The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(27)

“Sure.” I lowered my hand and nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”

I bent to the side, grasped the duffel, and shoved the folder inside when Sonja stopped me. “Rhiannon.”

“Yeah?” I zipped the bag and peered over the table at her.

“Give Marius what he wants. Don’t push the issue. You’ve only been given a glimpse of what it’s like for vampires. Gabriel has shielded you from it, but maybe he shouldn’t have. Since you’ve never attended one of their gatherings, you don’t know just how depraved they can be. They kill for pleasure and sport. They live off of chaos and hurting people in any manner possible. It’s not something I ever want to be a part of again.” She took a deep breath and whispered, “It won’t end well for you.”

I gave a curt nod, rose from my seat, and walked toward the café doors. She wasn’t telling me anything new. I’d done a bit of research of the older vampires, so I knew how sadistic they could be. Actually, her warning only reminded me of how most things transpired in my life. No matter what I did. No matter how hard I tried. No matter how good my intentions.

Things never ended well.





Chapter Seven


“Damn it,” Mike snapped, one of his beefy hands wrapped around my neck. “Pay attention!”

I broke his hold by dropping my weight, using his own mass against him. He moved forward, giving me enough space to place his shoulder against my back. I grasped his forearm, getting a solid grip, bent my knees and used all my strength to step back and force his body over my head. He was a heavy son of a bitch, nearly too much for me to take.

He landed on the mat with a plop, but he didn’t stay down. I steeled myself for the lecture that was coming. Mike didn’t mind staying after class to help me refine my self-defense moves, but only when my mind was in the right place. Sparring required total attention. One lapse in someone’s focus and someone could be seriously hurt.

“That was sloppy.”

“I’m sorry.” And I was. My inattention to the task at hand was stupid, and I knew it—we both knew it.

“I didn’t think today was a good day, but you insisted,” he muttered, rising to his feet. He ran his hand over his nearly bald head, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunching. “I should have listened to my gut when you said your head was on your shoulders.”


Placing my hands on both sides of my face, I replied, “It’s there.”


“It’s not here.” He wasn’t gentle when he tapped my forehead, the tip of his fingernail scraping my skin. “That’s the problem.” Stepping back, he glowered at me. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been like this for weeks.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t go into details with Mike. “I’ve got a lot going on. It’s taking its toll.”

“Then work the bag.” Mike was well and truly pissed. “Take your anger out on something that won’t hurt you.”

I winced at the comment. Last week he’d nearly dislocated my shoulder. I’d been right there with him, working on the shoulder toss I wanted to perfect. Larger bodies weren’t as easy to maneuver as small ones, and the women in the class weren’t anything like the vampire opponents I might face.

It was that very thing—thinking of vampires—that had caused the injury. One slip, dropping my guard, had almost caused me a lot of pain. That wasn’t the bad thing, though. It was knowing Mike would feel guilt over it, upset at himself for hurting a woman. That wasn’t the purpose of the class, or why he offered the lessons free of charge. He wanted to help women, not dismantle them piece by piece.

“I really need these lessons.” So f*cking true it wasn’t even funny. Without Mike, I would be hopeless. He’d taught me so much since I’d come to New York. True, I worked out daily if possible, but learning to get flexible and use your body as a weapon had its uses as well. A pretty body didn’t mean shit if you didn’t know how to use it, to wield your fists or direct essential kicks. The bag could never teach me those things. It would continue hanging from the ceiling, mocking me to do my worst.

“Do you mind telling me why? Learning to break someone’s neck isn’t what most women ask to learn when they come to my class.” He crossed his arms over his chest and set his feet. He wasn’t going anywhere without an answer.

“It never hurts to be prepared,” I offered, hoping he’d take me at my word.

He didn’t.

“Is someone f*cking with you?” He went from angry at me to angry at the person he created in his head. “If so, you need to talk to someone. Love isn’t supposed to hurt.”

I would have smirked, but then I wouldn’t have a gym to visit. Besides, it wasn’t funny. Domestic violence wasn’t cool. Mike had taken up the cause—extending his gym to create a new room used entirely for martial arts and self-defense—of teaching women how to defend themselves. His mother had suffered beatings from his stepfather, something he’d shared with the class a few weeks before when someone had gotten inquisitive. I was shocked the bulky, usually carefree and easygoing man, had went there, unlocking and revealing the demons of his past. But he did, informing us all why he’d started taking various styles of martial arts at an early age, why he felt it was so important a woman know how to defend herself. Or, more importantly, ask for help if she needed it.