Page 31 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

She’s dressed to the nines in a soft pink pencil skirt with a matching snug jacket. Her four-inch, chain-embellished leather pumps tap on the concrete floor as she walks through the door. Even if I didn’t have the exact same pair, I’d recognize them. My love affair with shoes almost matches my obsession with lingerie.

I stand, knowing I’ve worn out my welcome.

“No, Rebecca. The cop was just leaving.”

His eyes bore into mine as his lip curls into a snarl as if confirming his distaste for law enforcement.

“I’ll be in touch, Acerbi.”

I leave, more determined than before to get the evidence my boss is dead set on obtaining.

CHAPTER SIX

On Friday morning, I push through the door, exiting the female locker room at Knocked Out heading toward the front where the mats are located.

In less than a minute I spot Nikki watching two women rolling. One of them I recognize as Nikki’s newest trainer, Harley. The other must be a newbie by the looks of it. She taps out every time Harley takes her to the ground. I remember a time I was the same way when I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

I come to stand a few feet away from Nikki, waiting for her to finish her observation.

As if feeling someone near, Nikki twists her head to look over her shoulder. When she sees it’s me, a scowl graces her face. She quickly turns, facing me.

“Where the fuck have you been all week?”

Not at Knocked Out, that’s for damn sure. I don’t know how parents do it. Babies are a workout in themselves. I’ve never been more exhausted in my life. And I spend every weekday morning getting the crap beat out of me by Nikki Lockhart.

Her dark, nearly black hair is pulled into a ponytail and her red tank top with the wordKNOCKED OUTacross the chest is already drenched in sweat. Even dirty and pissed off she’s gorgeous. She has an array of colorful ink dotting both of her arms from her shoulder down to her wrist.

“It’s a long story,” I groan, passing her to walk onto the red mat and away from Harley and her trainee.

“Bitch,” she calls after me. “That isn’t a good enough excuse.” I turn, facing her when my bare feet land on the cool surface of the soft plastic material of the mat. Her taped hands go to her hips. “Explain yourself or get the fuck out of my gym.”

Nikki is a lot to take when you first meet her. She’s loud, quick-mouthed, and doesn’t take shit from anyone. I’ve watched her around this gym. The only ones not afraid of her seem to be her boyfriend and her brother.

She has a few inches on me, then again, most adults do, and she’s in tip-top shape. Has a right hook that’ll put you on the ground before you realize she has even hit you and cusses worse than any man I know.

“I only have so much time to workout this morning. I’m already here thirty minutes later than I normally am.” I start to walk backward on the mat toward the center, “so let’s talk while I kick your ass.”

“Oh, you’re so cute.” She stalks toward me. “Now be realistic. Where have you been? All I got were vague text messages.”

“I can’t say a lot but...” I pause reaching for the right words as I stretch my neck from side to side. “I’ve been taking care of a baby all week.”

Her eyebrows staunch together. “I know you have nieces and a nephew but aren’t they all teenagers?”

“Yeah, mostly.” Carly is only nine, but I see no point in getting into the details. “The baby isn’t related to me. He’s a... case?”

Why did I pose that as a question? From the look on her face, she’s wondering the same.

“It’s complicated.”

I raise one of my legs while Nikki grabs my heel with one hand and steps forward so the bottom of my foot is planted into her stomach, assisting me in doing a standing hamstring stretch.

“I’ve been too exhausted to drag myself here.”

I bend my other knee and dip my ass. The stretch feels so good I moan.

“I charge more for orgasms, hoe.”

A quick laugh breaks from my lips as my foot falls to the floor. I throw my other leg up and repeat the stretch. Another moan climbs up my throat, but I suppress it before it reaches my lips.

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