Colt hit the bag hard with his gloved fist, then watched it swing back, the chain creaking as it moved.
He hit it again, harder this time, ignoring the ache in his arms. The exhaustion that pulled at his limbs. He’d lost track of how long he’d been here. Far longer than he should have.
An entire week had passed since his run-in with his father, and he still felt that searing rage. The pulse of frustration and hate. It flooded every quiet corner of his body.
Gordon had contributed nothing good to his life. And now, the asshole felt like he wasowedsomething? The scumbag was owednothing.
He needed to leave. And because he wouldn’t, Colt had to look over his shoulder every time he left the house. He had to shadow Indie when she went on shoots just to make sure she was safe.
She’d told him it wasn’t a big deal, but that was a lie. There were already stupid rumors affecting her business—thanks to his mother—and now she also had to tackle the fact that she couldn’t give her clients privacy during their shoots.
When would it end? Gordon wasn’t getting a cent of fucking money from himorhis mother, so if he was smart, he’d already be gone. But his father had never been a smart man.
Colt knew full well that if he gave the son of a bitch money, he’d just be back again, asking for more. Nothing would change.
Two more punches followed by a kick to the bag.
From his peripheral vision, he saw someone approaching. The man was tall and broad, with dark hair and intelligent eyes.
Without even knowing the guy, Colt knew he was dangerous. After years as a Marine, it was something he’d picked up. Sometimes it was as simple as watching how a person moved.
The man stopped beside Colt, arms crossed. “Hey. Colt, right?”
He lowered his fists and turned, regulating his heavy breaths as he took the guy in. The laser-blue eyes. The short brown hair. The small scar on his left brow.
Definitely dangerous. It radiated off him. “How’d you know my name?”
“Looked at your paperwork. I’m Zane Merrick, the owner.”
“The UFC fighter.” This place had only opened a few months ago. And yeah, word traveled fast in this town.
“Former UFC,” Zane corrected. “And you’re military.”
“You hear that around town?”
“No, I can see it in your combat stance. It’s defensive. Hands up, chin tucked. You hit with purpose. Plus, you keep scanning the gym, giving away your situational awareness. Bet you’ve already identified every exit and entry point and categorized every person in here.”
True. But that was also because there was a threat in the form of his father in this town. “How do you know all that?”
“I did a stint in the military before I got in the ring. Army Ranger.”
Colt snorted. “That’s not astint. That’s an elite group of soldiers trained for direct action missions.”
Zane nodded slowly. “It is.”
“Would have taken a lot of work for you to get there, only to leave.”
“I could say the same for you.”
True again. “Why come to Amber Ridge?”
“Why not?”
The guy was keeping his cards close to his chest, but then, so was Colt.
“You’re going at that bag pretty hard. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” Not even close to okay.
