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Chapter 13
Aurora
I had another night of almost no sleep after thinking about the training and Misha.
There’s not much I can do about Misha, so I’ve made up my mind to ignore him. Hopefully, the feelings I have for him will die a quick death now that I know he’s bratva and not my Prince Charming.
The training is a problem I can’t escape. I called my parents and told my father about the fight. Instead of being concerned, he told me to suck it up and train hard. He wants me ready in four years to start working with him.
That’s the last thing I want, but I don’t have much choice in the matter.
Yeah, I stupidly thought I’d be a socialite and that, at some point, I’d get married to a man of my father’s choosing. I was okay with it because that’s just how things work in our world.
Never did I imagine I’d have to become some badass person who’d run the family business alongside my father.
It’s insane.
Dressed in a pair of black cargo pants and a t-shirt, I leave my suite and knock on Abbie’s door. When she opens, she looks just as exhausted as I feel.
“No sleep?” I ask.
She shakes her head as she steps into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.
We walk in silence, and only when we reach the stairs does she ask, “Did you speak to your father?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah,” she breathes.
“I guess the conversation went the same as mine,” I mutter, really not looking forward to training.
I look like I ran face-first into a wall, and my broken bottom lip stings whenever I talk.
I’d much rather stay in bed all day long.
“Yeah,” Abbie answers, then she mimics her father, “You have to train hard, Abigail. I can’t have a weakling take over the business. Don’t let me down.”
“Yep,” I sigh. “That’s pretty much how mine went.” “It sucks.”
Neither of us has any appetite after yesterday’s brutal revelation, so we head straight for combat training.
Dread spins in my stomach. I hope to all that’s holy Instructor Nikolai doesn’t make us fight today.
Walking into the studio, the twins are already practicing. I don’t know anything about them besides that they’re Portuguese.
There’s no sign of the Asian guy who kicked my butt.
Shortly after our arrival, Instructor Nikolai walks into the room with Misha right behind him.
“Mr. Shinoda won’t be joining us for a couple of days,” Instructor Nikolai informs us. “Someone beat the shit out of him, so he’s indisposed.”
What?
Instructor Nikolai gestures at me. “Miss D’Angelo, you’re paired with Mr. Petrov. Miss Almeida, you’re with Mr. Almeida. Just keep practicing what you’ve already been taught. Miss Sartori, you’re with me.”
What. The. Hell?
“Ah, Sir?” I step forward, nerves spinning in my stomach. The last thing I want is to piss Nikolai off. It didn’t work in my favor yesterday. But Misha? Seriously?
“Yes, Miss D’Angelo.” When Instructor Nikolai looks at me, I almost take a step backward but stop myself in time.
Jesus, the man is intimidating.
“I’m not questioning you. I just want to know why I have to fight Mr. Petrov. He’s had two years of training, whereas I’ve had…” God, it’s embarrassing to say out loud, “…none.”
“That’s why he’s paired with you. Mr. Petrov is the best in his class. You and Miss Sartori need to be on par with the other attendees before we can proceed with the lessons, or you’ll both end up bloody and half-dead every day.”
Like fighting Misha won’t put me in the hospital. Jesus.
Abbie and I glance at each other, and I see she looks just as nervous as
me.
Oh, right, she has to fight Instructor Nikolai. Shit.
Emotions war in my chest, everything from hopelessness to frustration. Misha is the best in his class.
Dear God, why are you fucking me over like this?
“Let’s do this,” Misha mutters as he walks to the other side of the room. Reluctantly I follow him. When he stops at a row of weights, I start to
frown.
Is he going to beat me with a dumbbell?
“You’re weak as fuck,” he states the obvious, his harsh tone clearly indicating he’s not happy with the fact that he has to train me.
It hurts to hear it, though.
Gesturing at a bench, he instructs, “Sit down and lie back.”
Not taking my eyes off him, I sit down on the bench. I’d like to say I’m staring because I don’t trust him, but it’s sadly not the reason my gaze is glued to him.
I hate that he’s so attractive. And those damn blue eyes…sigh.
“What are we going to do?” I ask
Misha ignores my question, and picking up a bar with weights at the ends, he snaps at me, “Lie the fuck back and put your arms up.”
“Asshole,” I mutter as I take the weight of the bar. “Oh Jesus,” I groan, struggling to keep from dropping it on myself.
Misha throws a leg over me, and as the bar slips from my hands, he takes hold of it with one hand, stopping it from crushing me.
Oh, God.
No. I don’t care that he looks hot right now. You will not swoon for this man.
Focus.
With his free hand, he adjusts my fingers, then he orders, “Lock your arms in place.”
Jesus, he looks good on top of me.
Greedily, my eyes take in the sight of him standing over me. He’s wearing the usual black cargo pants and t-shirt, but on him it looks porn- worthy. He doesn’t even strain under the bar’s weight, which tells me he’s freaking strong.
Unlike me.
For fuck’s sake! Focus.
“Ready?” he asks, his tone not as harsh.
I nod, but the moment he lets go, my arms buckle, and he has to grab hold of the bar again.
Letting out a sigh, Misha shakes his head. “Fuck, you’re weaker than I thought.”
That feels like an insult.
As he carries the bar back to the weights, I shoot a scowl at him. He places lighter weights on the bar, then comes back to me.
“If you can’t lift this, you might as well call it a day and go home.”
This time Misha comes to stand behind me. “Arms up.” He sets the bar down in my hands and lets go of it.
The corner of my mouth lifts when it’s not too heavy. “Do I just hold
it?”
“Khristos,” he mutters. “No. Lower the bar to your chest, then push it
back up.” His face appears above me. “You weren’t lying when you said you hate exercise.”
I almost drop the freaking weight but straighten my arms in time. “I thought you didn’t remember?”
“I never said that.”
Lowering the bar to my chest, I raise an eyebrow at him. “I said it didn’t matter to me,” he corrects me.
“Right,” I mutter as I keep doing sets. “Jesus!” I hear Abbie cry angrily.
My head turns in her direction, and I watch as she struggles to free herself from where Instructor Nikolai has her pinned on a mat.
“Focus,” Misha snaps.
I turn my attention back to what I’m doing until my arms are trembling with exhaustion.
“How many more?” I gasp. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“That’s not an answer,” I gasp as I push the weight up. “Five? Ten?”
“Keep talking, and I’ll make it fifty,” he threatens. “Screw you,” I mutter breathlessly.
Misha moves around the side and throws a leg over me, so he’s straddling me. A hot-as-hell grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and with a low voice, he says, “Is that your way of asking me to take your virginity, moy malen’kiy olen’?”
My arms give way, and before the bar can slam into me, Misha grabs hold of it.
I don’t know why I do it, but the lie bursts over my lips, “I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten-foot pole, and I’m no longer a virgin.”
Shut up, Aurora!
My eyes widen as he lowers the bar down on my chest, practically pinning me in place, then he leans down. “Look who’s the liar now.”
“I’m not lying,” I hiss while I try to push the weight off me.
Misha’s the freaking incredible hulk compared to me, and I give up with an angry huff. “Get off me.”
“Why? From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re loving the position,” he taunts me. “I knew you were always vanilla.”
Vanilla? What’s that supposed to mean?
He sees the question on my face and mockingly explains, “You’re the kind of woman who just lies still while a guy fucks you. You probably have to fake an orgasm to get the guy to finish. Vanilla.”
Even though I’ve never had sex, the words hurt. He’s outright calling me boring in bed.
“Get off me,” I hiss as I push against the weight with all my strength.
Heat flares in his eyes, and it stuns me for a moment, then he tilts his head. “Maybe I’m wrong, and you’re feisty in bed after all.”
The moment he moves the death trap off me, I shoot into a sitting position and glare at him. “You’ll just have to keep wondering because there’s no way in hell you’ll ever find out.”
Misha lets out a dark chuckle, then he points to a mat. “Time to spar,
moy malen’kiy olen’.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap as I walk to the mat.
As I turn to face Misha, my legs are swept from under me, and I fall like a ton of bricks. He’s on top of me before I can even groan, and my arms are pinned above my head.
With his face close to mine, he growls, “Never. You’re still skittish like a little deer.”
“Yeah, but I’m not yours.” When he tilts his head, I chuckle, “That’s right. I learned how to speak Russian.” Straining against his hold on me, I lift my head and hiss, “Ya nikogda ne budu tvoyey.”
A smile tugs at his lips, and I can swear he looks turned on from me telling him I’ll never be his.
Leaning closer until I can feel his breath on my lips, he asks, “Is that a dare, moy malen’kiy olen’?”
Jesus, I can’t win with him.
Or my abdomen that’s fluttering like crazy while heat pools between my legs.
This is insane.
I bring my knee up and slam it into his back, but it hardly budges the man and only earns me an amused chuckle from him.
“Come on, D’Angelo,” he taunts me. “If this were real life, you’d be dead by now.”
“Ugh,” I strain against his hold, twisting my wrists in an attempt to free them. “You suck.”
Oh, way to go, Aurora. That should tell him.
It feels like I struggle for a solid half an hour when suddenly, Misha gets up, yanking me to my feet. All the humor is gone from his eyes as he glares at me.
“I want you here an hour before class. You’ll do weight training until you can lift a set of fifty-pound weights.”
My eyes widen. “That’s a lot!”
He shakes his head at me. “It’s nothing, princess. You need to get much stronger, or you won’t last.” He starts to walk away from me, then adds, “You have one week to get to twenty pounds, then I’m upping it to forty each.”
“Have you lost your mind?” I shout after him, but he ignores me and stalks out of the room.
I walk to the bar I was lifting and check the numbers on the weights. Ten pounds each? It felt like a hundred.
Shit. I’m so screwed.