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I shake my head, laughing as I make my way over to the weights.
“Well well well,” I hear, and stop in my tracks. Fucking DeLuca. I quickly face him, but he’s already sitting next to Madison, whose face has paled completely. She sits up straight, her shoulders rigid.
“Maybe it’s time I watch you in action,” DeLuca says, setting his ankle on his opposite knee. He leans back in his chair, throwing an arm behind Madison. Slowly, I stalk over to them and ignore DeLuca. “You good?” I ask Madison.
She nods quickly. “Yeah. You go ahead. I’ll...” She lifts the iPad. “I’ll just...yeah...”
“Let’s spar!” Gunner yells.
I back away, my gaze flicking between the two of them. DeLuca doesn’t budge. He doesn’t show a single emotion.
I hate it.
I hate him.
Finally, I turn to Gunner. “We sparred this morning. I thought we were doing strength and conditioning?”
“Is this your gym?” he spits. “I didn’t think so.”
“Whatever you say, man.” I head back over to Maddy where my gear is.
“No gloves. No gear!” he yells.
I rest my hands on my hips and shake my head, but then I think, fuck him. I strip off my shirt and throw it at Madison.
When I get in the cage, Gunner’s eyes skim over my ribs, pretending to ignore the remnants of the damage he’d helped create the week before.
I try to concentrate because I want DeLuca to see that I’m not just some chump in the cage. I want him to know that I’m learning—and that I’m good—so that if he ever feels the need to attack me again, I’ll be more than fucking happy to fight back.
After an hour of sparring, and Gunner ‘talking’ me through things, he says he wants to show me one more move before taking a break. I’m beat, but my conditioning is good. I train hard every day, pushing myself to my absolute limit. Gunner—he’s fucked. He can barely speak, from both his lack of oxygen and the sweat covering his entire face.
He glances over at DeLuca for a second, but it’s long enough for me to follow his gaze—and long enough for me to see DeLuca jerk his head once. He gets up from beside Madison, taps her once on the shoulder and leaves the building.
“Focus,” Gunner clips. “You need to work on your sprawl. Your balance is off.”
My attention now on him, I nod in agreement. Sprawling isn’t my greatest skill.
“I’m going to go for a single leg take-down,” he says.
“Okay.” I set my feet apart, plant them to the floor and bend my knees, giving myself maximum defensive resistance. The plan is that he’ll move forward—try to take me down by grabbing one of my legs. If it works out for him, I’ll be on the ground. If it works for me—I’ll be able to scoot my legs back quick enough that I’d land on his upper back and gain an advantage.
But he doesn’t go for the takedown.
He goes straight for my ribs...
With his goddamn shoulder.
I fly back, all air leaving my lungs.
Flashes of white hit the back of my eyes, and somewhere in the distance, I hear Madison scream. I wince, rolling to my left and nursing my right ribcage.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, you asshole!” Madison yells. I hear the cage door open and slam shut and the next moment...tits...all up in my vision.
Maybe I’m dreaming.
“Ky! Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to move, but the pain’s too overwhelming.
She’s on her knees, her hand stroking my forehead. Then suddenly, rage fills her eyes and her face turns red. She looks up. “You did that on purpose. You dick!”
Gunner stutters some form of apology.
Madison looks back at me. “Can you sit up?”
I shake my head. I can, but I like my view just fine.
She runs her hands through my hair and lifts my head off the mat, holding me to her. I smile against her chest. “Are you hurt?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I moan, ignoring the pain in my ribs and basking in the glory of my face in her tits. “It hurts so damn bad.”
She pulls away, her eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking with me?”
I laugh, which reminds me of the true physical pain I’m in. “No,” I lie. I reach out and grab her arm, trying to bring her back to me. “Come back and comfort me, that made me feel a whole lot better.”
She glares at me, but then helps me stand and turns to Gunner. “You’re an asshole, Gunther.”
My laugh’s cut short by my wince.
“Gunner,” he says.
My ribs aren’t broken, but they’re pretty damn close. She helps me with my shirt and walks me out of the gym.
“What the hell’s his problem?” she says, stopping in front of the dollar store. “I bet he has a tiny dick.”
I laugh, and then almost cry out in my pain. “Fuck. Don’t make me laugh.”
“And you!” She pokes a finger into my shoulder. “I was so worried you broke something and you—”
I raise my hand, cutting her off. “I’m not going to apologize for being a guy. Don’t expect it.”
She rears back and gives me that same disgusted look all girls give to idiot jack holes. “I’ll be back,” she says, walking into the store.
I lean against the wall and quit faking it for a moment.
I hurt.
Bad.
And I need time to recover.
