She’s been mine since the moment I first saw her, naked on that bed, it just took me some time to realize it. I need to find a way to fix this mess.
“I see.” Zane’s silent for a moment, the pause filled only by the hum of the engine and the rush of wind outside. “I’ll handle Peter Valeur, but you can’t continue working for her. He won’t allow it, and frankly, I agree. You can’t be her bodyguard.”
“Wait. You’re not firing me?” I ask, surprise coloring my voice. My eyes dart to the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see Zane’s disappointed face. “He has a lot of power, he could?—”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he cuts in, his tone flat, unreadable. “I need to consider everything. But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t bend to threats. Peter can make all the noise he wants, but he doesn’t control how I run things. He’ll figure that out soon enough.”
The line goes dead, leaving me in sudden silence. I exhale,pressing down on the gas pedal again. The engine roars in response. I need to release some energy, and fast.
The city streets give way to industrial zones, the dark silhouettes of warehouses and factories looming in the night.
I pull up to the gym I’ve been hitting since I got to this city—a converted warehouse with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign.
I need to clear my head and figure out my next move. I need to make sure I’m sharp, andthat I’m ready with a plan to fix the mess I’ve made. Cora’s risked enough already. I can’t let her throw everything away for me. How can I convince her father?
I grab my bag from the trunk and head inside, the heavy door creaking as it swings open. The familiar smell of sweat and rubber greets me, the sound of fists hitting bags and weights clanking filling the air. This is what I need. A few rounds with the punching bag to beat the chaos out of my mind.
I change, tossing my bag into a locker, and head straight for the bags. No warm-up, no easing into it. I swing, each punch landing with a satisfying thud. The bag absorbs my anger, my frustration, as I lose myself in the rhythm. The sweat pours down my body, soaking through my shirt as the world narrows to just me and the bag.
Boxing is the one thing that makes me feel alive when everything else is spiraling out of control. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke. I can’t afford anything that would dull my edge. But this? This I can do. Here, with each punch, each impact, the anger drains away, leaving behind a cold clarity.
My watch beeps, signaling the end of my session. I step back, chest heaving, arms burning. The clarity is fleeting, but it’s enough. Enough to remind me what I need to do.
I check my phone.
Cora
Josh, your replacement, arrived. He’s not you.
Come back, Dad’s gone. We’ll figure something out together.
Where are you? I’m going to Dad’s. I have to make him understand.
I exhale, trying to slow my breathing. The locker room door swings open with a creak, releasing a cloud of steam that clings to my skin. I find an empty spot on a bench, dropping my bag as I reach for my towel.
A stall frees up. I step inside, hanging my towel on the glass partition. The hot water hisses as I turn the knob, steam rising in billowing clouds. I step under the spray, letting out a low groan as the water pounds against my aching muscles.
I need to find another job. As a former military man, I don’t have many skills that translate to civilian life, and I’m pretty sure the friction with Peter Valeur has closed off the bodyguard route for good. I could go back to Montana, find work on a ranch, but that would mean leaving Cora. And that’s not an option.
But what is? Bouncer at a club? Grocery store cashier?
Fuck.
I run a hand through my wet hair, rinsing off the soap. My eyes sting.
I reach for my towel but find only the glass of the shower stall. I turn around, looking down. It’s fallen to the wet floor, soaking up the puddles around my feet.
Nothing’s going right today. I pick up the half-wet towel and dry off.
I finish dressing, the locker room now mostly empty. I gather my things and make my way to the exit. The receptionist calls out, her cheerful voice grating on my nerves. She insists on renewing my gym membership, and I force myself to smile, to nod, to pay. I don’t even know if I’ll be here next month, but I do it anyway.
The cool night air hits me as I step outside. A wave of pain crashes through my abdomen, an invisible vice gripping my insides. My knees give way, and I lurch forward. My palm slaps against the cool surface of the car door, fingers curling around the handle as I fight to stay upright.
My lungs strain for air. Each shallow gasp sends tremors through my frame, intensifying the searing agony radiating from my core. Sweat beads on my forehead trickling down my temple. The world around me blurs, edges growing fuzzy and indistinct. This pain, it's alien, all-consuming. It claws at my insides with razor-sharp talons, unlike anything I've ever experienced before, spreading through my gut like wildfire.
My eyes scan the empty parking lot, but there’s no one around. Just the flickering streetlights and the distant hum of traffic.
The pain eases just enough to allow me to move. I slide into the driver’s seat, forcing the key into the ignition with trembling hands. The engine roars to life, and I shift into drive.
