Page 134 of Crimson Promises
Sully was outside on a phone call as I pulled up in a rented Ford Bronco. It helped get me to where I needed to go, but being enclosed in a car was suffocating. I missed the feeling of open space and being exposed to the elements. Michael better come through with a new Ducati soon, black over red this time. Easier to blend in, especially at night.
Sully winked as I passed.
Weird.
I stepped into the training section of the gym, the smell of sweat and bleach mixed with leather, this time assaulting my senses. I had a lot on my mind, but training always helped clear my head. The last thing I expected to see was Aurora James waiting for me in the center of the ring.
I glanced at the analog clock hanging on the gym’s far wall. Victor wasn’t supposed to drop her off for another half an hour.
She wore tight black training pants and a matching sports bra with a cutoff shirt that showed off her toned stomach. A sweater was on the floor next to her feet. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and her arms were crossed over her chest as she glared at me.
"What are you doing here so early?” I asked, my voice gruff. She should have worn something that covered her more. The other boxers had noticed the beautiful female.
I shot them all glares as I entered the ring.Back off.
Aurora didn't answer, but instead, she uncrossed her arms and lunged forward, her fist flying toward my face. I dodged her punch and grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her back. Aurora winced but didn't try to break free.
"Sully showed me some stuff while I was waiting for you."
"Did he now?" The old goon was an instigator.
Aurora nodded, a determined look in her eyes. "I'm ready," she said. Sully already had her set up with everything tucked into the corner of the ring.
"Let's get started then."
I turned to Aurora, her eyes alight with a mix of determination and apprehension. "Alright, let's start with the basics," I said, trying to hide my concern for her safety outside these walls.
I showed her how to stand—feet shoulder-width apart, a stable base essential for both offense and defense. "Balance is key," I instructed, demonstrating the stance. I watched her mimic me, her body a mirror of mine, but her stance was too rigid, too tentative. "Loosen up a bit," I encouraged, "Let your body move naturally."
Moving on, I showed her how to curl her hands into fists, the right way, fingers first with the thumb outside, not clenched beneath, to avoid injury. She followed carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. I demonstrated a straight punch, extending my arm with precision. "Now, you try," I said.
Her first punch was hesitant, unsteady. It was like watching a bird attempt its first flight—awkward, unsure, but with the promise of grace. I caught her fist gently and corrected her alignment. "Again," I urged.
"Your feet are your foundation, Aurora," I began, gesturing to the space on the floor. "Shoulder-width apart, good. Now, bend your knees slightly." I watched her mimic the position, her stance rigid with concentration. "You're a statue right now. Be more like a willow—strong but flexible."
She adjusted her stance, her knees softening. "Like this?" she asked, her voice laced with a mix of uncertainty and eagerness.
"Better," I nodded. "Now, fists up—protect yourself at all times." I raised my own hands to demonstrate, and she followed, her eyes fixed intently on mine. "Keep your thumbs on the outside, not tucked in," I corrected gently, reaching out to adjust her grip. Our hands brushed, a current of unspoken energy passing between us, but I stepped back, refocusing on the task.
Aurora threw her first punch, and it was cautious, almost apologetic. "Don't be afraid to hit me," I chuckled, holding up the padded mitts. "I can take it."
She threw another, this time with a bit more force. "I don't want to hurt you," she admitted, a flicker of resolve passing over her features.
"You won't," I assured her. "You're learning, and that's what I'm here for."
We progressed to basic combinations, which she parroted with a studious focus. It was a dance of sorts, a rhythm she was learning to follow. Jab, cross, hook. Her movements were too deliberate at first, her mind overthinking each step. I could see the frustration mounting as she tried to synchronize her actions with her thoughts.
"Let your instincts guide you," I told her. "You're smart, Aurora. Analyze the pattern, then let go."
As we moved through the combinations, her analytical mind began to shine. "So, it's all about patterns and rhythm?" she mused, throwing a one-two combo into the mitts.
"Exactly," I praised her, impressed by her quick grasp of the concept. "Boxing is as much about thinking and anticipating as it is about the physical.
We hit the speed bags next, the rapid patter of leather against leather filling the gym. Her initial attempts were clumsy, the bag swinging wildly at her uncoordinated hits.
"Don't chase it, predict it," I instructed, observing her timing begin to sync with the bag's tempo.
"It's like a puzzle," Aurora said, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin as she found her rhythm.
