Page 37 of Power & Punishment

“Mia might recognize me,” he fires back. “We’re within range for live feedback. There’s no need to give up our position.”

I know I pay him good money to know this shit, but I can’t help the bitter tinge of irritation that rises up when I realize that Mia is a block away and I have to stay hidden away in a car. “Why am I even here?”

“You insisted.”

“Right,” I say, tilting my head to the side.

My foot bounces against the floorboards as I contemplate my next move.

I should stay in the car. If Mia knows we’re tracking her, then our fun little game of international super spy is over.

Then again, seeing the panicked look on her face when I pop up in one of her safe places makes my skin vibrate with a satisfying hum.

“I’m going in,” I declare, the excitement dominating the more practical region of my frontal cortex.

“That’s not a good idea,” Michael says. But he doesn’t try to stop me. He just opens his door and steps into my shadow. I can feel his judgment dragging behind us, but I ignore it.

When we walk through the door, I flash the kid behind the desk an easy nod, dropping a few bills into a chipped jar. He waves us through without a second glance.

The smell of rubber mats and stale sweat wafts up as we pass through the tight area. There are different machines scattered around the place, but the main star of the show is the beaten-up boxing ring in the middle.

And that’s exactly where I find her.

Mia shifts her weight expertly from side to side with her gloves held tightly near her face. Her long dark hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and her body drips from head to toe in black spandex.

“Let’s hang back here,” Michael says, his eyes sweeping the area for any unwanted attention. But it’s useless. Everyone’s eyes are on her as she throws her fists into the pad her partner is holding.

Each hit lands perfectly, producing a satisfying slap that makes my pulse tick with each new connection. I can feel the power of her swings all the way from back here and it makes me wonder why she even needs to carry a gun. Other than the fact that she likes to threaten me with it.

Mia’s partner, Keith something, grunts with each new punch she drives into him, stumbling back an inch every time. But she doesn’t slow down. She just pivots her weight and resets her stance before going in again.

She’s quick, brutal, and precise.

It’s intoxicating.

“Little Russo packs a punch,” Michael observes, making me turn my head toward him with a dirty look.

He ignores me, taking a step back and no doubt wondering if I’ve lost it.

Maybe I have, but that is a problem for another day.

Mia lands a final combination before dropping her hands and peeling off the gloves. I watch closely as tiny beads of sweat drip down her neck and into the crevice of her tight sports bra. It takes every ounce of restraint I have not to drag her out of here.

Michael clears his throat behind me, motioning to Keith and Mia stepping off to the side of the ring. He waves for me to follow him behind a row of lockers that we use for cover as he pulls out his phone.

We both watch Mia grab a towel and wipe her face before pressing it to the back of her neck.

Damn, that’s one lucky towel—and shit, I can’t believe that thought even crossed my mind.

“Now that you’ve kicked my ass, can I show you what I found?”

“Yeah,” she smiles at him. My fingers curl tightly into my palm. “Thank you for being my punching bag. I needed that.”

“It’s been a stressful few weeks,” he agrees, nodding his head. “But maybe we should let someone else take this case. Maybe someone in organized crime that’s used to dealing with shit like this.”

Mia tilts her head, but keeps her disappointment locked inside. “What did you find, Keith?”

Keith hesitates, scanning the room before stepping closer to her. “Remember how I said I couldn’t crack the encryption?”