Where Loyalties Lie

4

Had I been projecting my own messed-up past on him, or had the tightly reined violence I’d seen in his eyes been real? He was secretive and enigmatic, but did he actually pose a physical threat to me? Not for the first time, I wondered how and why he’d learned to fight so well. Did it matter? Dangerous was dangerous, whether he had a valiant excuse or not. For the rest of class, I managed to plaster a smile on my face and finish training without drawing any more attention to myself. As everyone dispersed, I hurried over to collect my gym bag but startled when I found Tamir had followed me. “Oh, hey,” I offered nervously, wiping a sweaty strand of hair off my cheek. “Your technique was nice back there. Did you train somewhere else before you started here?” He leaned against the wall casually, but somehow, the energy surrounding him felt charged. Frenetic. Anything but the indifferent air he attempted to portray. He might project a cool demeanor, but I doubted anything was easygoing about Tamir. Intense, shiver-inducing eyes were framed above with a prominent brow. Eye contact with him was far more intimate than it was with anyone else. Holding his gaze felt like offering up my soul for his perusal. As if he could see deeper, into the darkest parts of me. I wasn’t sure casual was even in his vocabulary. “No previous training. I just grew up with a bunch of boy cousins who kept me on my toes.” We stood two feet apart, forcing me to look up to meet his gaze. Our positioning and his intensity had me fidgeting anxiously with the necklace I always wore. It was a habit I’d tried unsuccessfully to break for years. What I needed to do was grab my stuff, make my excuses, and leave, but my body refused to cooperate. Tamir lifted his chin as if in understanding, but his eyes still searched for answers to unspoken questions. I wanted to blame his sudden interest on simple flirtation, but Tamir didn’t strike me as the type. He either wanted a woman or he didn’t; there was no need to dance around the subject. If my instincts were correct and he wasn’t flirting, then why had he struck up this little conversation? “Is that an evil eye on your necklace?” His question surprised me, making me glance down as if the necklace hadn’t been the same piece of jewelry I’d seen around my neck for the past ten years. “Yes, it is. My tita … my grandma gave it to me a long time ago. Are you familiar with them?” The small gold pendant was thin and circular with the symbolic eye etched onto its surface. When I got anxious, I rolled the circle side to side between my thumb and finger. It was more of a habit than anything else, but I did find that, on occasion, it reminded me of the woman who raised me and gave me a sense of comfort. “They’re common where I’m from. Thought to ward off evil, correct?” “That’s right.” “Has it worked for you?” His voice was a sensual rumble that I could feel just as assuredly as any tangible caress. “I wish. Then I wouldn’t need these classes.” I inwardly cringed at my choice of words. That was exactly why I shouldn’t be talking to him or anyone, for that matter. His eyes narrowed a fraction. “What do you mean?” “That sounded dramatic,” I assured him. “I just meant that if the necklace worked, nothing bad would ever happen, and that’s obviously not a guarantee. I figure the classes are a good source of exercise and give me a useful foundation in self-defense. A girl can never be too careful living in the city.” Words fell from my mouth like water from a burst dam. Tamir nodded, his lips lifting in a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I agree. Man or woman, it’s always good to be prepared. And your cousins seem to have given you an excellent background in hand-to-hand technique.” “I’ll make sure to thank them.” I offered him a plastic smile, equally as fake as his own. “I better head out. Great class today, thanks.” I didn’t give him time to respond before I slipped from the studio back into the arctic tundra. What the hell was I thinking? Clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all. As if his chiseled good looks had cast a voodoo spell, making me say whatever inane thing that popped into my mind. I hadn’t been that careless with my words in years, and I had no valid explanation. s*x. That had to be a part of it. I was only twenty-six years old and hadn’t slept with a man in over a year. Being near any halfway attractive man probably sent my hormones into a tailspin, deregulating my breathing and causing a drastic loss of oxygen to the brain. It had nothing to do with Tamir himself and more to do with my own s*x-crazed brain. Right. I didn’t buy that for a second. Shaking my head, I hustled back to my apartment before my sweatsoaked hair crystalized in the frozen temperatures. Fortunately, I only lived a few blocks from the studio. Not a single thing about my neighborhood was noteworthy. It wasn’t particularly poor or wealthy, nor crowded or abandoned, and no one race or culture dominated. Crime was low, and the rent was reasonable, as far as rent in the city went. It was the perfect place to blend in and disappear. My standard two-bedroom apartment was more than I thought I’d be able to afford in the city, but it still didn’t feel like home yet. A few more personal touches would help. One of these days, I would settle in and make the place feel like mine. Until then, it served a far more utilitarian function than sentimental. The place came furnished with the basics, and I hadn’t added much. I could have used what little money I made to add a homey feel to the place, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was temporary. That my attempt at escape was nothing but a childish delusion, and each day was nothing but a countdown until I was dragged back home and made to suffer for my crimes. At some point, I’d get over that mindset, but I hadn’t reached that place. Instead, I had a basic collection of kitchen supplies, clothes in my closet, and the furniture that came with the place—that was about it. That, and my little green aloe plant with red strings tied to the end of each pointy leaf to help ward off evil. It was the first thing I acquired when I arrived in the city. My tita always had an aloe plant and swore by their power to keep away evil. Maybe evil had bad skin and hated to moisturize—I had no idea. I didn’t buy into the belief, but I figured having Ned around couldn’t hurt. Ned was my plant’s name. I’d named him after one of The Three Amigos— Ned Nederlander—who was kind but also the best shot in the West. The movie had been my tita’s favorite, so I grew up watching it with her on rainy days. Little Ned was the only “person” I allowed myself to talk to openly; therefore, he’d needed a name. If his powers against evil were to be trusted, then I figured it was only fitting to name him after a famous gunslinger.