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Rosario to brush up on their self-defense skills, she’d signed them both up for an “issues in women’s self-defense” class through the continuing studies department at the university.
    They’d stopped going after three sessions, when it became clear that more time would be spent in a circlelistening to a bunch of privileged, navel-gazing girls in their late teens and early twenties cry about how frat boys “objectified” them and made them feel so “vulnerable.”
    After a plump little brunette with a bouncy ponytail and Kewpie-doll mouth complained that even seeing images of rail-thin models in magazines made her feel somehow assaulted, Talia had had enough.
    For the most part, Talia tried to keep the past in the past. But sometimes she couldn’t keep the pain and the anger that accompanied it from spewing out.
    “You want to know when I felt vulnerable?” she cut in, ignoring the way Rosario winced and hid her face behind one hand. “I felt pretty fucking vulnerable when my boyfriend threatened to have my sister gang-raped by his goons if I ever tried to leave him. I also felt assaulted when a psychotic killer drugged me, tied me up, dragged me to his basement, and showed me videos of himself killing other women while he burned me with a cigarette and stabbed me.”
    She had stormed out, shaking, furious with herself and those snotty princesses who had no idea how lucky they were. She needed to learn to kick some ass, not give free voice to the fear that she’d finally managed to bury.
    Thank God Susie had introduced her to Gus and his training program. A few years ago, right after Susie had opened the restaurant, she was mugged at knifepoint while walking to her car. “I never kidded myself I could take out a huge guy determined to hurt me, but I wanted to at least give him a run for his money. There was a lot of buzz when Gus opened his gym, so I gave him a try. And”—she’d leaned in as though delivering a delicious secret—“I’m wearing smaller jeans than I did in highschool. That’s saying a lot for someone who works in the restaurant biz.”
    In the past six months, Talia had reaped the benefits, too, physically and psychologically. Her aggressive training with traditional and Thai boxing, tae kwon do, Krav Maga, and Russian Sambo had tightened and honed her body, tempering her once outrageous curves with sleek muscles. More importantly, she reminded herself, if someone did jump her, she’d have a decent shot at fighting him off.
    In addition to her twice-a-week workouts with Susie and her Mondays with Rosario, Talia found herself at the gym most other days of the week, even when Gus said she needed a day off.
    Somewhere down the line, it had gotten hard for Talia to make it through the day without working up a hard sweat. Self-defense skills aside, it centered her, gave her a sense of strength and resilience that would help her get through anything.
    Even things like having Jack Brooks show up and throw her entire existence out of whack.
    She slipped on a pair of capri-length stretchy pants, a sports bra, and a high-necked tank top. Unlike Susie and, to Talia’s dismay, Rosario, there was no way Talia was setting a foot in the gym with her abdomen on full display. Even if she could forget about her scars for minute, she wasn’t comfortable showing off her body, the irony of which, given her past, wasn’t lost on her.
    If it were up to her, she’d wear an oversized T-shirt and baggy sweats, but Gus had told her straight up it wouldn’t do. “Gotta see your form,
mija.
Can’t tell if you’re doin’ it right if you’re wearing goddamn clown clothes.”
    Talia had conceded, but she always wore an oversized T over the Lycra tank until the very last second.
    Familiar sounds and smells greeted her as she pushed open the door to the warehouse on the corner of Industrial and Murphy. Grunts, huffing breath, and the occasional meaty
thwack
of a fist or foot connecting a blow echoed through