Page 25 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

With our chests heaving, I fall onto my ass and praise her. “You did good today.”

She smiles but doesn’t reply.

“Seriously, Blue. Tomorrow we’ll go over these moves again. Then we’ll move onto weapons.”

“Weapons?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it isn’t just hand-to-hand defense. Did he use a gun to threaten you? A knife? What makes you feel helpless? Vulnerable?”

A glassy film spreads across her eyes as she gets lost in another memory, making me hate the asshole even more than before. I feel like we’ve made so much progress today, but it can fall apart in the blink of an eye.

Frustrated, I snap my fingers in front of her. “Focus, Blue. Where’d you go?”

She clears her throat. “A knife. He liked his knives.”

“Then we’ll teach you how to use one against him,” I promise her. “But not today. Go shower. I’ll make dinner, and we can watch a show or something.”

“A show?”

I laugh. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No,” she admits, but her cheeks heat with embarrassment as she drops her gaze to the ground like a shy little kitten.

“Then why are you blushing?” I tease. There’s just something about this girl that makes me desperate to knock down the barrier she’s constructed around herself, though I doubt she’ll ever let me get close enough to try.

“I just”—she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear—“didn’t picture you doing something so…normal.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a big, bad mafia man?” she offers.

“And that means I can’t enjoy a show every once in a while?”

“I dunno? I thought being part of the mob is a lifestyle choice, not a job,” she quips, giving me another glimpse of the old Q. “Am I wrong?”

“It is, but everyone needs some time to unwind and shit. How do you like to unwind?”

Aaand there’s the damn barrier again.

I can almost see it rise up a few more levels as I ask a question that apparently is too personal for her own liking. She chews her lower lip and suddenly finds an unhealthy fascination with the stained concrete beneath our feet that covers the entire gym area while ignoring me completely.

“Blue?” I prod.

“Just shows and stuff.”

“What kind of shows?”

“Depends on the time of year.”

“For example…?” I let my voice trail off in hopes that she’ll throw me a bone and fill in the blank.

“Like Christmastime.”

“And?” I press. It’s like every damn conversation turns into an interrogation with her.

“And watching the Hallmark Channel?”

“Like the sappy love shit?”

---