shake my head. “Sure, it does.”

She leans back, exhaling deeply. “What about you? Do you overthink too? Or do you just lie there, brooding?”

“A little of both. But I’ve recently penciled in some time to rethink my life choices.”

“Ah, I forgot about that,” she replies with a nod. “And what do you do when it gets too much, and you want to de-stress?

I hesitate. “I drive.”

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