I’ve been here for nearly an hour, working the bag like my life depends on it. But it’s like my adrenaline can’t be burned away. I’m still buzzing, like there’s electricity in my veins.
Punch.
Sydney doesn’t trust me.
Punch.
Sydney was scared.
Punch.
Dante is after her. And she won’t let me near her.
Punch.
Won’t let me protect her.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Frustrated, I take my gloves off and throw them at the ground. Nothing is working, and I feel like I’m about to self-destruct. It’s almost like the harder I go at the bag, the more I need to move. I take my headphones out and try to calm myself.
Bad idea. Without the music blaring through my headphones, I can hear the entire gym around me, including the guys behind me chatting.
“Yeah, she’s a dime, bro,” one of them laughs, playfully punching his friend in the arm. “Ass you could bounce a quarter off.”
Gross. They’re both decently big guys, with a lot of muscle. But you can tell right away that it’s all for show. Vanity muscles, not the sort you build for work, for function. Those muscles are just to look pretty. Or their version of pretty, at least.
“Didn’t even take me that long to bag her. You’d think a girl like that would be smarter. Like… Who gets that drunk on the first date?” the second guy jokes back. “She knew what was going to happen.”
My ears perk up. Now I’m interested in the conversation.
“It’s pathetic, really. But what can you expect? They’re all sluts, some just hide it better.”
A low laugh. “By the time we got down to it she was barely conscious. Still a decent lay, though. I’d go back for a second round.”
“Her body, your choice, am I right?”
My vision is tunneling. I can barely breathe.
This guy raped someone.
And he’s here, in the middle of my gym, bragging to his friend completely unconcerned that someone might overhear him. With the energy under my skin buzzing, I shove my things back in my bag and casually stroll over to them, acting like I’m just taking notice of them next to the ring.
They look up as I get close, watching me.
“Hey man, what’s your name?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
“Uh, I’m Jordan,” Mr.I’m a fucking rapistanswers.
The guy next to him sputters, eager to make friends. “Hey, man, I’m Harrison. Nice to?—”
“Cool.” I ignore Harrison completely, staring down Jordan. “Want to go a few rounds in the ring? I need to finish up my workout, and I could use the practice.”
I’m taller, but he’s wider. From his point of view, I'm sure it feels like an even fight. Jordan seems taken aback by the offer, but he looks me up and down and then agrees. He really thinks those pretty muscles of his stand a chance against me.
