Raising Innocence: A Rylee Adamson Novel (Book 3)
Raising Innocence
Rylee Adamson #3
Shannon Mayer
1
I hung from the ceiling of my bedroom, my arm muscles trembling under the strain of holding up me and the twenty-five pound sack of potatoes tied to my waist. The thick rope I’d wrapped around my right arm was frayed and rough, usually a good surface to grip, but not so much today. Sweat dripped from my body, making it hard to hang on. In nothing but a black tank top and stretchy jeans, I fought to keep up the pace I’d started with three hours before, my breathing harsh even to my own ears. I was desperate to stop my mind from going where it wanted to go. My workouts had always been an escape for me, but today even pushing my body to the edge of exhaustion wasn’t keeping the flutter of anxiety in my gut still.
O’Shea still hadn’t come back. It had been over a month since he’d been infected with the werewolf virus. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have cared what happened to the FBI agent, he’d been a thorn in my ass for years. Then things had changed between us; he’d saved my life and I’d saved his. I’d thought I’d found a man who could stand with me in my world, be a part of my life. But maybe not. The supernatural world was a hard place to live, the learning curve deadly for most, especially for humans coming into it.
I grit my teeth and looked up to see how much higher I had to go. Three feet, not too far.
There hadn’t even been any salvages to take my mind off Liam. Pretty bad when I was hoping for a child to go missing so I wouldn’t have to think about one tall, dark, and dangerous man.
“Son of a bitch,” I growled out, blinking away the sudden burst of nausea rolling up through my body. Oh, puking twenty-five feet up in the air was not going to happen.
With a pounding heart, and saliva filling my mouth as my gorge rose, I struggled to hold it together.
Visions of a fluffy bed and a darkened room where I could sleep for a week straight floated through my mind. If only my life were that easy to escape from. I wasn’t sick—at least not physically; it was more a sickness of the heart. And that pissed me off. Weakness was not an option.
I only needed to swing a little to the right to grab the second rope hanging from the ceiling; then I could shimmy my way down. Only I rocked my body to the left, getting my momentum going—like pumping my legs on a swing. It took a couple of jerks left and right before I was close enough to grab the second rope with my left hand. The sack of potatoes continued to swing even after I stopped, jerking me hard to the left, and I slipped a few inches, the rope burning my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, and I clenched my fingers around the rope harder still. There was no way I was going to let go. I’d survive the fall—there were a few mats below me—but twenty-five feet up was a hell of a lot of pain and bruising just because I got tired and couldn’t hang on.
As I let go of the first rope, a wave of fatigue hit me, and I slipped downward again, my overworked hands doing me no good in the way of grip. Desperation kicked in and I wrapped the rope around my legs—a cheat in my books for this particular exercise.
“Are you almost done?”
I glanced down at Milly, my former best friend and the best witch I knew. Even though I’d kicked her out of the house, chosen Alex over her, I could still say I was proud of her accomplishments. She could whip up a spell in no time, her natural talent needing very little help in the way of training. Of course, she had her flaws too. More than I cared to count. My eyes flicked over her; she was wearing a skin-tight black and green dress that hugged every inch of her curvy body, leaving nothing to the imagination. There was a bit more curve to her too, like she’d packed on some extra pounds. In the past, Milly’s behaviour hadn’t bothered me—the way she did things or, more accurately, who she did things with. It was just a part of who she was. Lately, though, it had gotten under my skin, to the point where I couldn’t bite my tongue. Then again, everything about Milly lately had me on edge.
”You’re chubbing up, Milly. Maybe you should try working out on your feet instead of your back.” I panted, frustrated by how much my routine was taking out of me.
Slipping and sliding, I let myself down the rope, the burn of the coarse material reminding me to grip a little more with my legs. Five feet up I yanked the sack of potatoes up into the air so that it was at my eye level and then jumped, catching the bag on my way down.
Milly clapped, her expression one of self-indulgence, as she ignored my barb. “You done showing off? I need a hand getting the last of my boxes into my car.”