"Eliza?" Patrick pocked his head through, as I continued to pace the length of my bedroom.

I shook my head, anger ripping through me. I knew what he was doing. He had come to apologise now that he wasn't so wound up and was actually seeing sense. See, I was beginning to know him.

"No, don't you dare," I warned him, "don't you come and apologise because now you feel like a right ass. Let me guess, Garrick talked to you. Or was it Nickola or Piero."

He sighed, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

"They didn't need to. Not this time anyway," he muttered under his breath.

"Well, I'm glad someone can get through to you because I clearly can't. Why didn't you back off?" I demanded.

He frowned, "Last time I checked, he was the one that had me. I didn't even touch the guy."

"No, just called him a coward when he's been the only family I've had since I can remember," I snapped.

Patrick's shoulders sunk as he begun to look guilty, "And for that I am sorry. Only, for your sake. Not for his."

I scoffed and shook my head. Typical. The moment I had reached my hatred for him limitation he did something sweet, I guess.

"Why are you pacing?" he asked, confused.

"Because I'm frustrated!" I yelled, "I'm pissed off, I'm angry. I'm surprised my face isn't filled with pimples."

He snorted, making me stop and look at him, "Sorry."

I groaned, pacing again.

"I actually know a way to help," he stated, making me stop.

"Patrick, I'm not sleeping with you," I told him, as clear as I could.

He snickered and shook his head, "No, though that would work too."

I narrowed my eyes at him, hoping he would get to the point.

"Do you have any workout clothes?" he asked.

I frowned and looked down at myself, "What, you think I was born with this body?"

He licked his lips and smirked, his eyes looking my body up and down again.

"I'll take that as a yes. Meet me at the stairs in ten minutes," he told me, turning for the door.

I frowned, "What for?"

"Just come," he said, shutting the door behind him.

I blinked. What the hell?

Getting over my shock, I did as Patrick asked. I changed out of my other clothes and found my Athletic tights, black sports bra and fitness tank top that's arm holes reached my hips. My dried hair went up and Nike runners covered my feet. I was good to go for whatever Patrick had planned.

My jaw dropped when I found Patrick, leaning on the railing, looking out to the void. All he wore were shorts, a singlet and runners, but damn, he looked good. Life wasn't fair sometimes. He heard me coming and smiled when he saw me.

"Ready?" he asked, pushing off the railing.

"I'm dressed, it's a little different from ready. Especially when I don't know what we're doing," I said, raising an eyebrow.

He snickered, nodding towards the right corridor, "Come on."

"Wait," I said, halting, "You said I couldn't go down there."

Now that I knew the guys' backstories, I understood their need for privacy even more. I didn't want to get caught snooping even if Patrick was with me.

"It's alright. Come on," he said, taking my arm.

I was surprised when it wasn't followed with a rough tug like all the times before. He led me through, passed the corner till we came to another set of double doors. I frowned, not understanding why he was taking me to a bedroom in active wear. When he opened the doors, I froze. It wasn't a bedroom. It was a gym.

The white tiled floor shined under the sun's light that rained through the glass window that cover an entire wall and looked out to the neighbour's mansion two miles away. It was neatly set out with a heavy weights area and three treadmills and a cross trainer in a row. There was a boxing bag hanging from the roof and eight mats laid out by the window. On the wall were selves that held towels and two drink bottles that the boys must have left. All in all, Patrick had a fricking gym in his house!

"Oh my God," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He snicked, "Your surprise is cute."

That woke me from my shock. His flirtation was not good for anyone.

He chuckled, knowing that I was trying to fight its effects. I followed him over to one of the treadmills.

"Jump on," he told me.

I did as he told me, my legs spread apart on the guards as I held the bar.

"You should start out slow," he suggested.

The only reason why I listened to him because, well, he clearly knew his way around the gym. He pressed start and got it up to two. The belt grumbled to life, moving between my feet. I jumped on, like a professional, getting use to the pace.

Patrick gave me a smile before making his way over to the weights where I had a direct view. First he picked up the twenty kilograms, lifting them easily. I swallowed at the sight of his arms expanding, being worked. I was too distracted that I didn't even realized I was duelling.

God, Lizzy focus, I told myself, he's just a very, very delicious human being.

As punishment, I put the speed up to five so that I was now jogging. I could feel my thighs jiggle at the movement as my feet thumbed on the belt. My heart pounded in my chest, pumping the blood around my body. I hadn't worked out in weeks and now my body had to pay.

As usual, my mind begun to wonder.

Why was I so attracted to this guy? I mean, besides from the obvious. He was dangerous, a murderer.

Just as that thought left my head, I thought about it harder. What about what Nickola said?

He was the last person he could turn to and lucky for Piero, Patrick listened.

So Patrick took the boys in and paid for their mother's medical bills.

Picked him up, cleaned him up, gave him purpose.

So, he started asking questions, got me out of there, paid my sister's debts, offered me a job

He saved all of his closest men without hesitation. He protected Piero, took in Antonio and Alberto, helped Garrick and saved Nickola. I mean, what type of murderer does that?

What if that's what he wants you to think? My inner self asked, what about the women in his brothel? What protection and safety are they given?

I couldn't answer the question.

And what about the men he killed?

As much as I wanted to hate him for that, I couldn't. I was slowly beginning to understand his reasoning behind it. The first guy, shot at his men and killed one of Egor Volkvo's, jeopardising Patrick's and Egor's relationship. Not only that, he had called the police on something that was very illegal. Now, I knew that Patrick was too powerful to be put in jail but I bet he would pay some sucker to take the fall.

And the second guy was a mercenary. If Patrick didn't kill him, how long would it be before he targeted us again?

And what about what he said this morning.

You were right last night. I'm not a good person, Eliza. And if it wasn't for this arranged marriage I would never have let you anywhere near me. I know, this was not what you wanted. You wanted a marriage based on love and affection, but, I think it's for the best, for your sake, that our marriage isn't based on that

Perhaps it was for the best. I mean, not every marriage was about love and most of the time they ended in hatred anyway. Perhaps it was for the best.

Even though I knew it, my heart sunk deeper into my chest. That wasn't what I wanted. I've never wanted that.

To get my mind focused and my body in more pain, I took the level up to nine. I clung to the bar, my body jiggling to keep up with the pace. My cheeks burned as a coat of sweat covered my body.

Keep going, I pushed myself, feeling a stitch on my right side, push through it.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Patrick yelled, hitting the off button.

God, when did he get so close?

I didn't have time to think, my body collapsed on the frame, my pace matching the slowing down belt.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" He asked, sounding angry.

I couldn't get enough air in my lungs to answer.

"Haven't you heard that life is a marathon not a sprint?" He asked, not expecting an answer.

"If I sprint, it'll be over faster," I panted, not having the strength to look at him.

"No, you'll die after five minutes. Come and cool down."

I felt a towel around my neck, soaking up the sweat before he placed a drink bottle in my hand. Not thinking about it, I took a drink, having the liquid cool down my body.

I frowned, "where did you get this?"

"The fridge," he said, pointing to a stainless-steal fridge in the corner.

Oh, I didn't even see that.

"Now, why are you so frustrated?" Patrick asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"You know why?" I frowned.

"I know, I know why," he snickered, "but maybe if you say it out loud, it might make you feel better."

He didn't have to ask me twice.

"Well, I was forced into a loveless marriage with a man I didn't know. Every time I'm convinced that he's an ass, he does little things that makes me think, okay, this guy might be alright. But then he goes and kills people for my safety. My father is keeping things from me and I'm...seeing dots, hold me."

He chuckled, catching my swaying body, "drink."

I mumbled an okay, taking a sip.

"You should really try boxing," he suggested, rubbing my back as I clung to his arm.

"Boxing?" I questioned, not being able to concentrate.

God, when did simple touching feel so good?

"Yeah," he leaned in and whispered, "You can hit your ass of a husband."

That's a plus. I regained my ability to stand, eager to wipe that smirk off his face. He led me over to a black tub that held the boxing gloves.

"I think these will fit you," he stated, fishing out a pink pair.

I frowned. A house full of men with huge hands and somehow there were gloves my size and pink.

"Who uses these?" I asked, as Patrick helped put them on.

He chuckled, "no one. Alberto brought them for Nickola for his birthday last year as a joke."

"Which was the joke? The girly pink or the small hands?" I asked, not hiding the smile on my face.

Patrick's grin was priceless has he got what I was throwing. Once the gloves were on, Patrick tapped them together like I was a puppet. I gave him a look which he chuckled at before bending and picking up a pair of punching mitts, double the size of mine. Holy cow, if his gloves were that big than how big was his – whoa, don't open that box.

Once we were gloved up, he led me over to the mats by the window. I ignored the beautiful view, trying to focus on Patrick and Patrick only.

"Okay, take a punch," he told me, holding up his mitts.

I aimed for the circle, grunting at the force. Patrick gave me a weak look, almost disappointed in me.

"What do you want from me? I've never boxed before," I explained.

"Well, for starters, your form is all wrong," he stated, taking off the mitts and moving to the side of me, "put this leg back."

I jumped when his cupped my thigh, his very touch sending shocks up my leg. He squeezed me making me gasp as he positioned my leg back a bit.

"Now lean on this one," he said, tapping my other thigh.

I narrowed my eyes at his grin, knowing he was doing this on purpose.

"When you punch, swing your hips," he informed, cupping my hip, "it's where the power comes from. And don't just use your hands. You want to put your whole body into it."

I raised my eyebrow, his hand moving from my wrist to my shoulder not going a miss. Picking up the mitts, he took his position in front of me.

"Okay, try again."

I remembered what he told me. I swung my hips and through my body into the punch.

"Good," he prised, pleased, "harder."

I did, grunting at the force. Before I realized, I found myself a rhythm, throwing my strength into each punch.

With each punch, the anger and frustration filled me as my thoughts ran wild.

My arranged marriage. My loveless future. My bi-polar husband. My father. The death of my mother. The lies and kept truths. Sebastian Drago.

I threw a punch but stumbled, exhaustion winning out. Patrick's solid build caught me, keeping me on my feet.

"That was good," he panted, holding me tight, "next time, don't punch to win. Punch to survive."

I frowned, pulling back, "I punch to win because I don't want to lose."

He shook his head, "life's about surviving not winning. When you're up against someone that's bigger and stronger than you, it's about knocking him out before he kills you first."

I took a step back, my heart racing a little. If Patrick was right, Xavier Jorden probably wouldn't be the last person to target us. I needed to know how to survive.

"Teach me," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He frowned, taking a step back, "Excuse me?"

I took a step forward, challenging him, "Teach me how to survive."

He blinked several times, not knowing if he was being lured into a trap. I didn't want him to back out. I needed to be strong so that I could survive this life. He rubbed his chin, keeping me in suspense. When his eyes flicked up and met mine, I lost my breath. God, what have I done?

"Okay," he answered making my heart stop, "take off your gloves."

I nodded, doing as he asked as he did the same. Once that was done, we headed back to the mats.

"Okay, when going up against someone double your size your only advantage is speed. Guys like Garrick and Antonio, their huge and strong but once their down, it's hard for them to get up."

I nodded, trying to keep the information in my head.

"So you want to start off with a kick, okay," he suggested.

He took my leg under my knee and bought it up to his gut. I jumped a little, trying to get use to the new position, bending my back to counter weight the rest of my body.

"Got it?" he questioned.

I nodded, taking back my leg, "Yep, start off with a kick."

"Show me," he ordered.

Okay, I got this, I think. I took a step and lifted my knee, aiming for his stomach. Something took my knee, gravity took hold. My head pounded with the sudden knock, my body numbed from the impact of the mats. A groan escaped my lips, not knowing where I went wrong.

"You left your chest opened."

Oh, there's where.

"You didn't tell me not too," I moaned, sitting up on my elbows.

"I know," he chuckled offering out his hand.

I scoffed, taking it. Before I knew it, I was on my feet again, inches away from his beautiful face.

"When your in a real fight, your opponent is looking for any opportunity to get you to the floor, understand?"

I nodded. I guess I'm learning the hard way.

"Let's try it again," he said, "Don't forget that you have arms. Use them."

I looked down at them, seeing only useless limbs.

Patrick took a hold of my wrists, pushing one arm back and the other forward so that it pressed against his rock hard chest. He switched them, hitting it hard.

"If you swing your hands, your opponent will be distracted. Which means, you can bring your knee up," he instructed, letting go of my hands and bringing my knee back up to his gut, "try it slowly. Left arm."

I followed his orders, hitting his chest with my left arm.

"Right arm."

I repeated the moves, pushing my right arm against his chest.

"Knee."

I brought my knee up, slightly tapping his gut.

"Good. Go again."

I nodded, fastening my moves.

Left arm, right arm, knee. Left arm, right arm, knee – thud.

Oh God, my head, my body, my everything.

"Your dead. Balance is the key," Patrick stated, walking around me like I was his pray, "Come on, up again."

"No," I moaned, knowing my body couldn't take it.

I felt hands grab my arms and pull me to my feet. My eyes flicked opened and found his face in mine.

"Every minute you are on the ground, the closer you are to dying," he husked, his hot breath touching my cheek, "He can either do two things. Get on top of you and force you to eat his punches or pull his gun out."

That gave me the motivation I was looking for. Patrick let go of me with a new determination. I repeated the moves, putting force into each punch. Just as Patrick went to take my knee, I jumped out of his grip before delivering him another punch to the gut. A grin spread across his face, tugging on my hip till our noses were almost touching.

"Cheeky," he growled.

Before I knew it, I was on the floor again.

"Dead," he told me, brushings a hand over his lips, "Never get distracted."

I don't think I was the only one distracted. Biting my lip, I got an idea. Slinking my way over to him, pressing my hand on his chest. His eyes went to it like glue, running one hand over it. I swallowed at the sensation, trying not to get distracted myself. Walking over to the back of him, I pressed my body against his, hoping he was feeling the shape of me. Just as I went to make my move, the world span around. My arm was bent unnaturally against my back as I felt Patrick's hot breath against my neck sending shocks down my spine.

"Nice try, Eliza," he purred in my burning ear, before letting go and making me stumble.

"What are you?" I asked, "I've seen countless of men fall prey to Zoey with that one move."

He shrugged, a cocky grin spreading across his lips, "Let's just say, I know that I'm going to use my body to get what I want face when I see it."

"Oh yeah, how?" I asked, a trick to get to know him better.

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Nice try. But it's not that easy to get me to open up."

"Not even to me?" I questioned, tilting my head and batting my eyelids in the cutest way possible.

He chuckled again, taking a step towards me and tucking his thumb under my chip to tilt it up.

"Not even if you were naked with whipped cream over your body," he husked, before backing away.

I scoffed, not believing him for a second, "really? So, if I was naked with whipped cream over my body in your bed right now, you would say no to me?"

"I never said that I would say no to sleeping with you," he corrected, making me roll my eyes.

I was so going to make him eat his words.

Well, I tried anyway. Patrick had me on the mat three more times, telling me that I was dead. The fourth time, I had learnt some tricks.

I swang at his chest. He blocked my knee. I hit his stomach. He cupped my hip.

I went for the knee in the gut again, which he caught. My foot slip. A scream escaped my lips before I felt the familiar feeling of the mat and all the air escaping my lungs. Patrick's body was crushing my ribs cutting off my ability to breathe. The air sucked into my throat too fast once he lifted half his weight off me, causing me to cough a little. He chuckled, looking down at me in a way that I had never experienced before. There wasn't a light in them but they weren't hallow. They were filled with me.

"Sleep in my bed tonight," he asked, pushing the locks of hair from my forehead.

I was breathless by a whole different reason. My jaw dropped, taken back by his proposal.

"Patrick –."

"Just sleep," he reassured me, caressing my burning cheeks.

What the hell was happening?