Break Me

“And if I ask you not to? If I tell you I need to be the one to do it?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But, Lo, we’re together on this and every other fucking thing we do except work. Feel me?”

“Then the same holds true for you.” I look up at him. “If you’re gonna take the day off that I have off and run to the gym—”

He laughs with his whole body, and it is the most beautiful sound my ears have ever heard. “You jealous of the gym, angel?”

“Maybe I am,” I say, pretending to be annoyed.

“Good, you can start going with me.”

“Yeah?” I ask, trying not to smile.

“Hell yes.” He smiles back.

Chapter Twenty - Two

Taking Lo to the gym is one of the worst ideas I have ever had. My focus is shit. I watch her on the elliptical or the treadmill, and my dick twitches. I watch her hit the bag, and I want to bury myself in her from behind. I watch her jump rope, her tits bouncing up and down, and all I picture is her riding my cock. I need them in my hands.

I see her look up at me as I am staring while I spar with Brock. The fucker jabs me with a left, knocking me down, and I’m pissed.

“You need to focus, fool. Either that or you aren’t going to be ready for the fight in ten days.” He barks out a laugh as I get up off my ass and swiftly uppercut him.

He falls back into the ropes, and I laugh.

“You don’t have to worry about me in a fight.”

He shakes it off and pushes off the ropes. Then I am all focus and fury.

My fight-or-flight response has been in training for years. It took a long time to get used to immediately striking back, but it’s like second nature now. I taught my father that lesson when I turned sixteen, and then I walked out the fucking door.

I lived and breathed the gym after that, and I cut off all ties with the bastard. But then he came to collect me, using my mother as an excuse to lure me back. She was sick, he lied. I bought it hook, line, and sinker.

Sick my ass. She was no different than before; only now my polished ass knew what a pill popper, alcoholic, drug addict looked like when they weren’t bathed, pampered, and clothed in designer duds. One week on the street was all it took to open my eyes to her issues. Worthless excuse for a mother.

After I left her room, I walked down the stairs, and there stood my father, Waters, and a couple other businessmen. The two I didn’t know held my arms back while Waters sat down, drinking scotch, and watched as my father proceeded to beat the shit out of me for taking off.

I learned a lesson that day. My father isn’t the only piece of shit out there. The world is full of them. In order to beat them, you have to become them, and I did.

“Ease the fuck up, man!” Brock’s voice booms, snapping me back to the moment.

“Shit.” I step back, seeing blood running from his nose. “My bad.”

He rolls his eyes. “I should have known better. Break.”

I nod then look away. She’s watching me. She saw me lose control. Fuck!

She sighs and walks toward me. The girl should be running the other way, yet she’s walking toward me.

I hop out of the ring, and she hands me a towel.

“You okay?”

I shake my head, but say, “Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?” she asks softly.

I can’t answer.

She takes my hand. “I understand it’s hard to talk about everything, but remember our promise?”

“Of course I do.” I sit down on the bench and bring her down on my lap. “He’s been calling, leaving messages, pissing me off. Then Brock sucker punched me.”

“Stupid man,” she whispers, taking the towel and rubbing it over my sweat-drenched head.

“Brock is a good guy, angel. I lost control. It should scare the hell out of you.” I close my eyes.

“I’d never hit you,” she whispers, and I open my eyes. She smirks and leans in. “I may be a bit crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

I stand up and set her feet on the floor. Then I take her hand and walk quickly into the locker room, locking the door behind me.

“What are you doing?”

“I need inside,” I answer, turning her around so she faces me, then walking her back toward the row of lockers.

“There are people,” she whispers as her back hits the dark wooden doors.

“There is you”—I hook the waistband of her shorts with my thumbs and pull them down—“and me.”

I drop to my knees, and she looks down. “You can’t.”

“I thought you weren’t a stupid girl,” I reply, licking my lips.