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Blowing out a breath, I walk over to the trash can and drag it back to my locker. Once I’ve finished cleaning, I grab my book out and slam the door shut, almost jumping out of my skin when I spot Logan leaning against the lockers next to me.
Fuck! Is this guy some kind of ninja? I didn’t even hear him walk up.
“Hello, Mason.” He glares at me, pushing off the lockers and standing up straight. “Did you think I would let that little incident in the parking lot slide?”
Cocking a brow, I shift my position to face him head-on and fold my arms across my chest. “I never assumed you would.”
“I must admit, you have done well flying under the radar all these years. But that changes as of now. It has also come to my attention that you are working on an assignment with Ava.”
Here we go.
I have heard all about Logan’s ‘Ava is off-limits speech,’and I really couldn’t give a flying fuck. “Indeed we are.”
“Well, I just want to make it clear to you that she is unavailable.”
Widening his stance and folding his arms, he stares me down, and I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back the laugh bubbling up my throat. Does this asshole really think he can intimidate me?
Giving him a wry smile, I shake my head. “Tsk tsk. Now don’t tell me the great Logan Spencer is threatened by a little old nerd like me?”
His eyes widen, appearing taken aback by my response, but he quickly composes himself and mirrors my sardonic smile with one of his own. “I’m not threatened by anyone. I just want you to understand that Ava is mine, and any fucker that even thinks about laying a hand on her will be picking his teeth up off the floor.”
“Ava is yours, huh? Well, due to recent events, I think she would have a different opinion on that.”
“That is something we are still sorting out. She’s a little angry right now, but she will come around.”
I let out a derisive snort. “Word on the street is you fucked up pretty bad, Logan, or should I sayfuckedHadley Miller? Ava is a smart girl who has a lot more self-respect than that whore you have been sticking your dick in. I highly doubt she is going to sort anything out with you.”
His nostrils flare, and he steps forward until we are only a foot apart. “Consider that gift in your locker as a little teaser of what’s to come, fucker,” he snarls. “As of now, not only are you on my radar, but I’m going to make it my top priority to ensure the rest of your high school days are an absolute living hell. But trust me when I tell you this. Hell will seem like paradise if you lay even one finger on her. I will make you wish you were never even born. This is your only warning, freak. You do not want to fuck with me.”
And with those final parting words, he storms off but not before knocking his shoulder with mine on departure. My lips curl into a smirk as I watch him walk away. He has grown so accustomed to everyone shaking in their boots whenever he so much as glances in their direction that I’m guessing this is not how he envisioned this little conversation was going to go.
I’m glad to disappoint him and what he doesn’t realize yet is, He does not want to fuck with me.
* * *
Pulling up outside the gym,I grab my gym bag and climb out of my truck. Seeing as Ava isn’t coming over until later, I decide a training session is exactly what I need to blow off some steam after my talk with Logan.
Fighting has always been a source of therapy for me, an outlet to vent my frustrations. It was the same for my grandfather, who boxed for sport in his youth. We always had a close bond when I was growing up, and it was at his insistence that I learned the art right from the tender age of six. Unfortunately, I didn’t share the same passion for boxing as he did but eventually found my home when I joined Krav Maga five years ago.
After I change into my workout clothes, I head straight into the dojo and spot James—my sparring partner—in the corner of the room.
“Yo!” he hollers when he sees me, and I give him a lift of the chin. A few of the other regulars greet me as I pull on my grappling gloves and I start jogging on the spot to warm up my muscles.
James taps on his phone, and “Control” by Puddle of Mudd blasts from the Bluetooth speakers. “You wanna work on some spin kicks today, Nerd?” he asks, grabbing a tombstone shield from the wall then making his way over to meet me in the center of the mat.
“Nah. I need to punch something.”
“Rough day?” He quirks a brow, holding up the shield for me, and I dive into a round of straight punches.
“Just the usual high school bullshit.” I shrug.
“Need me to fuck anyone up?”
“Don’t you think you have done enough time inside, thug?” I raise my brows at him knowingly, and he offers me a bemused smile.
James is an ex-con, and car theft was his chosen profession. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it and has been in the joint three times at only twenty-five years old. The last stint was because the cops caught him cruising down the interstate in a stolen Mustang. After he got out, he decided he was sick of that shit and walked into the Krav Maga studio a few days later, never looking back.
His past may be shady, but the guy is as loyal as they come. He has an honest career as a tattoo artist now and not only designed my ink but painted it on my skin for my eighteenth birthday.
