Shayne threw her weight into the bag, driving with hooked elbows and sharp knees between punches. The facility trainer, Emmett Singh, braced the bag, controlling its swing and sway as he barked instructions. She focused on that bag, on his voice, like light at the end of a dark tunnel. Nothing else existed beyond the ache and burn of punishment jarring her knuckles and knees.

Numb. She wanted to be numb. To be empty.

"Enough." Emmett released the bag. "You're looking tight."

Shayne bounced on her toes, cooling down. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Your hooks were sloppy and jabs unfocused."

"I said I was fine."

Emmett shook his dour bald head. Dark skin sheened with sweat. And sighed. "Asher asked me to push you hard while he's handling his legal shit, and that's what I'm doing. Don't jump down my throat because you're letting the 'Razzi get in your head."

Shayne curled her lip with a snarl. Even if he was Asher's right hand and business partner for the last ten years, she didn't appreciate being dragged like this across the grappling mat.

She was. Dammit. Shayne paced in a circle, rolling her shoulders. Exhaustion groaned through her body but she couldn't settle. The last week had been agony of little sleep and a lot of freaking out.

What if Rita didn't come? Without her Shayne didn't stand a chance.

Without her, the Duchess would win.

"Hit the rope," Emmett said. "Two minutes on and thirty off for the next hour, then you're done for the day. Take tomorrow—loosen up, and then we'll go back to your ground game." Tossing a towel over his shoulder, he snagged a water bottle and strode from the empty gymnasium.

Her security team had cleared it out so she could train alone in the early mornings. It was a small facility they'd paid the owner a premium to shut down under the guise of renovations to avoid drawing unwanted attention. It felt like such a waste of money, but she needed a place to workout and thanks to the onslaught of media, flying under the radar with a hoodie wasn't going to cut it.

Plucking up her skipping rope, Shayne gathered the handles in both hands swung it on alternating sides of her body before spreading her arms and leaping into sharp, rapid bursts. Her feet and knees pumping hard to keep up with the whip fast blur of rope.

Sweat poured, muscles screamed, lungs burned and her mind blanked. Two minutes on. Thirty seconds off. She fell into the punctuated rhythm, and let everything else disappear. For those precious minutes there was no throne, no media backlash, no bullshit.

Just the buzz of the rope and the pump of her heart.

"Hostia puta," she wore through the last rep and dropped the rope. Bracing her hands on her knees, she gasped for breath. Droplets of sweat rained from her brow. She was soaked from head to toe.

A hard clap of hands shocked through the rasp of her struggling breaths and Shayne straightened as a man approached. Young, dressed in jeans and shirt rolled up over his forearms. Long waves of burnt caramel hair tossed back from a striking face with rich, dark eyes and sensual mouth.

"Can I help you?" Shayne asked, wiping a towel across her face and neck.

"So this is how our Princessa decides to use tax payer money, is it?" He tucked his hands in his back pocket. "Must admit, I didn't think you were quite this selfish. But I guess when a tree is diseased, it's not surprise that the fruit it bears is rotten."

Recognition clicked, lighting the shadowy corners of Shayne's mind. "You're that journalist," she said. "Thiago Mendoza."

His brows winged up with a grin. "Surprised you remembered. I'm but one of many disapproving and concerned members of the media."

"You called me an anchor that would sink this country into ruin," Shayne said, looping the towel around her neck. "Made an impression." Like a fist to the face.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

"What do you want?" Shayne stepped forward, gauging her enemy. Thirty, or thereabout. And fit. The way his clothes hugged his frame showed that he worked hard on his physique and took pride in his appearance. A silver ring hugged his left thumb and leather cuffs on both wrists. Not what she would've expected from a headline chasing journalist.

"I want an exclusive," he said, drawing out a small note pad from his back pocket.

"I've made it clear that I am not speaking to the press at this time."

"Ignoring the press isn't going to make us go away."

I know. But what other choice did she have when every time she opened her mouth she only poured kerosene on the flames? Without Rita—how could she know what to do? What to say? Her past was creating enough damage. Ever step she took from here on out had to be flawless. For Marco, she couldn't afford to fail. All he had was this—his country. His throne. A chance to restore Spain and usher in a new age of wealth and prosperity. If he lost this too, Shayne was afraid to think what it would do to him.

She'd lose her brother entirely—heart, mind and soul.

"How did you get in here?" she cocked a hip and angled her head. "The gym is surrounded by security."

Thiago smiled, tapping the tip of his pencil to the pad. "There's lots of hidden secrets to an old building like this. And I'm good with secrets."

Shayne nodded. "Then I suggest you go back the way you came before my bodyguards catch you. It's a serious offense to threaten a member of the royal family."

"Who's threatening?" he smirked. "All I want is a moment of your time and some honest answers to serious questions."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you so determined to hurt me and my family?" Shayne demanded, her voice rising with frustration. "All I want is to do good and yet you have gone out of your way to shred me to the bone."

Thiago skimmed his tongue along the edge of his teeth. "There are many who think that in light of the King's abdication before his passing that the monarchy should step aside in favor of a Third Republic. This country belongs to its people not the nobility." He spread his hands. "I am a servant of the people. And I am going to make it my life's mission to see that we get what we deserve. A country of our own."

Bowing in gentile fashion, he tucked his notepad away in his back pocket. "Think about that, Princessa. I'll see you soon."

Shayne held herself together until he was gone. And then a moment longer—until she hoped he was out of ear shot—then swung with a fierce roundhouse kick to the punching bag.

Knocking it clean off the hook.

"You never did learn how to check your temper."

Shayne jolted at the smooth, creamy female voice. A voice she hadn't heard in weeks and honestly never thought she'd hear again. She turned slow, almost afraid to see that no one was there. That she'd imagined it.

Rita stood in the doorway of the gym. Two of Shayne's bodyguards flanking her on either side.

"Princessa," Geraldo said with a nod, "we have Rita Tugonon to see you."

Shayne blinked owlishly. Smiled. "Took you long enough."

Rita stepped forward, hair in a tight bun, dressed in a sharp black suit and sleek satchel, at first glance she almost looked like a member of the royal security team. "Can I have a moment with my client, boys?"

Geraldo and Gomez looked to Shayne for permission. She inclined her head and they swung back out into the hall to resume their post. The doors swung and groaned behind them before settling on the hinges.

"I didn't think you'd come," Shayne said once they were alone.

"I almost didn't," Rita admitted, folding her hands in front of her. "But you stepping up like this for your bother was...remarkably selfless. And I know how much he means to you. I want to help."

Tears swelled in Shayne's eyes. Unashamed, she let them show. Filling her voice. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You can start by doing these." Opening her satchel, Rita tugged out a thick stack of files. "We never did finish them."

Shayne laughed through a groan, and pressed her hands to her face. "Not those fucking tests."

Rita giggled. "Sorry, but they are necessary."

Shayne dragged her hands down with a dramatic sigh and playfully rolled her eyes. "Well if you're going to torture me, at least buy my breakfast while you're at it."

Rita tucked away the files. Smiled. "Deal."

**AN**

RITAAAAAAAAA

Omg I shipped these two so hard in book one and I'm so thrilled to have her back in book two. What are your thoughts on this short Shayne chapter? Thiago is definitely going to be a handful, but I think with Rita by her side, Shayne is up to the challenge.