I don’t say it but I let my eyes do the talking for me. I let them say what I think he’s not ready to hear.
His thumb swipes along my bottom lip and as he tilts his head downwards his lips brush against my own as he says, “I know, Grace. I know.”
Oak
The sting that follows and vibrates up my arms from the impact of my fists consistently hitting the punching bag with as much force as I can muster is pain that I’m not voluntarily seeking out to inflict on myself for the first time in almost ten years.
The burn that aches in my chest and the constriction in my lungs from physically over exerting myself is not self-punishment.
It’s raw undulated pure fucking fury.
My fist smacks against the punching bag, causing it to violently swing from its chain, and it’s not enough.
It will never be enough.
Not until I trade this sack of leather for a pound of flesh.
Even as my knuckles are busted wide open, my hands painted red, the anger is still there.
He threatened what’s mine.
And no one threatens what’s mine and lives to see the next day.
He should have a bullet placed perfectly between his eyes.
And it is taking everything in me not to hunt the fucker down and unload a magazine in his skull.
I land another round of punches into the bag and this time the chain snaps.
The chain snaps and it feels like a metaphorical connection to the control I always have.
Anger, fury, rage. All these highly intense dangerous emotions consume me.
My vision having gone red I straddle the punching bag and throw punch after punch.
And I fear that I won’t stop until my fists are beating down on his face.
A low whistle happens from behind me followed by the sound of heavy boots hitting the matted gym floor.
Breathing raggedly I stop punching the bag and have my arms laying by my side with blood dripping down both of my hands.
“What did that bag ever do to you, Oaky boy?” Snake quips with an easy going smile on his face. But it’s his eyes, his hazel eyes that hold a dark edge show he’s concerned.
I slam down another combo of punches on the punching bag as I ignore Snake’s quip.
“At this point you’re doing more damage to your hands than the bag,” Snake comments dryly. “And by the way you walked in the compound with your hand wrapped tightly around Grace’s I think you’ll be needing that hand of yours to please her later.”
That causes me to stop and narrow my icy eyes on him. There’s a smirk on his face that I want to smack off. I point a bloody finger at him. “Don’t talk about her in that way. Don’t even fucking think about it.”
Snake nods his head but there’s a smile on his face. “Great, now that I have your attention,” his eyes then narrow as the smile slips from his face, “what the fuck is going on?”
I let out a gust of breath as my chest heaves. Landing one final blow the sound echoes throughout the gym. Then I raisemyself up and swipe off my soaked shirt to wipe off the blood on my knuckles.
“You’re not going to leave unless I talk are you?” I ask him tiredly and his narrows eyes harden.
“Wasn’t it you who called me insufferably stubborn?” He raises a brow.
Fuck, I knew he wouldn’t forget that.
