Lance
Present Day
The heavy bag swings with a dull thud, its chain rattling overhead.
I hit it again, harder this time.
My knuckles split open, blood seeping through the tape, but I don’t stop. The only thing keeping my head quiet is the rhythm of my fist meeting the leather.
I reset my stance and shake my shoulders out as I loosely hold my arms up.
When I was young, I was angry. Angry about who I was and never being enough. Angry at a world that had made up its mind about me. Fighting was the only thing that quieted the noise. My nanny Beverly was the first person to put me and my cousin Tyler in Jeet Kune Do.
Something about if we’re going to give each other bruises, might as well do it properly. My parents never came to a single class, of course, but Beverly showed up every time.
She said fighting was like chess. Think three moves ahead, read your opponent, and know when to sacrifice to win the game.
“The queen is the most powerful piece on the board,but she’s also the most patient. She doesn’t announce herself, she waits until the board is set and then she strikes.”
Now, I think she was talking about herself. After all, she integrated seamlessly into our lives only to betray the family, poison my sister, and run off.
Her name’s not even Beverly. It’sCassandra Troy.
And if that doesn’t prove she never really gave a shit about me, then I don’t know what does.
Sometimes, I wonder if she had a hand in sending me down here. But that’s ridiculous. Helping Freddy try to take down the founding families is not the same as forcing me into a broken life entirely.
I’m always trusting the wrong fucking people.
The training room in the Lye is nothing special. Concrete walls, bare bulbs that flicker when the ventilation kicks on. A heavy bag, one I’ve knocked off its chain more than once, a wall of mirrors with cracks running through them. In the middle is a padded ring, one you’d see in a boxing match.
It’s a hell of an upgrade from the early days. Back then, fights rotated through pop-up locations, and sometimes, they still do. Abandoned warehouses, factory basements, anywhere that could be cleared out fast if the Feds got too close. But Myrddin wanted something more permanent, something controlled. A hub. And since my father had already been having Myrddin force people into loan defaults so they could steal Montgomery land, doing the same for the tavern was a no-brainer.
Then Art came along and let Frederick get in his ear about calling in on that loan default, and nabbing the place.
Now, the Round Table pours drinks upstairs while I bleed below.
And it smells like bleach down here.
Fresh bleach, layered over a copper scent that never goes away no matter how much they scrub.
The door to the training room swings open.
Benjamin Voltaire has a particular way of entering a room like he owns it and everyoneinit. I assume that’s from years of him not being enough and having to posture as though he is.
“Lance.”
He says my name like we’re friends, and it rubs across my skin like sandpaper.
I turn, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my taped hand. Benny’s in the doorway, waxy hair combed back, that avuncular smile plastered across his face like he’s here to take me out for ice cream.
Behind him, there’s a kid.
Eighteen,maybe. Lanky, like he hasn’t grown all the way into his limbs, brunette hair that flops over his pale forehead, wide brown eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for the exit.
It reminds me of whenIwas that kid being brought in by Freddy and introduced to the man who taught me how to survive,Graves.
“Busy,” I say, turning back to the bag.
