Excerpt

Nothing Personal

Lauryn Christopher

Chapter 1

I smelled him before I saw him, the unmistakable scents of whiskey, cigars, and breath-mints too strong in the close confines of the hallway to have lingered from his recent passage. I knew he was close, even though I couldn't see him, half-blinded as I was after coming into the dim space from the bright sunshine. I could barely make out the notices pinned to the wall or the worn carpet on the gently sloping ramp beneath my feet.

But there was no time to do more than acknowledge both his presence and my own disadvantage before the burly man dropped on me with all the force of the forklift he normally drove.

We hit the floor hard, rolling a few feet until we crashed into the door that had closed behind me only a moment before. We were a tangle of limbs; the bulk of his body behind me. I rammed my elbow into what I hoped was his gut, and was rewarded with a satisfying grunt. He'd tried to throw an arm around my throat and catch me in a choke-hold, but my backpack had shifted as we'd rolled, messing up his aim.

When his forearm landed across my mouth, I bit it.

"Yeowch!" he yelped. "No fair biting, Meg!"

"No fair dropping on me in the dark like a big, hairy spider," I replied, grabbing a handful of his long, greasy hair, and tugging him away from my back. "It's Tuesday, Joey," I said, smacking the back of his head against the door. "You know better. What if it had been a newcomer? You'd have scared the spit out of her."

"You always get here early," he said, shoving my hand away and repositioning, his thick arms coming around my midsection and catching one of my arms, smashing it to my side. "I'd never challenge anyone here for the self-defense class. 'Specially not a newcomer."

But I was done talking. My eyes were already adjusting to the lighting, and even as we tussled, I was getting my bearings and deciding how best to use the environment to my advantage.

Door: At my right shoulder. Glass warm from the summer afternoon, black privacy paint getting a few more scratches in it where thin lines of light seeped through.

Ramp: Beyond my left foot. Fifteen feet, about a four-degree slope, and covered with some sort of industrial-grade non-skid carpeting that probably looked better in the dim lighting.

Walls: Ahead of me and to the right, exterior brick. Painted over enough times that it barely looked like brick, and felt more like the layers of dark gray latex paint that covered it. Up close and personal like I was, I could even see some of the old, dried drips.

Behind me and to the left, interior drywall-over-plywood painted in the same dark gray. Not built to be pretty, and only seven feet tall, it was just designed to separate the entry and ramp from the workout area on the other side. Our fellow gym rats were peering down at us from over the top of the wall, watching us from the shadows, hooting and hollering encouragement at each grapple and feint. Probably had money on which of us they thought most likely to win.

And Ian would be somewhere nearby. Watching. Ready to step in if the challenge went too far.

I wanted to take it too far.

Had to remind myself that it was Tuesday. It was only a friendly challenge. This was Joey, not someone I'd been paid to kill.

Oblivious to my internal turmoil, or the potential danger he'd thrown himself into, Joey gave up trying to squeeze the stuffing out of me, and heaved most of his considerable weight across my body in an attempt to keep me pinned down.

Rather than hit him, or try to shove him off – neither of which would have done any good at all – I raised my arms up over my head and planted my hands flat to the floor.

Then I mirrored the action with my feet, pulling my knees up and pressing the bottoms of my feet on the rough carpeting, hoping it would give me the traction I needed for the stunt I planned to pull. I'd lost my left shoe – in all honesty, I wished I'd lost them both, because the low heel on my right shoe was going to make what I was about to try a little more difficult.

Using all my strength, I pressed down with my hands and feet, struggling to raise my body like a table, while the gym rats hollered above us. I was no more than three inches off the ground when Joey began to shift, his feet scrabbling against the brick wall as he fought to keep his balance.

I didn't give him the chance.

I twisted, throwing myself to the left and rolling out from under him as he slid off me. He hit the floor with a whuf, and I scrambled up and onto his back, pinning his thick neck between my knees.

The gym rats cheered.

I leaned down and pinched his ear. "Give up?"

"Shure," he said, his mouth pressed against the dirty carpet muffling his voice.

I looked up. Now that I could actually take the time, I could see six… seven… no, eight gym rats leaning head and shoulders along the top of the wall.

"Show's over," I said.

They drifted off with the usual jokes and cat-calls, teasing Joey over losing to a girl – again – the winners collecting on their bets from the losers. Moments later the usual gym sounds of fists on punching bags and footsteps running along the overhead track had resumed.

I grabbed my pack from the corner where it had ended up and looked for my missing shoe. Joey was sitting on the floor, leaning against the brick wall, and nursing a rug-burned forearm.

"You see a shoe anywhere?" I ask.

He looked up at me blankly for a second. Then he reached behind him and produced a somewhat squished ladies' shoe.

I inspected it. It was a bit mashed, but the heel still seemed solid and the sole was unbroken, so I put it on, then held out a hand to Joey.

"Come on," I said.

He took my hand and I pulled, giving the big man the leverage he needed to get up off the floor. He stood there, dusting himself off, while I peered up into the gloom at the exposed piping hanging just below the gridwork of the upstairs running track.

"How the hell did you get up there, anyway?"

"Wasn't easy," Joey said with a grin. "Got my fingers mashed a couple of times when someone ran by."

"Serves you right," I said.

He looked down at me, just as I swung. My fist connected with his jaw, and he rocked back, bouncing off the brick wall.

"Never on Tuesday, Joey," I said. Then I settled my pack on my shoulder and walked up the ramp and into the gym, Joey's laughter echoing behind me in the narrow passage.