His message was loud and clear. Class was over.
I walked over to my bag to collect a towel, wanting to wipe the sweat from my face and neck. “Did you hear about the strippers near the club?” I asked, curious if someone had shared something about the murders at the gym. Perhaps one of The Grind dancers had offered information. A few of the girls came to Mike’s Gym, since it was cheap and the owner didn’t mind giving out advice without charging outrageous fees.
He stopped mid-spray and looked at me. “Is that what has you worried?”
“Shouldn’t it?” I retrieved my towel and sighed as I swiped the soft cloth over my face.
“Cletus and Butch wouldn’t let anyone touch you.”
“Not at the club,” I agreed, rubbing the towel against my neck, “but there isn’t much they can do when I make the trip home.”
“Shit.” He clenched the bottle, his knuckles turning white. “Do not tell me you’re still not taking a cab. It’s not only dangerous not to use public transportation, it’s stupid.”
“I’ve had the same routine since I started working at the BP. I’m not changing it now.” I reached for my bottle of water, my throat suddenly dry as the desert.
Mike’s sigh didn’t sound promising. “All the training in the world won’t protect you against a gun. You can’t walk away from a bullet.”
Or things with fangs and claws. “That’s true,” I conceded a second time. Agreeing with Mike was a good thing. It did positive things, like boost his ego. “But word is the dancers who died were killed by a knife. I can stop a knife with the proper training.”
“Stop a knife? You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“You are something else.”
I couldn’t tell if he was giving me a compliment or a veiled insult. “I try to be an individual. It’s all the rage.”
“An individual who is going to keep being stubborn and get herself killed.” He snorted, sounding like an ornery bull. “Those are the crimes I hate most, ones that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. You should follow the rules if you want to survive.”
“Like horror movie rules? No sex or you die. No going off by yourself or you die. No best friends because they’ll turn out to be killers and you’ll die.”
This time when he looked at me, his dark brown eyes narrowed. “Just like the horror movie, only at the end you’ll be dead—really dead. After the credits, you won’t walk the red carpet talking about grueling nights of filming or the contents of fake blood. You’ll be six feet under.”
Ouch. Not the Mike I knew. He wasn’t usually so gruff.
“I’m not trying to piss you off.” Smartass comments were forced to the back of my mind. I needed Mike and what he offered. Taking a tinkle in his Wheaties would not benefit my cause. Besides, he was one of the good guys. “If I did, it wasn’t my intention.”
“Then take a cab instead of walking home from work, at least until they catch the asshole.” He pivoted around and returned to his task. “You’re just a woman. And before you take that as an insult, remember that it’s not me that made it so. Men are born bigger and stronger. Women got the short end of the stick. There’s no shame in admitting it.”
No shame at all, but I wasn’t going to give any man power over me because the Holy Creator made women deceptively compact. A small woman was just as capable of inflicting damage as a big man. “So it’s a good thing we have you to teach damsels in distress how to properly kick some ass.”
His laugh lacked substance. “If only. One man can only do so much.”
The bottle of water stopped mid-way to my mouth. Mike had no idea just how wrong he was. Some of the things he’d taught me had saved my life. Truth be told, several of the things he’d taught me had saved my life.
“You’re wrong.”