Page 115 of Ruin My Life
I’ve killed.
I’ve interrogated.
I’ve hacked men’s lives to pieces…
But I’m not trained.
And if Monroe can tell... my enemies will surely be able to.
“There’s a gym in this place, right?” I ask casually, though my heart picks up pace.
He nods. “There is. Why?”
“I want to learn how to fight. Properly,” I say.
My voice is steady, but inside, something wavers.
“If I’m sticking around—if I’m going after this mystery man—then I need to be able to hold my own.”
I pause, lowering my eyes to the counter. My fingers tighten slightly on the can in my hand.
“And I don’t want to be in a position where I feel helpless again.”
Monroe doesn’t speak right away.
I look up to find him watching me—reallyseeingme—for the first time since we met.
Then, a ghost of a smile passes his lips.
“I think that can be arranged,” he says. “But make no mistake, I won’t go easy on you.”
I meet his eyes and smile. This time, it’s real.
Quiet, but real.
“I’m not asking you to.”
MAYBEISHOULD’VEasked him to go easy on me.
For what has to be thetenthtime in the last two hours, Monroe slams me flat on my back.
Again.
The padded mat cushions the blow, but not by much. I hit hard enough that my lungs forget how to work, and I just lie there—sweaty, aching, and officially humbled—staring blankly at the ceiling like it’s got the answers I’m missing.
“Giving up already,chica?” Monroe asks from the edge of the mat, barely winded.
He might as well be standing on a beach sipping a drink with one of those tiny umbrellas in it.
“No,” I huff, dragging myself upright on shaky arms.
But the second I lift my head, the room spins, and I drop back onto my palms with a groan.
“Maybe... I just need a minute.”
“Or ten,” he says, tossing me a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the corner. “You’ve sweat out your entire bodyweight in fluid.”
“Dramatic,” I mutter, but the water hits my throat like salvation.
