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The thought rises from my stomach to my heart, then surges up my throat like a wave of acidic bile. I rip the bindings off my knuckles before attacking the bag again, needing to feel the full weight of what I deserve.
Because Grace is right. She’s always been right. I punish myself. I punish myself by punishing her. Giving in to her. And when I give in to her, the guilt consumes me, and I have to punish myself again and again and again.
Thwap.
Thwap.
Thwap.
The raw leather against my bare knuckles burns with each punch, but I don’t stop when the pain tears through me. I’m not going to leave this room until my thoughts are clear of Grace and my head is on straight. I’m not going to leave this room until she’s absolutely fucking exorcised from my system.
Thwap.
Ever since that night, everything has been wrong. It’s a crazy feeling in my lungs, my body, my bones. It eats me alive and consumes me whole, twists my mind and doesn’t let me go. I can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds before I’m brought back to those moments.
Brought back to her.
I was fucked up when she came into my office that night. We’d lost a man when a deal went south, and I was drunk and pissed off. My walls were down. And when I saw Grace, when I touched her soft skin and inhaled her addictive scent, every scrap of self-control I prided myself on vanished.
I fucked her on my desk.
It wasn’t gentle, and it definitely wasn’t sweet.
But she met me stroke for stroke, her body wrapping around mine and her sweet pussy clenching around me like we were made for each other. Like the universe had conspired to bring us to that moment. To bring us together.
I’ve never felt the way I did in those few seconds of being totally connected to her before I fucked up and shoved her away. In that moment, Brian didn’t exist. The syndicate didn’t exist. It was just me and Grace, and it was fucking perfect. Even in my drunken state, I could feel the seismic shift inside myself. I felt… whole.
Complete.
Grace has wrecked me.
Absolutely fucking wrecked me.
“I’m fucked up,” I grunt under my breath. “Goddammit. I fucked up.”
Thwap.
My knuckles split open, raw from punching.
Thwap.
I shoved her away because I can’t have her, because I’ll never be good enough for her. She’ll always hate me for what I did to her, and she has the right to hate me. It’s probably better that she hates me.
Then why do I still want a chance? Why do I want her to love me instead?
I should let her go. Knowing that there’s nothing for me with her, I should be able to just let her fade away. Ignore her.
But I can’t.
Thwap.
I give the punching bag one final hit before I pull back, leaving it swinging back and forth in the middle of the room. Wiping my brow with my forearm, I suck in a few deep breaths. Then I reach for a cold water bottle and pour it over my head, the liquid instantly warming against my hot skin.
Despite the intensity of my workout, my mind hasn’t slowed down. Grace isn’t the only thing fucking up my head these days. I’ve been on-edge ever since we found out we have a traitor in the Novak Syndicate.
Someone on the inside working against us.
Motherfucker.
