Clear exaggeration, much like the metaphoric earthquake happening inside my soul. I’m pissed she ain’t feeling the same. Though that anger gets eaten up by the inferno raging because of that mark whenever I look at it.
Life as I know it is changing.
Life is about to change for someone else, too, because Tally Murphy is off-limits. Every fucking person with a pulse knows it. We put an alert on the streets to make every fucker aware, but it seems we didn’t get to everyone.
She dips under my arm, racing away. I want to grab her arm, pull her back, so I get the answer I need. Instead, I scrub both hands down my face and hide out there until I get a better grip on the seesawing emotions riding my arse.
Digging out my phone, I let Ronin know I’m going to be held up and won’t be able to join them. We were going to head out to check one of Paddy’s chop shops, hoping to catch who’s been fiddling with the cameras, then helping themselves to whatever they want. They’ll have to go without me now.
Tally moved quickly in the time it took me to shoot off a message, and she’s already set a punishing pace on the treadmill.
The sharp incline she’s got the running machine at would have to make her face hurt more. She watches me like a hawk looking for its next meal but refuses to take her AirPods out or slow her pace.
Knowing she’s watching me, I press the arrow on her machine, forcing the change in the incline. If she won’t look after herself, I will. My meddling doesn’t stop there, and I don’t give her the chance to argue, either. Playing around with the advanced settings of the machine, I set a better program, as well as a timer. Then I leave her to work out some of her mood.
I can see how angry she is. And it’s not just because I damn near broke her nose.
Her showing up is what pulled me here. I mean, we run a twenty-four-seven gym, so it's not unusual for people to use the gym in the middle of the night. But I have an alert set for Tally. If she was just working out, I would have let her be. Probably watched her for a bit on the cameras before meeting up with my pack, but then I caught how tense she was. It only confirmed something was out of whack.
When I got that first look of her face, all my suspicions were confirmed.
Sitting behind the desk, I shuffle around so I can watch her while I work. First things first, I do a quick post, notifying our members that we’re closed for maintenance for a couple of hours, and I deactivate the door so we won’t get interrupted.
While the cameras surrounding where she works start downloading the footage of the last few hours, I get to fussing, arranging a fresh towel, and a protein gel. As soon as her treadmill slows, I’m at her side, putting the things I know she’ll need in easy reach. I’m gone again before she can argue.
But it’s also because her scent is more intense now. Her body temperature and the light sheen of perspiration that mists her skin has heated her peach scent to dangerous proportions. My dick is about to fucking explode.
Hiding behind my desk again, I do what will have it going down like a lead fucking balloon—I watch the video feeds to find out what happened. Not much, really, until she goes and takes the trash out. By her fucking self too.
From the shadows, two women emerge, like rats out the drain. Both of them have been on the streets for a while, and neither of them are the type you’d take home to meet your pack, or your mother. Lowlife scum who drug their marks, then rob them blind. They work independent on the streets, but havemore alliance to the Kellys, which begs the question of what fucking game is being played now.
Checking Tally hasn’t changed the program I put her on for the treadmill, I pull my eyes from her wicked body to watch her getting attacked. I was frustrated before watching it, but now I’m furious.
Sending another text—this one to Keegan, since he’s the man for the job—I let him know the Kellys are causing trouble. He’ll set up a suitable message back, no doubt involving the only language they seem to listen to, violence. I’ll be there for it. But first things first, Tally.
Where I was being all subtle before, this time I have a fire in my guts that needs an outlet. Flicking on the lights for the boxing ring, I gather up everything we’ll need before making my way to her.
Signaling for her to pull her pods out, I let her see my actions before they happen. My fist hits the stop button, and before she can argue, I’m speaking. “Enough running. In the ring now. You got a few sets of push-ups and sit-ups to do first, then we’re sparring so I can see what I’m working with.”
She goes to argue.
“Firecracker, you don’t get to argue. As that cheek of yours can rightly attest. You need someone to train with, and you got me.”
She drills those pretty eyes at me but gets off the machine, even using the towel I provided. Her scent lingers in the air as I trail after her.
I guess she already knows she needs to work out tonight because she goes to the ring I’ve set up as if we discussed what was going to happen next. I mean, I’m glad we’re on the same page, but it’s still a surprise.
“Watch how I do it, then once you’ve done them properly, we can move on to somethin’ else.”
The way she doesn’t argue speaks volumes of her work ethic. When I step through the exercise I want her to do in slow, concise movements, she mirrors me better than a lot of the other people I train, confirming she’s had proper, real training. Not from a new flashy PT fresh out of those bullshit schools they rope kids into, but from a qualified trainer, one that has spent years honing their skill.
“Ten more.” I squat on the mat close enough to catch any weakness in her form. Aside from a few small ones, that only highlight what a picky prick I can be, she’s got the movement down pat.
Once she’s done, she rolls out her shoulder and stretches her hamstring. I want to rush over there and get her on her side and stretch her properly, but again, that’s me being a pushy prick. And since we’re focusing on discipline, I show her mine.
Invading her space with a pair of gloves and a roll of tape, I flick my head up, letting her know what I want her doing. She holds her hand up, and the action again shows me this process is nothing new. I lace up one glove, taping it on, and when I get the other in my hand, I look up at her.
“What happened?”
