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Abigail’s at the back of the studio, running on the treadmill as if she’s attempting to outrun her demons. My gaze drifts over the bruises that are taking their sweet fucking time to heal.
My eyes lower to the long sleeve shirt that’s out of place. She must be dying of the fucking heat. The cargo pants sit loose on her, and there are no signs of her sexy curves.
“Instructor Nikolai,” Paula says, pulling my attention away from Abigail.
Right, the attendees are waiting to hear what they should do today.
I shake my head and clear my throat. “Pair up and spar,” I order before I walk toward Abigail.
She’s so deep in thought, and when I get close enough, I hear her whisper, “Easel. Canvas. Palette. Brush. Paint. Easel. Canvas. Palette. Brush. Paint.”
“Abigail,” I say to pull her out of her thoughts, making sure to keep my tone gentle. She blinks and seems to come out of the daze before she looks at me. “Go paint. It’s too early for you to be back at training.”
She shakes her head as she increases the speed on the treadmill, then mutters, “I’m fine.”
I take a deep breath, so I don’t yank her off the equipment. “You’re pushing too hard.”
Slamming the stop button, she gives me an angry glare. “No, you’re the one pushing. I’m here to train, Instructor Vetrov. Leave me be.”
She walks around me and heads toward the other attendees.
“Hawkins,” she snaps. “Let’s spar.”
Over my dead body. I stalk closer and order, “Caspian, get back to sparring with Duarte.”
I take another breath so my voice is calm when I say, “I don’t want to see you in this studio until you’re fully healed. Go get some rest.”
She stares at me for a moment, but there’s no sign of the daring spark that used to light up her eyes. Nodding, she turns around and stalks out.
I walk to the door and watch as she heads toward the armory.
God help me. Every ounce of my being wants to help and comfort her, but she’s shut me out.
For the millionth time since Saturday, worry creeps into my mind, and with every passing hour, it claws chunks out of my heart.
Yes, Abigail was brutally beaten, but I find it hard to believe it’s broken her. She’s stronger than that.
Something else happened. I bet my fucking life on it.
Leaving my studio, I walk down the hallway to where the lessons in torture take place and knock on the door.
Igor, the instructor, glances in my direction. “Can I help?”
I gesture to Alek. “I need to speak with Mr. Aslanhov.”
Alek lets out a sigh as he gets up. When he steps into the hallway, I nod toward my uncle's office that’s not currently in use.
He follows me, and only when I shut the door behind us do I ask, “You found Abigail, right?”
He lifts an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes.”
“What did you see?”
Alek stares at me, then shakes his head. “It’s not my place to tell you anything related to Abbie.”
Christ.
My eyes darken on him. “You not telling me will make me assume the worst.”
