“Val! Fancy seeing you here today.”
“Krystina!” I greeted with some surprise. Just as I had with Derek, the women in my counseling sessions were given my fake name. Until this mess with Ethan was sorted out, I would need to keep up the façade. “I didn’t expect to see you here today, either. I thought you only came in on group therapy nights.”
“That’s normally the case. I had to stop by to drop off a check. We had a fundraising event last night, and I wanted to get the proceeds on the books as soon as possible. What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I… um… I need a room,” I said hesitantly. When her eyebrows raised in surprise, I quickly explained. “It’s not what you might be thinking. I didn’t go back to my husband, but… but I think he found me. Until I know I’m safe, I can’t go back home.”
Krystina nodded her head in understanding.
“Say no more. I know you’re familiar with how our therapy groups run, but I’m not sure if you know how the shelter works. Without having small kids, you can’t get your own room. You’d be placed in the communal room with several other women. I’ll need to check if there’s a bed available. If there is, the longest you can stay is a few days.”
“That’s it?” I asked incredulously
“Well, yes. There are extenuating circumstances, but—”
“I think that might be me,” I rushed in, desperate for more time. I quickly gave her the abbreviated story about Ethan. “So, you see, it’s only a matter of time before the police pick him up. Once they do, I can leave and go back home. A few days stay might not be long enough depending on how quickly the police can flush him out.”
“I see,” she mused thoughtfully and tapped her finger on her chin. “Let me see what I can do about getting you an extended stay. You’ll be required to help out—light dusting, vacuuming, etcetera.”
“I don’t mind that at all.”
While Krystina spoke with someone at the registration desk, my mind raced. I didn’t know the shelter had a restriction on the number of nights you could stay. When I thought about it, it made sense. They had to enact a policy to ensure people didn’t take advantage. Even if Krystina was able to get me more time, I didn’t know how much would be enough. What if Ethan was still a fugitive a month from now? I couldn’t live this way forever. I would have to go back to my apartment, eventually.
Then there was the possibility of him getting off free and clear. It was crazy how I now felt like a one-woman cheering squad for the mistress I used to hate. If Cynthia’s lawyers couldn’t get him convicted, he’d be back to get me, eventually. There would be no stopping him. Sure, my self-defense classes might help, but I needed more assurances than that. I needed to be rid of Ethan forever.
A cold realization of what I might have to do began to creep in.
No.
My only intent was to hide until the authorities caught up to Ethan, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to see it might not work out like I was hoping. There was a very real possibility I’d be left with no other option than to take care of Ethan myself.
Part VI
Taking It Back
38
Gianna
Three days later, I stood over Derek after having taken him down for the second time that day. I was beyond frustrated. Hana was an excellent trainer—small but mighty. She taught me a lot, but it wasn’t enough. Taking down someone like her was a lot different from taking down a full-grown man who had the police academy and ground fighter training under his belt. I needed someone with brute strength—someone like Derek—to push me to the limit. He couldn’t hold back at a time when I needed to be pushed.
The problem was it seemed as though Derek was afraid he was going to hurt me.
“Damnit!” My chest was heaving from exertion. “Stop going easy on me! That’s not going to help me.”
“I don’t know what it is you want me to help you with! You won’t tell me anything!” Derek snapped. He huffed out a frustrated breath and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know where you’ve been for the past three days. All I know is you call your friend, and she tells you your ex-husband—or should I say husband—is wanted for attempted murder, and now you think he’s coming for you. You don’t know if he is for sure, yet you ran off without telling me where you were going. Then you show up here yesterday, hell-bent on aggressive training. You’ve been practically begging me to kick your ass, but I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”
“If you want to help me, that’s exactly what you need to do—kick my ass.”
“She’s right, Derek,” Hana chimed in. “You’re going easy on her. If she’s right and her husband is lurking around, you won’t be able to help her if he attacks. She needs to be confident in her abilities to protect herself. What do you think about calling Xi?”
“No fucking way!”
“Who’s Xi?” I asked.
“He’s a fighter, not a trainer. We’re not calling him,” Derek reiterated.
“Then I’ll go to another gym. I hear The Cage is pretty good at teaching people how to fight.”
Derek threw me an exasperated look.
“That shithole over in the Bronx? That place is a meat market—a prime place for jugheads hyped up on roids to come at girls who look just like you. You want a real-life self-defense lesson? Oh, you’ll get one alright—in the dingy parking lot behind their building. You won’t even have to go looking.”
I’d heard the stories about The Cage and had no intention of going to the seedy gym, but Derek didn’t know that. My goal was to convince him to train me—properly train me.
“Well, if that’s what it takes,” I taunted.
Hana looked back and forth between the two of us and shook her head.
“I’m calling Xi,” she announced, pulling her cell phone out of her gym bag. I tossed her an appreciative smile.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake… Fine!” Derek yelled and threw up his hands.
I listened to Hana speak in Japanese, presumably to Xi. I had no idea what she was saying, but when she hung up, she was smiling.
“I didn’t know you spoke Japanese so fluently,” I said.
“I was born here, but my parents are from Yokohama. I can speak the language, but only use it on occasion—like when I’m trying to keep secrets from Derek,” she teased and looked pointedly at him. “Anyway, Xi is free now. He said he can meet us over at the boxing ring in fifteen minutes, then we can get started.”
Derek scowled at her before turning to point a finger at me.
“I’m warning you. Xi isn’t a teacher. He’s an MMA fighter. He doesn’t understand boundaries or limits. If something goes wrong, don’t say—”
“I get it, Derek,” I bit out. “If I get hurt, it’s on me.”
The next morning, I discovered the reason behind Derek’s warning—felt it in the fibers of every single muscle in my body. Halfway through the session, Derek had stormed out in protest of what he thought was unnecessary roughness. It was true. Xi was no joke. He took me to task in the traditional boxing ring—which was exactly what I needed. I reminded myself of that as I stretched my calves for lesson number two.