Page 6

The small script reads, “For Lydia Aston. North Hollow Storage Co., Unit 8C. You will find the key taped to the back of your drawer.”

I flip it over, noting the script on the back as well. As I take in the words, the hair on the back of my neck rises and my pulse quickens. I don’t scare easily, but right now I’m absolutely terrified. I squeeze my eyes shut, sure that none of this is real. This cannot be real. I pop my eyes back open, reading the note one more time to make sure that I’m not hallucinating.

“You don’t remember, but we do. Come alone. Come curious. Come ready. The sound will not sleep. - S.”

3

Callum

Lydia Aston is a pain in my ass.

That woman is going to put me in an early grave. In fact, I might dig the hole myself. The more that I push, the closer she seems to get. I should have left well enough alone. I shouldn’t have asked her on a single date. I shouldn’t have even called it a date. Why did I call it a date? Fuck. Can she not take a hint? I don’t want her.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself for the hundredth time since she walked out of my door. Sure, I could have taken her home myself, but that would have been an astronomical mistake. I need her gone. Erased. Absent from my goddamn mind. And for some fucked-up reason, the universe seems to want to make that task as hard as humanly possible. Her scent still lingers in the air like a bad omen, the citrus burning my nostrils. I drag a hand over my face, holding it there as I tally the reasons why allowing her into my space was a horrible fucking idea.

Lydia Aston is entirely too chatty.

Lydia Aston is bubbly to the point of nausea.

Lydia Aston is chaos, where I am control.

Lydia Aston is …

Surely, there’s more that I can’t think of right now. I huff out a sigh. It doesn’t matter anyway. The point is, Lydia Aston is not right for me in any universe. Anyone with a brain can see that. I don’t care how much people claim that opposites attract. The fact is only true for magnetism, not for fucking people. Lydia and I most certainly do not attract. I can’t wait to give Riven and Sloane an earful over this little matchmaker fantasy of theirs. I should not have listened to Sloane when she told me to take Lydia to Moonvale. I should not have listened when she said that it would be “fun.” I know that my best friend is finally happy with the woman of his dreams, but those two love-sick fools can ride off into the sunset and take Lydia Aston right along with them, for all I care.

I don’t care.

I mumble those three words again to myself as I make my way to my bedroom to change. Like I told little Miss Rainbows and Glitter, I have shit to do today. If I wanted a puppy dog to follow after me while I did those things, I’d get myself a fucking puppy dog. I’ve never been much for animals anyway. Animals depend on you, just like people. Lydia Aston is the damn equivalent of a yappy little Chihuahua. She’d probably bite my ankles, too.

I shiver at the thought, tugging a gray T-shirt from my drawer and tossing it over my black sweats. It’s July, which means it’s more than warm out today, and I plan on taking my bike. I run my hands through my hair and pull it up into a bun, needing the strands to be out of the way. For one, boxing always leaves me drenched. And secondly, dealing with Dorian might get a little messy. I sure hope that it does. I really enjoy messy, and I need to release this pent-up energy buzzing inside my veins.

I head out my back door and over to my garage, where my Harley Bobber Softail sits waiting. Swinging on, I kick up the stand and grab the matte-black helmet from the handlebars. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I thumb through my playlist, choose the perfect song to match my mood, and send a quick text. I start the engine and back out, taking off down the highway while “Holy Roller” by Spiritbox blasts through the helmet speaker. It turns out that much of the time, all it takes is a good song to numb your emotions back into nonexistence where they fucking belong.

The warmth of the wind drives me on, stoking the fire burning beneath my veins. Riding always helps me clear my head a bit, transforming the roaring blaze to a burning ember. I speed through the winding back roads until the world around me morphs into greens and grays in my periphery.

☽ ✦ ☽

As I pull up to my gym, the pristine blackened steel and dark brick building coil around the beast within me in recognition. I park my bike, placing the helmet on the handlebars before making my way toward the entrance. Above me, the words ‘Thorne & Steel’ glint in the midday sun, the metallic lettering flashing against the dark brick.

The moment I step inside, the scents of leather and sweat hit my senses, igniting a rush of adrenaline that calms me more than it should. Concrete echoes beneath my combat boots as I cross the lobby, giving my receptionist, Celeste, a nod on my way to the corridor leading to my office.

Yep, you heard all of that right. I own a fucking boxing gym.

I inherited Thorne & Steel nearly fifteen years ago, after a singular moment in time shaped me into nothing but a beast in search of vengeance. Of course, the vengeance is directed at myself, because I’m the one responsible for the worst moment of my entire life.

This place previously belonged to my father, but after what happened—what I took from him —he couldn’t keep it up anymore. Since then, I’ve made this gym a sanctuary, a place where I come to get the living shit beat out of me so that I might feel a semblance of the pain my parents felt that day.

This gym is where chaos meets discipline, where people enter controlled and leave forged. These days, I mostly watch and oversee. But today, I need to fight. I need to feel something other than this nagging sensation at the nape of my neck. I need to erase the mere thought of Lydia Aston from my fucking brain. I need to bathe her scent in blood and then wash it down the goddamn drain.

I head over to the locker room to change into a pair of gym shorts, strip my shirt, wrap my hands, and grab a pair of boxing gloves on my way out toward the rings. When I pass Celeste, she does a double take. It’s been a long time since I took part in a fight here, and I know I’ll draw a myriad of unwanted attention by doing so. But none of that matters, not today.

“Pierce, get over here,” I call out as I step into the boxing ring.

I bounce up and down on my toes, rolling my neck as I do. Samuel Pierce is one of my most loyal customers here. He boxes remarkably well, despite how much of a fucking pretty boy he is. He’s a bit younger than me, and it shows through his obsession with social media and his constant need for attention. I’m pretty sure he runs in the same circles as Raithe, though I try not to pay much attention to who and what Raithe Reilly does in his spare time. The rumors have been suggestive, to say the least, but I don’t give a fuck about rumors.

“Hey, boss. What’s up?” Pierce calls back as he steps up to the ring and stares at me. Once my appearance registers, he narrows his eyes in confusion.

“Wait, are you fighting today?” he asks, eyes alight with the prospect of watching me unleash hell in the ring. Little does he know, he won’t be watching.