“Fine. Then let’sactuallyfight. You look like you need to get out some aggression. And I need to finish my workout. No knives,” he says, eyes raking over me as if he’s checking for weapons.
“I’m not gonna fight you. Are you crazy? You’re twice my size.”
“You’re the one who’s always threatening to kick my ass. Lose the heels.” He tips his chin to my feet. “And I’m serious about the knives, woman. Drop your blades on the bench.” His bare feet slap against the matted floor as he wanders to a big, black punching bag. “Let’s see that punch, Gracie.”
With a grunt, I pull a switchblade from the slip pocket of my black leggings. I drop it on the wooden bench next to his gym bag, then I shrug off my leather jacket and kick off my boots.
Decker is already holding the bag when I join him on the mat.
“Keep your wrists straight,” he says. “And make sure you’re not tucking your thumb. Otherwise you might break?—”
I slam my fist into the leather, right next to his face. He doesn’t flinch, and the bag barely moves, but the impact of my swing carves up my arm and into my shoulder. “I know how to hit.”
He tightens his grip on the bag. “Power comes from the ground up. Find your balance and use your legs to push into your punch. It’ll hurt less. And keep that core tight.”
I drop my fists and groan. “Why are we doing this, Linc?”
“Because you’re mad. This will help you sort your head out. Come on. Again.”
Gritting my teeth, I root my feet to the ground, steadying my stance and pulling in the muscles of my stomach as Decker directed. I ball my fist and then swing.
“Again,” he says.
Another hit. And then another.
“Is Jack… is he hurt?” I ask.
“He’ll live. Couple bruises. Cracked rib maybe.”
“Courtesy of the sergeant?”
“No,” he says, holding my stare. “That was all me.” This time when I swing, the bag jostles back, and his eyebrows jump up. “Jack did what he did. I’m not the enemy here. Not this time.”
“Kind of feels like you are.”
“Maybe instead of being pissed at me, you should considerwhyhe forced my hand.”
I narrow my eyes. I’ve tried. But there was no real reason. No obvious slight from the cop sitting a few tables over. Jack simply kissed Triss and then walked up to his brother and laid him out.
“Hewantedyou to arrest him,” I say.
With a tight smile, he nods at the bag. “Again.”
I launch into a flurry of punches, knuckles to leather. The bag sways with every hit. My breath becomes uneven, my pulse picking up, but the anger heating my blood, gripping at my chest, only builds.
“Why the hell would he do that? Why…”
Club business.That’s why.
All the shit I don’t get to know about, because I’m not one of them. I’m not family.
“Axe did this,” I say tightly.
His only response is a shrug. “The club’s under a lot of pressure. OPP’s been making Axe’s life difficult. I give the sergeant an arrest, a big one, and maybe he trusts me enough to lay out his plans before executing them. And then?—”
“And then you warn Axe.”
“Exactly.”
