“Can you explain that away?” her mother demanded, shoving another picture at her where it looked like she was crying as she climbed out of the limo alone. “Or were you so impressed by the limo you didn’t care what he did to you or how he hurt you?”
No. The only thing I cared about in that moment was twining myself around him, feeling his breath in my ear, his mouth on my skin as he showed me how precious I was to him. The tears hadn’t been because he hurt her but because he loved her.
When she looked from her father’s face to her mother’s, she had a sense of loss. They’d never understand. And part of her didn’t care if they did.
“Was that a supportive, Christian thing to say, Mom? Berating me? Making me feel like some kind of materialistic bitch?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that. We’re here to help you.”
Amery sighed. Counted to twenty. “Then please don’t judge me before you let me speak.” She waved the picture. “I don’t know who took this, or why, but that wasn’t Ronin’s limo—not that it matters. And the red mark on my face? Was from Ronin’s ex-girlfriend, the one I assume sent you this package of stuff.”
“So you’re saying it’s all lies? That she somehow digitally altered his face into the shots?” Her father pointed to the stack of photos. “There are well over a dozen different women in those pictures. Whoever did this couldn’t have faked that.”
“I didn’t say they were faked. Those are pictures from a long time ago.” Amery had seen some of those pictures—they were in Ronin’s photo albums, visual records of his previous bindings. So that snake Naomi had somehow copied the photos without Ronin knowing, which was just another breach of trust.
“What about this one?” he demanded, pulling out a shot of Amery leaving the dojo the day after the parking garage attack, her lip still swollen, her eye a hideous shade of black. With the hunched-over posture, she looked . . . beaten down. The next shot, a close-up of her face, showed every mark in detail, including the bruises on her neck.
“So you’re not denying anything we’ve said about this man?”
“I’m telling you that you don’t know him. He would never hurt me. And you have no right to judge him.”
A long pause settled between them.
“Who are you?” her father said hoarsely. “This is not how we raised you. We provided you with a moral compass. How did you veer so far off the right path?”
“Here you are, living in the big city, living a life of sin and depravity.” Her mother picked up the argument. “This is why she doesn’t come home more often—she knew we’d see the ugly truth about her life. She’s so caught up in it that she can’t see she’s allowing herself to be fed a line of lies. Where will she be when she’s been used up and discarded? No one will want her then. No one will care to help a woman who refuses to help herself.”
Don’t cry. Goddammit, don’t cry. “Not even you?” she managed to choke out.
“We can only do so much,” her father added, slipping an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “We want to help you. Will you come with us to church service tonight and pray about it?”
Help her their way. Amery shook her head.
“Are you running straight to him?” her mother demanded.
She shook her head again.
Her father appeared relieved. “At least give this some thought, okay? We’re staying at the Holiday Inn Express out by the airport.”
“For how long?”
“That depends on you.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning we’ve been in contact with a Christian center here in Colorado that runs a retreat for abused women. We’ve secured a place for you for a few weeks. We’ll take you there and check you in.”
She clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping. They thought she was a victim? That Ronin was some kind of abuser?
Why would they think differently? Your assumption about what kind of man Ronin was the first time you were in his practice room was similar to theirs.
Amery refused to let that voice she’d worked so damn hard to exorcise from her mind and her life get a foothold again.
“Watch the other DVD. You need to see it.”
“What’s on it?”
“Just watch it,” her mother said shortly.
Fuck. Amery didn’t want to do this, but it appeared they wouldn’t leave until she met their demands. She switched out the discs, but didn’t sit down when she hit PLAY.
Two fighters circled each other on-screen. One was Ronin. Immediately he was the aggressor, cornering his opponent, getting him on the ground. Keeping the guy locked down. The round ended when Ronin got the guy to tap out after an arm bar.
Another fight started. This one was more physical on the boxing and kicking side. Ronin’s opponent refused to stay down. But Ronin adapted. He brought out his punching and kicking game. And he beat the guy bloody. The final move that ended the fight was when he performed a spinning back kick that connected with his opponent’s head.
Straight knockout.
After she watched the third fight, where once again Ronin was victorious, she didn’t see the point to watching this DVD. Was she supposed to believe that he’d take this behavior outside the cage? Direct it at her? Just as she opened her mouth to ask the purpose, another fight started.
But this wasn’t like the others. This fight found Ronin on the receiving end of rapid-fire fists. His opponent absolutely brutalized Ronin. The skin above his eye was sliced open and bleeding. His mouth was cut and swollen. The camera had zeroed in on him, and the look in his eye was complete blankness. Bleakness. And she knew, in that moment, this was the fight he’d been in the night he’d shown up at her loft beat to crap.