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CHAPTER 1
Bree
Iwanted to punch a baby. I mean, not literally, because that was just cruel and unusual and, frankly, psychotic. But my little sister knew exactly how to take me from feeling like a serene, undisturbed lake to a raging hurricane hellbent on utter destruction in two seconds flat.
It was a gift, really.
“What do you mean you’ll lose your scholarship if I don’t help you?” I ground out into my wireless earbuds. Beads of sweat trickled down my back, a lovely reminder of the task I needed to complete.
Marissa always had the best timing.
Why had I agreed to get a cell phone again?
I tightened my grip on the mop’s handle. Oh right, because I had a sister determined to send me to an early grave.
“Wait, what took you so long to answer?” Her voice was hoarse, which didn’t bode well for where this conversation was headed. “Toilets clogged again?”
“No, Benson wasn’t here last night, thank the tides.” I shuddered, fighting to keep those stomach-churning memories from rising. I’d almost quit that day.
Some people might think the worst part of my job was cleaning up blood, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. You see, the blood that was spilled and flung across the fighting ring and surrounding crowd wasn’t due to disrespect or not giving a hoot. Quite the opposite.
The fighters gave life and honor to the ring by spilling their blood.
So what was the worst part?
Cleaning the bathrooms after a fight night.
Good gods, men had zero aim after getting hit in the head or squinting between blackened and swollen eyelids. To be fair, most had poor aim no matter the circumstance, but everything was worse if they got punched in their gut or had anxiety shits. Way worse.
Women weren’t much better either.
Nausea churned in my stomach again. I needed to stop thinking about the toilets. “Quit stalling, Riss. What do you mean about losing your scholarship?”
Her sigh was barely perceptible through the earbuds, but I knew that dramatic flair well. “I have an appointment I’m not going to make.”
I loosened my grip on the mop. Dramatic, as usual. People didn’t lose scholarships over a missed massage appointment. “So, call the client and reschedule like a responsible adult.”
The gym’s front door lock clicked and the door opened, allowing the bright morning light to stream in. One all-too-familiar, scuffed-up combat boot snuck in before the door could close again.
Frankie propped the door open with her hip and wiggled her way through, carrying a stack of boxes. On top of the stack, two steaming styrofoam coffee cups perched precariously.
How she managed to not drop anything was a mystery.
Francine Delgado—Frankie to almost everyone but the cops—was my boss and the owner of this gym. It wasn’t your typical gym, though, not the kind with those expensive machines and fancy yoga studios.
No, Subliminal was a boxing gym and home to a fight club for people like us—supernaturally Gifted.
It was also just plain home to Marissa and me.
The door swung shut behind Frankie, and the lock reengaged, dimming the gym again. Black paint covered all the windows and the front door for two primary purposes: keeping prying non-magical eyes from seeing what they shouldn’t if the fae glamour disguising the building failed, and keeping the place from getting too hot during humid D.C. summers.
Keeping a place like this cool enough was expensive, no matter the time of year. We cut costs where we could, and thankfully, I was well-adjusted to the constant reek of body odor, among other nefarious scents.
“I can’t just reschedule this appointment, Bree,” Marissa said, so aghast you’d think I’d asked her to chop someone’s head off. “They said this client is super important. A VIP.”
“Coffee?” Frankie’s voice was filled with gravel from years of smoking as she strode around the boxing ring toward me.
The ring took up a good chunk of the gym’s center, while weight benches, weights, punching bags, climbing ropes, and other random equipment were scattered around any remaining open space in small clusters. At first glance, it probably looked like a mishmash of random placements, but our regulars preferred it that way.
