RIVER
I pummel the punching bag with a series of jabs, taking out my frustration with each and every punch. I wish I was on the mat with someone else instead of facing an inanimate object, but it’s too early in the afternoon for any of the fights I’ve been going to.
I’ve been dominating most of them, though I took a beating the other night that had left me tired and aching.
It doesn’t stop me from wantingmore.
By the time I’ve finally worn myself out, sweat is dripping down my face and my breath is coming quickly. I’ve managed to stop thinking about Pandora for a few minutes, at least, but the second I stop attacking the punching bag, my mind snaps right back to her.
I don’t think she’s doing half as well as she’s pretending to be.
I shouldn’t care.
She’d humiliated me.
She’d set me up for a confrontation with my father, one I can’t avoid forever because he’s paying my fucking tuition.
Without his help, I have nothing.
Pandora had made sure of that, too.
I should be just as hellbent on revenge against her as she is on paying me back for what had happened in the gym.
I’m not, and I don’t know why.
Instead, I’m worried. She’d been every bit as fierce and wild and beautiful as ever last night, but there had been a frenetic energy that I didn’t like, too.
Even though Asch and I had decided to give her space after her abrupt departure from the club, I’m not sure that was a good idea. Ezio is being too persistent, and we’re going to need to deal with that sooner rather than later.
As much as I hate to admit it, we might need to get someone else involved — someone higher up in the Pavone family.
Fuck.
Maybe one of them can talk sense into Pandora. If anyone can manage it, it’s one of her parents. As little as I want to see any of the men responsible for chopping my finger off, it feels like talking to them is the best course of action.
She’d never forgive me.
I’m mulling that possibility over anyway when I hear someone approaching. I instinctively drop into a defensive stance, only to realize I’m being ridiculous when I recognize Fenrir standing there. I relax. “Why are you trying to sneak up on me?” I ask.
Fenrir’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not? I was going to ask if you want to spar, but…” He gives me a pointed once over. “It looks like somebody beat me to it. And forgot to hold back.”
“What’s the fun in holding back?” I retort.
Fenrir taps his gloved fist against his thigh. He’s already sweating from whatever warm-up he’d been doing, but he’s nowhere near as tired out as I am.
“I’d agree, except we’ve got a match this weekend,” Fenrir says. “Are you even going to be able to step into the ring?”
I scoff at him. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
But he’s not entirely wrong. It’s not that I don’t think I can fight in the matches this upcoming weekend, but I might need to be more careful for the next day or two to heal.
The idea of it makes something itch inside of me.
Fenrir shifts, and it makes the wolf on his throat appear to ready its maw for a vicious bite. “How often have you been going to the fights?” he asks in a low voice. “Gabby said she saw you there three times this week.”
I clench my jaw. “Yeah, well, she needs to learn to keep her mouth shut,” I mutter. “Yeah, I’ve been a few times. So what?”
Maybe if I was getting my ass handed to me on a regular basis, it might be a big deal, but I’ve been holding my own even against the opponents who use dirty tricks to try to get ahead.
