Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hunter
It’s an hour before closing when we pull into the parking lot of a corrugated steel building on the outskirts of Ironwood Falls. The parking lot is made of gravel, the building’s a rusted hunk of junk, and the people inside are about as weatherworn. And I wish I had found this place sooner.
Emily gives me another of her patented confused looks. “‘Off the Hook’? What kind of name is this? Where are we?”
“It’s a boxing gym.”
“I’m not in the mood for a workout. Not dressed for one, either.”
“Humor me, Emily,” I say.
“Why?” She says.
“Because after you called me and told me you wanted me to get you at the police station in a few hours, I went looking around, in this rush, with this need to find something like this place. Now that I’ve found it, I want to show you something important,” I say. It doesn’t land as well as I want it to — she blinks, tiredly, and stifles a yawn. Not that I blame her, but this is important to me, especially after finding out the full why about why she was in jail. “They sell alcohol, too.”
She perks up; her fatigue melting away. “What? A gym that sells booze?”
“They keep a fridge in the back office. Sales are cash only.”
“It doesn’t seem like the smartest idea, or legal, but…”
“It probably isn’t legal, but you look like you could use a drink and hit something. This takes care of two birds with one stone.”
Emily hesitates for a moment, then shrugs. "Alright, I'm in. Lead the way."
We walk through the creaky metal door and the smell of sweat and leather hits us immediately. The interior is dimly lit, with a single ring in the center surrounded by various punching bags and weight equipment. A few grizzled men are still working out, their grunts echoing off the walls.
I guide Emily to the back office, where a burly man with a gray mustache sits behind a desk. He nods at me, recognizing me from earlier. "What'll it be?"
"Two beers," I say, pulling out some cash.
As he retrieves the bottles from a small fridge, Emily leans in close. "Hunter, are you sure about this place?"
I hand her a beer. "Trust me."
We make our way to an unoccupied punching bag in the corner. Emily takes a long swig of her beer, then looks at me expectantly.
"Okay," I say, setting my bottle down. "Show me how you'd throw a punch."
She furrows her brow but complies, throwing a weak jab at barely moves the bag. “How was that?”
“Let me show you a few things.”
Moving carefully, I position myself in front of the bag. I set my feet; I raise my hands; I clench my fists, and then, in slow motion I show a punch — how to move, how to twist, how to put every ounce of my body into the punch — and then I unleash a real one that rocks the back and makes the chain holding it to the ceiling squeal in pain.
“See that?”
“I saw you punch slow, and then punch really hard.”
“There’s more than that. Were you watching my feet? The way I twisted my hips? Rotated my torso?”
“If you’re asking whether I was checking out your hips and butt, yes, but probably not in the way you intended.”
I laugh. “Try paying closer attention, but in a different way.”
She takes a drink of her beer, sighs, then shakes her head. “But why are we doing all this?”
“You slapped a cop today.”
Now she raises her hands defensively. “I did. But he was harassing me, and I couldn’t help it. The guy was a total jerk.”
“There are a lot of jerks out there.”
“Yeah, there are.”
“And if you ever get in a situation where some guy is harassing you, and I’m not there, I want you to know how to hit him so that he never even thinks about bothering you again. I don’t like the thought of people bothering you, Emily. It makes me sick. So if you have to hit them, I want you to hit them right. I want them to suffer for even thinking about bothering you.”
Emily's eyes widen, and for a moment, she's silent. Then she sets her beer down and steps closer to me, her gaze intense. "Hunter... I didn't realize you felt that way."
I swallow hard. "I just want you to be safe.”
"Okay," she says. "Show me again."
I nod, relieved, and move back to the punching bag. This time, I break down each step of the punch, explaining the mechanics as I go. Emily watches intently, her eyes following my movements.
"Now you try," I say, stepping back.
She takes a deep breath and positions herself in front of the bag. Her first attempt is still hesitant, but I can see she's trying to mimic my form.
"Better," I say. "But remember to pivot your back foot. That's where a lot of your power comes from."
Emily nods, determination creasing her brow. She throws another punch, this time with more force. The bag swings somewhat.
"Good! Now, imagine that bag is the face of every asshole who's ever given you trouble."
Something flashes in her eyes — a spark of anger, of frustration. Her next punch lands with a satisfying smack that shakes the bag. Whoever took that one would end up with a black eye they’d never forget.
Emily grins, a mix of surprise and satisfaction on her face. "Wow, that felt... great."
"Keep going," I encourage her. "Let it all out."
She nods, her jaw set with determination. She throws punches in rapid succession, each one harder than the last. The bag swings wildly, chains rattling above us. The few remaining patrons in the gym glance our way, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
I grin with pride. It’s a wonder watching her work, unleashing whatever demons have been bothering her; the fire in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the graceful movement of her body.
"That's it," I say, my voice low and intense. "Channel everything you're feeling. Every frustration, every moment of helplessness. Put it all into your fists."
Emily's breathing becomes heavy, her face flushed with exertion. But she doesn't stop. Right, left, right — she's a quick study, incorporating the techniques I showed her with surprising speed.
"Think about that cop," I say. "Think about every creep who's ever catcalled you on the street. Every boss who's talked down to you. Every ex who treated you like crap."
With each suggestion, her punches grow fiercer. Sweat beads on her forehead, and a small grunt escapes her lips as, on the last suggestion, she uncorks a punch that’s so ferocious it leaves her stumbling with the effort. Her hair is loose, wild, clinging to her sweat-damp forehead. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with exertion and something else — maybe catharsis, maybe rage.
As she stumbles, I catch her.
“Easy, I got you,” I say, holding her upright. Even after she’s caught herself, I keep hold of her. Sweat damp, chest heaving, cheeks red, she’s never been more beautiful. “That was some punch.”
“I needed it… Sorry if I got carried away.”
I shake my head, still holding her. "Don't apologize. That was incredible. You're a natural."
Emily's breathing slows, but I can still feel her heart racing. "Really? You think so?"
"Absolutely. The way you picked it up so quickly, how you channeled all that energy... I'm impressed. And proud."
She smiles, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction on her face. There’s warm pride in her voice, and a sense of power that makes her eyes light up. "It felt good. Really good."
"That's the idea," I say, finally letting go of her. "I enjoy knowing you can handle yourself if you need to."
Emily stretches, arching her back slightly. Her shirt clings to her, damp with sweat. "Maybe next time I'll use my fists instead of an open hand."
I can't help but let my eyes wander over her. "Hopefully there won't be a next time. But if there is..." I trail off, distracted by a bead of sweat trailing down her neck.
She catches me staring and grins. "See something you like, Hunter?"
"You have no idea," I say, my voice low.
Emily's lips curve into a seductive smile. She runs a hand through her damp hair, pushing it back from her face. "Oh really? What’s it make you want to do?"
I step closer, closing the distance between us. "It makes me want to get you even sweatier."
She bites her lip, a gesture that sends heat coursing through me. "Well, in that case," she says, trailing a finger down my chest, "maybe we should grab another beer and hit the showers. But not here."
"What did you have in mind?"
Emily leans in close, her lips brushing my ear. "Your place. I think I need some... private instruction."
I groan softly, my hands instinctively moving to her hips. "I'd be happy to teach you a few more moves."
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her gaze smoldering.
"I bet you would. And I think you’ll find that I'm an eager student."