6

With few options, Uma drove back downtown. She tried the door of the skin clinic. Closed. A glance next door showed the martial arts school still wide open.

No more excuses, then. She walked inside.

“You’re back!” said Jessie before handing her a form to fill out.

She put her name as Uma Smith, using Ms. Lloyd’s address, removed her shoes, and moved into the room, where a couple of men fought on a mat.

The place was cavernous, larger than you’d guess from the street, and sparse. A male space if she’d ever seen one. Floor-length punching bags hung in a corner of the room, along with a few sets of heavy-looking weights and benches. Toys for boys.

Her eyes moved back to the pair fighting.

The one whose back was to the room was huge. They apparently grew them big around here. Both men wore padded head protectors, which covered their ears and left only their faces open. The little one did something with his leg, whipping it out in a surprisingly quick kick, and they both ended up on the mat. Uma stepped back with a start.

They went from kicking and punching to what looked like complicated wrestling, legs everywhere, bodies wrapped tightly around each other. It was almost tender before it got violent again.

They rolled, then got stuck in a complex knot of straining limbs and grunts. The smaller guy fought hard but was quickly overwhelmed, faceup on the floor, with the big guy above, covering him. Wow. Uma forced her breath to slow, through a blend of fear and something different—exciting and titillating and almost…erotic.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” Jessie said from beside her. Uma barely spared her a glance. “They’re clearly not the same weight class, but it’s slim pickin’s around here for training partners. These guys have been fighting each other for years.”

Uma nodded to be polite but kept her eyes glued to the action.

“We cover some of this stuff in class.”

The smaller guy pushed up hard into the other one’s chin, then wrapped his legs around him, catching his head in a painful-looking choke hold.

“Oh Christ,” Uma said aloud, repulsed by the violence but entranced by the image they presented.

“Well,” the woman chuckled, “variations on this.”

She finally looked at Jessie. “I wouldn’t mind learning how to do that.” Her voice came out a tad breathless.

“You’ve come to the right place, then.” She moved up to the edge of the mat and stomped hard on the floor, twice. “Okay, guys! I got ladies lining up here, chompin’ at the bit to get started. And it’s not to look at your ugly mugs.”

Uma glanced back toward the door and was surprised to see that several women had indeed arrived. They were taking off shoes, shooting the breeze, stretching on another mat. The stragglers shivered as they entered, and all everyone seemed to want to talk about was the cold snap. The idea of having to interact with them made her regret the impulse that had brought her in here. At the same time, she knew she wouldn’t leave. Not with the way her heart raced, not with this messy mix of anticipation, fear…excitement. Besides, where the hell was she supposed to go? With the coming cold, the best thing she could do was stay inside.

The men high-fived into a hug. Then the big one turned and…

It was that man again. Ivan.

He pulled off his headgear as he approached, followed by Jessie and the other guy. His face changed when he spotted Uma. From relaxed and smiling to serious. He stopped a few steps away.

“Hey, Uma. Good to see you again,” he said.

“Hi.”

“You doin’ self-defense with Jessie?” Ivan reached back and grabbed the woman behind her shoulders in a squeeze that looked slightly too tight. Not waiting for a response, he went on, “This is Jessie. Jessie, I told you about Uma.”

It all came back to Uma then: the coffee shop, the kid, this woman walking in. Of course. She watched as Jessie wended her hands around Ivan’s arm and twisted so she ended up outside his hold, rather than inside it. On tiptoes, she threw her arm around his neck in a choke hold of her own.

“Don’t ever let ’em get the better of you, Uma,” Jessie said with a wink before pushing away to the center of the room. “All right, ladies, let’s get started. Line up on the mat, please. We’re going to begin with a little warm-up and then go into some simple evasion techniques.”

Uma inserted herself into the back row, unable to stop her gaze from returning to Ivan. He left the mat, catching her eye before disappearing into a back room. She looked away a second too late, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

When Ivan and the other guy reemerged a half hour later, his messy hair was damp, curling around his face and the nape of his neck. He looked freshly showered and healthy, dressed in a tight T-shirt, with sweatpants that must have been a couple of decades old. Uma tried to ignore him, but the man was true north to her wandering eyes.

Like a car crash, she thought wryly. I don’t want to watch him, but I can’t look away.

“It looks like it’s that time again, ladies. Our guys are back. Let’s put our moves into situations we might encounter with real-life attackers.” Jessie turned to the men. “Get your bottoms over here, boys.”

Oh hell no. No, no, nonono. Uma barely caught herself before saying it aloud. She’d done okay with the other women, but this was touching men and pretending and—

No. No way.

“Ladies, as you know, here we have Ive and Steve, our handy man-puppets for the evening. They look mean and ugly—especially the big one—but it’s nothing we can’t handle, right?”

The women responded with a few raucous catcalls as the two men walked toward them. Uma’s eyes caught Ivan’s for a moment and shifted away.

Chicken. She faked bravado, forcing herself to look back. A strong woman. That’s what I am. Fearless.

Their gazes met and held until her face must have turned the same shade of fuchsia as her sparring partner’s shirt. The color looked fabulous on the other woman. Not so sure about her face.

“Okay, we’re going to get out of a wrist grab. Let’s show these guys what we’ve learned. Monica, you go with Ive, and Anne C., head over to Steve.” They all moved to the center of the room and started in on their new moves. Everything was different—heightened—now that the men were back here. Uma kept her eyes riveted on Anne and Steve, avoiding the sight of Ivan’s muscles shifting beneath his absurdly tight shirt.

“Great. Now, Penny! Get up there and show us what you got. Anne Riley? Why don’t you try it?”

Jessie was working her way down the line, with Uma at the end. The wait was agony. I can’t do it. I can’t. I won’t.

Penny and Anne finished up, and the next two went. Binx and somebody else. Uma stopped remembering their names and concentrated instead on preparing.

Okay, okay. She could do this. She could let a man touch her. In fact, this wouldn’t be any different from when Ivan had held her hand. She wouldn’t be intimidated by him.

That wasn’t his goal though, was it? Intimidation. That part was all in her head. The man might look scary, but so far, all he’d done was act inviting and friendly.

“Uma?” Jessie’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You feel ready to try it out?”

No. “Sure,” she said, the image of nonchalance. Maybe. She glanced at Ivan and looked immediately away.

“All right, let’s partner you up with Steve. Ive, you and Monica can start.”

Steve? Not Ivan? What a relief. Right?

And then the real fear kicked in.

Oh, Steve was nice about it, but Uma’s hesitation was obvious. He didn’t push, didn’t pressure. But the first time he moved, she lurched back and bleated, like some pathetic barnyard animal. He was small compared to Ivan, and older, but he looked strong.

A man like him could hold her down, force her face into the floor, grind the imprint of the cold mat into her cheek. He’d cover her windpipe with his soft Italian leather loafer and show her with a twist of the heel how easy it was to crush the life out of a woman. With one hand, he could yank—

“I got this, Steve.” Ivan broke through the flashback and muscled it aside, the tendrils of his deep, dark voice oozing around the images and pulling them apart. Behind Uma, he was real and robust enough to chase the memories away. “Need a break?” he asked, close but not overwhelming. She couldn’t be sure whether she nodded or not.

Somehow she ended up at the back of the room, listening to the water dispenser glug in a way that was oddly reminiscent of how his words churned out—slow and solid and one rounded syllable at a time. His hand held a paper cup to her mouth, and water trickled into her parched throat. He was the third person to shove liquids at her that evening. She must have looked thirsty.

She was sitting on the floor beside him, his hand a cool, reassuring weight on the back of her neck, the innocuous view of the mat between her bent legs. There was a worn spot, where threads peeped through. Uma worried at it with numb fingers, pulling at the threads until one broke off, and it occurred to her that she was thoughtlessly destroying property.

He released her neck, and a waft of air reached her, fresh from his body. She smelled something woodsy mixed with sweat. Man soap, she thought. She hated herself for how weak she’d become. This was all wrong—not at all how her new life was supposed to be. She was supposed to be fearless and strong.

“I’m sorry.”

He grunted.

“I can’t believe I did that. It’s just…” Uma cleared the tightness out of her throat and grasped at the paper cup shoved into her hand. After a sip, she mumbled, “Embarrassing. Sorry.”

“Quit that,” he rumbled softly.

“Sorry.”

He sighed, sounded like he’d say something else, then settled for a second grunt.

“I guess I’ll go.” She set the cup aside and pushed up to standing, then stopped when his hand landed lightly on her calf. She looked down, met his eyes, and the room tilted. His hand tightened, but he didn’t stand.

“Stay.”

“Oh, no, I—”

“I’ll help you. Come on.” He got up and moved a few feet farther onto the mat, and she followed, like a sleepwalker.

Ivan led her through it again, attacking without touching or any hint of aggression. The movements were purely mechanical—a lean in, a counter. She swept her wrists in, up, and out, and he stepped away. It couldn’t possibly be that easy in real life, but it was progress.

She didn’t dare look at the rest of the class, didn’t want to see the pity on their faces.

Jessie’s voice rang out, telling the other ladies to move on to the second move. She and Steve were acting as attackers. Uma looked up to meet the curious gaze of one woman, Binx, whose eyes flicked between her and Ivan.

“Ignore ’em.”

The second round involved a different kind of move altogether—what Jessie called an arm bar. A hand to the shoulder, countered by the brutal twisting back of the attacker’s arm. There would be more invasion of personal space this time, inevitably, their closeness underlining what a sweaty mess she’d become in her long-sleeved shirt and jeans.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded once and waited for him to step straight in, less than an arm’s length away.

His hand landed gently on Uma’s shoulder, but it might as well have been on her breast for the effect it had. Electrified by the contact, she grabbed and twisted.

“Follow through, Uma,” Jessie called out, bringing her back into the class, back to reality. “He’s a lot bigger than you.”

No shit.

“Remember, ladies, you need all the momentum you can get with an attacker this much larger than you. Try it again, and put your body into it this time.”

His hand was too low, too real. Uma wanted to shrug it off. Instead, she grabbed and twisted, followed through with her other hand and then her body, pressed into his. She ended with her face along his side, under one arm, in a place too intimate and warm for a room this bright, an audience this big—including his wife.

She could smell him again, that man-smelling soap, augmented by a light hint of sweat and a smoky metallic twang. Uma stumbled and leaned further into his body, grazing her chest against his elbow.

He stood her upright and muttered, “Good,” but his eyes weren’t on her face. She followed them to her arm, where a cuff had slid back to reveal the dark lines of a tattoo. Uma moved it behind her back and yanked the sleeve down.

She couldn’t even look at him then, didn’t want to see the disgust or the horror on his face. On everyone’s faces. The pressure of tears prickled behind her eyes.

Great. My body decides to break its crying strike in front of a room full of people. She shoved the emotion down and stepped away.

“You good?” he finally asked.

“Yeah. I’ll just…be right back.” She escaped to the restroom.

After five minutes of internal debate, Uma managed to convince herself that it didn’t matter what he or anyone else may have seen. They were tattoos. Just tattoos. There were tattoos all over the place. These people wouldn’t have any idea how they’d gotten there or what they signified.

When Uma returned, no one paid attention to her. Except for Ivan, whose eyes followed her to the mat.

Again, she was hyperaware of him. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she could feel him. After a while, Jessie finally let the guys go and finished things up with a series of stretches. As soon as class was over, Uma grabbed her shoes and slid into them without untying them, ready to go.

Around her, the women chattered about class, then other things, like children and husbands, work, and plans for a quick drink at a local bar. Uma shook her head at their invitation, ignored the curious looks, ducked her head, and made a beeline for the exit.

They seemed nice. Jessie in particular. Her humor, her strength, the way she clearly didn’t take crap from anyone, especially not her beast of a husband. That thought brought with it an odd little pang, which Uma promptly shoved aside.

Maybe I’ll take the class again, she thought, more to fool herself than because she really believed it. And then maybe I’ll join the other women for a drink.

Yeah, right.

As she approached the door, Jessie caught up with her.

“Uma, you got a sec?”

“I’d better go.” What a complete lie. She had absolutely nowhere to be.

“Hey, so Ive said you just got into town.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it here tonight.” Jessie smiled and waved at the last two women as they walked by on their way out, their glances lingering on Uma. “Did you enjoy class?”

Uma forced a smile. “I did.”

“Is there anything—” Jessie must have seen something prickly on her face. She quickly changed tacks. “You think you’ll come back next week?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Just come back, okay? Please? If money’s the issue, we’ll waive the fees. No problem.”

First the clinic and now here. People giving things away for free. What was with this place? No way would this have happened back in Northern Virginia.

Uma gulped back emotion again, nodding as nonchalantly as she could. “Thanks.”

“I know you’re over at Ms. Lloyd’s place. She’s a little…strange. But I get it, you know? She’s had it rough.”

Uma’s curiosity piqued at that. “She has?”

Jessie grabbed her hand and squeezed it, ignoring the question. Suddenly, Uma couldn’t find the energy to pull away.

“Let us know if you need help. Me or Ive. All right? Just ask.”

“Look, I’m not a—” She took a deep breath and forced a tight smile. Charity case, she’d almost said. But saying it would have been confirmation. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The air had changed outside, was significantly colder than when she’d arrived.

Bad timing.

Back in the car, Uma rubbed her hands together in front of the vent and watched Jessie tidy up and turn off lights through the fogged-up front window of the gym. She seemed nice. A potential friend. That thought made her feel guilty, because there was something truly messed up about the way Uma looked at the woman’s husband—that weird attraction she couldn’t seem to control.