Page 41 of Into the Blue
I could have had someone come and cook for her and help her around the house, but I don’t trust anyone to be around her when she’s just a fragile thing.
I might be a monster, but Itake care of mine.
I’m also a man of my word. When I claimed her, it wasn’t a fucking throw around phrase or some shit. I will keep her safe from this point forward. By any means necessary.
There was no need to have more people in my house. I wasn’t going to leave her side. If she needs it, I’ll be the one to get it for her.
I could do anything that I would have been working on in the warehouse, from my home office. Anyone who I needed to meet with there—they could come see me at my home office.
Not that I’ve been getting any work done that I need to. I’ve gotten no closer to answering my missing product or rat problem. Having Allen on my books has shown me that I’m still profitable. But for how long if I can’t count on product to come to my guys on time?
I’ve got Vert on it for now. He managed to raise the prices by ten percent to make up for the product loss with all the men under him selling in Louisiana.
It’s a bandaid. A flimsy one, but since Racquelle is starting to feel better I’ll be able to get after it with a more hands-on approach. I just need to see if the rat will expose themselves.
That is exactly what this is like.
Rats don’t take the whole loaf. They chew through the middle.
Racquelle’s ribs aren’t giving her problems any more and she’s not really had to use her sling. She even started working out when I go to my gym in the back of the house.
I have all the equipment I’d need to stay in shape, so I don’t have to be in public just to workout. I prefer to do it alone and that’s not really possible when it’s unsafe, and dumb as fuck, to go to a place consistently every week with none of my men with me. I’ve got plenty of privacy to train in peace here.
Occasionally Redd or Vert will join me, but they prefer the gym Redd trains everyone else in. A luxury I can’t afford.
Opening the door to my home gym, I walk past the treadmill and squat rack to where Racquelle has set up.
She’s working with dumbbells today to test the strength of her shoulder. They aren’t heavy, but in the mirror she watches her reps fromthe bench. With a call to the doctor, he was able to refer me to someone who could give me insight on workouts that would be helpful for her recovery. I still think it’s too early for her to be going this hard, but I can’t stop her. I’d rather be here to help her.
“Need some help?” I cough to hide my instant regret of the cheap line. Racquelle is capable and would be just fine on her own if it weren’t for me in the first place. Too bad for her that I’m not an experience that she will be able to shake.
She watches me walk over in my long tee and exercise shorts with intrigue.
Her eyes never leave me when she releases the weight from over her head and back to the bench.
I sit behind her, our thighs touching. She picks the weight back up and I spot her, though we both know it’s unnecessary. I want to touch her anyway. At least she’ll still be able to work out while I do it.
I haven’t touched her in a sexual way while she recovered here. I don’t deserve an award or something for not taking advantage, but it’s been too many long as fuck weeks since I had the ability to touch her in a way that wasn’t sterile.
The way this started between us was contractual, but I now know that I would have pursued her regardless. It took one look and I knew I needed to get close to her. I want what we have to be less of what it once was—to become something real and genuine.
Our first rep together is easy. I count them out, making sure to watch her form. By the time she gets to eight, I can see her struggling even though she could have stopped at any point.
“Don’t have to hold yourself together for me,” I attempt to assure her.
She doesn’t flinch when I take the dumbbell from her. That’s what makes me the most furious. Not the bruises. Not the swelling that’s finally started to go down. Not the cuts that have seamed up.
It’s the fact that she’s trying to pretend like none of it hurts.
My voice is low, “You’re not gonna impress me here with how much pain you can take.”
The gym is not where I want her to show me how much pain she can take. With how undeterred she was with my knife at her throat showed me that she could handle plenty. The memory sparks something low in my stomach. Even then, she wasn’t afraid. Or maybe she was and didn’t show it.
This isn’t the same thing though.
I watch her jaw tighten, then she reaches for the weight with her good arm. “I’m fine. Working out is good for me.” She transfers the weight and presses it up again.
“Nine,” I say, correcting her form as she lifts the dumbbell laterally. Her shoulder tenses and she winces.
