My fists slam into the punching bag, each hit harder than the one before.
One. Two. One. Two.
My right AirPod gets knocked out of my ear by the force of my punches, but I don’t pick it up. Just like I don’t bother to wipe the sweat out of my eyes, or even notice my sore hands from hitting for so long.
Working out has always eased the tension in my chest. In my world of chaos, corruption, and death, exercising became something I could be proud of that hadn’t already been expected of me from a young age. Yeah, we’ve gone through training with the Crown, which comprises super-intense workouts, but it is not the same as hitting up the gym for a little cardio or muscle-building. Going to the gym is something I choose to do for myself.
I used to do some sort of workout every day, but it’s been ages since I last went. Everything I used to enjoy doing felt like a chore, and I couldn’t be bothered.
However, today I had an urge to ask Shawn to hit the gym with me. Shawn couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but once I convinced him I wasn’t fucking around, he joined me. It’slike something sparked inside of me, and I got a quick burst of motivation to go out and live again. Maybe because I’ve been out a lot lately this past month with Rip and Thomas?
Yeah, that must be it.
I’m laying into the punching bag, almost to the point of breaking it, when a sudden dizziness washes over me. I catch myself on the bag, holding on tight with a grunt.
Shawn, shirtless and sweaty, stops punching and faces me. “King, you good?”
It takes a second of focusing on him before my vision steadies. “Yeah. Just got lightheaded.”
He studies me as his fingers thread through his damp hair. “It’s because you’re going so hard on that bag. These community punching bags aren’t like the ones in the base. They’re for the regular people, so they’re weaker.”
The base is where all the action happens. It’s where we all get together for meetings, but not like the stuffy business dinners my parents do at home. Those are for deals and negotiations with investors and other business bullshit I’ve got to learn. The base has the more illegal shit.
It’s hidden inside an “abandoned” warehouse ten minutes from here. The Crown uses it to train, plan, and it’s also where we keep cargo and shipments. There’s also a fight club that happens every weekend on the first floor, which is everyone’s favorite part about it.
Everyone’s second-favorite part about the base is the stellar gym. Sleek machines line the wall, all top-tier equipment that most gyms can’t afford, let alone get their hands on, and it’s all just for us.
Shawn wraps an arm around me and leads me to the bench. I grab my water bottle and chug it.
“I still don’t see why you didn’t want to go there,” Shawn says as he brings his water to his lips. “You’d rather use this cheapequipment the resort gives to the guests than our own private stuff?”
This shitty equipment is rough, but it beats having my comrades stare when they spot me at the gym for the first time in a year. I don’t even want to think about dealing with all their questions and unsolicited comments I’ve managed to avoid. The resort gym may be trash, but at least it’s empty.
“I want to get back into the groove of it before I gotta hear the guys run their mouths.”
“Fair.” Shawn sets the empty jug down between his legs and leans against the wall. “I’m glad you’re back at it. When you make a reappearance in Fight Club, everyone’s gonna lose their shit. It’s what we need to scare the bastards back into place.”
It’s been a while since I hit up Fight Club, back when I was a teenager. Not ancient history, but long enough that showing up now will be a big shock. Since I’m trying to get back in the gym, I figure why not speed up my reacclimation by fighting a few rounds in the ring?
Well,Ididn’t figure that. Shawn insisted, and I gave in.
“We can call it ‘Kingsley Reborn,’” he suggests, flashing his hands as if to announce it.
I chuckle through my nose. “Instead of focusing on me coming back, we need to focus on finding Ryland.”
With Ryland missing and a mole running around, it looks like shit is about to go down.”
Thinking about Ryland’s disappearance last night makes my stomach twist. My dad thinks he’s fled, but not only is Ryland a loyal guard, he’s also one of my closest friends, so I know he wouldn’t try to weasel his way out of the Crowncrest. It would be stupid of him—he knows the only way to be out is to be dead. That means someone took him, probably the same bastards tipping off the cops, so finding the mole is even more urgent.
And it all falls on me. Maybe we wouldn’t have a snake if my dad hadn’t been so careless and dumped responsibilities on everyone else because he’s been feeling superior for the past few years. Everything we’ve worked to build means nothing in the end if it crumbles from the inside out.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?” I ask. Shawn was patrolling the perimeter around the time we think Ryland was taken.
He shakes his head. “When I switched shifts with Banks, everything was quiet.”
“Fuck.” I drop my head into my hands. “Maybe if I didn’t have to do the pointless side quest with the Wright boys, we’d be closer to finding who it is.”
I’m griping, but in reality, I don’t mind how much time I’ve been spending with Rip and Thomas as much as I try to convince myself. Our interactions are usually strictly business, and I loathe drawn-out business transactions, but with them, I don’t feel the impending doom I do when shadowing my father at meetings.
