Ingrid
Iwould probably never get used to the smell of testosterone and men that filled the gym, especially on weekend mornings before fights, but oddly enough it was beginning to feel like home, like somewhere I was finally accepted and protected in.
I set my containers down on the bench and started separating. Cookies first, then the muffins I’d wrapped individually because the guys had mentioned wanting their names on their wrappers after a fight almost broke out over the last batch… I’d become known as the certified baker girl. In exchange for sweets, I now had a new group of friends and bodyguards, much to Tristian’s dismay.
He was currently practicing in the ring, moving with that controlled violence that still made my breath catch. He hadn’t seen me come in yet. I liked these moments where I could see him fully in his element.
“Hey, Cookie,” a voice came from behind. I turned to see Marco approaching, already sweaty from practice. “You got my stash?” he murmured, looking around to see if any of the other guys had noticed he came to me first.
I pulled out his plastic container with his name squiggled in perfect cursive, and he flashed a smile. I handed him his “stash,” and he slipped a bill into my hand before I could protest and walked away.
Looking down at the hundred-dollar bill, I sighed, putting it in my bag along with the other cash they’d forced me to take.At this point I was basically a dealer.Different product, same loyalty system whether I signed up for it or not.
I was reaching for the next container when movement near the locker room caught my eye.
A duffel bag. Overstuffed, zipper straining.Brandonwas hauling it, head down, moving quickly. My heart raced.
Then the door swung open behind him.
Heels on a gym floor and a voice I knew all too well.
Amber.
“Brandon! Where are you going?” The corner they’d ended up in sat just beyond the equipment racks, half tucked behind the lockers. Far enough from the ring that the noise swallowed them. Close enough that I could hear every word. “You can’t just—”
Brandon’s voice cut through her whining, opening his locker as he pulled its contents out. “Watch me.”
“The police came to my apartment this morning.” She grabbed his arm but he shook her off. “They’re asking questions about… that night. About you. Aboutme.You don’t get to just disappear—”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He adjusted the strap on his bag, not even looking at her fully. “I’m skipping town. Tonight.”
“You’re serious.” Her voice cracked. “You’re just going to leave me here to deal with this alone?”
“I told you this shit would catch up to us. You said it would be easy.”
“Yeah, exactly. She’s five foot and afraid of her shadow. You were supposed to scare her,” Amber scoffed. “Not try to rape her, you idiot.”
The air was ripped from my lungs. A cold feeling of dread washed over me as the memory hit me before I could stop it. My body went still.
Brandon’s voice dropped. “You think that makes it sound better?”
“I think if you kept your dick in your pants, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“You know what else came with this situation? Tristian Locke. The man told me if he ever saw my face again he’d put me in the ground.”
“And you believe him?”
He laughed, hollow and humorless. “As a matter of fact, I fucking do, yes.”
Amber let out a mocking scoff. “So then that’s it? You’re really done? I’m on my own?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re pathetic.”
He slammed the locker closed. “Better that than dead,” he responded, and then he walked out without looking back.
Amber stood there for a moment, chest heaving, my composure fracturing. Then she turned.
