There were no trainers around. Lucy said members had to book appointments in advance if they wanted to meet with a trainer since they didn’t work only on the estate. They had other clients elsewhere too.

I zeroed in on the boxing bags on the opposite side of the room and put my back to my sole companion.

Boxing gloves hung on a nearby hook, but I didn’t need them. Instead I warmed up with some stretches and then grabbed the fingerless gel gloves I’d ordered, express delivery, after I’d seen the boxing equipment during my estate tour. Gordon said I could have anything I needed delivered to the Gloaming, so I’d collected the gloves last evening.

Perfect timing.

I strapped them on and moved into position.

Then I ripped into it.

The bag moved but only in increments—my punches came so fast, they contained it in a tight sway between each jab. Then I stepped back and did several sidekicks, pivoting my right hip and knee into the movement with full force. The bag swung with a satisfying drag on the chain holding it to the ceiling, and I had to reposition after each blow. I kicked with alternating legs, but the power in my right leg was far superior. When I kicked with the right, the bag yanked against the chain with harder satisfaction.

I imagined the bag was the fucker who knifed Mac.

Then I remembered yesterday.

The embarrassment of it.

Everyone knew I was messed up. They also probably were smart enough to guess it was because of Mac.

Mac.

“Hey, wee birdie.”

“Right here, Bonny Blue.”

“Uncle Mac, how did you get hurt?”

“Well, it was a wee fairy, you see …”

“Dad, tell me a story about the fairies!”

“Another one, wee birdie? All right, let me see … did I tell you the one about the faerie queen and the moment she heard a song by a musical wizard called David Bowie?”

“No, tell me that one, tell that one.”

My own memories mingled with yesterday’s scene with the Adair children and were a burn in my throat. I wanted them gone. I wanted this ridiculous childish hold on the past gone!

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

I launched it all into the bag with my fists until my body was damp, my hair sticking wherever it touched skin. Sweat trickled down my bare stomach and my biceps burned; my hands throbbed, and it propelled me. Stepping back, I spun and landed a rear hook kick on the bag, sending it rattling on its chain again.

Breathing heavily, I rested my hands on my hips and stared unseeing at the bag as I tried to catch my breath.

“I could watch you do that all day.”

I jolted at the American-accented voice, having completely forgotten I wasn’t alone.

Glancing over my shoulder, I started.

Sebastian Stone stood a few feet from me, wearing nothing but a pair of track pants. His T-shirt was tucked into the back of the pants so I could see every muscle of his slender but tightly ripped physique.

His words and the obvious come-on in his eyes annoyed the shit out of me. I hoped I was reading him wrong. “Excuse me?”

Stone took a couple more steps toward me so I faced him. He gave me what many women would consider a sexy-ass smirk as he lowered his eyes down my body and back up again. I wished I weren’t wearing only a sports bra with my yoga pants. “You. Pounding the hell out of that boxing bag. You’ve got a lot of fight in you.” He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as his gaze zeroed in on my breasts. “An excess of energy.”

Yeah, I definitely wasn’t reading him wrong.

Feeling my skin crawl, I crossed my arms over my chest and radiated “back off” vibes. “Can I help you with something?”

He didn’t read me. Instead he stepped into my personal space so I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. “You must be the guest of a member.”

I looked over his shoulder to check the room.

We were still alone.

But my eyes snagged on the security cameras in the corner near the ceiling.

That made me relax slightly.

“Guest of the owner, then?” Sebastian reached out to tuck a loose strand behind my ear, and my arm snapped up, batting him away. His expression darkened even as he maintained that stupid smirk. “I’m just being friendly. You do know who I am, right?”

The urge to snort was real.

He was one of those. And he was seriously ruining his movies for me. He was so likable in them. Now he just came across as sleazy and like his fame entitled him to be in a stranger’s personal space without permission. “Sebastian Stone. Could you step back, please?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be intimidated by me. Are you an aspiring actress?”

“I’m not intimidated, and no.” I motioned for him to move back.