Chapter 39
chapter
thirty-nine
Avery named this chat Snitches Get Stitches (no Thorne-y Bitches)
Serena
Avery…
Avery
yeah, baby?
Serena
why did you make us a side chat?
do you have some sort of secret scheme or something?
Avery
me?
never.
Jonah
Ave, I stg if you get Serena hurt, I’ll kick your ass.
Avery
simmer down, old man.
eat some jello or something
Serena
anyone care to fill me in on what’s happening?
Jonah
it’s a surprise, hummingbird ??
Avery
just meet me in the garage in ten, baby
don’t wear anything nice
you and me are gonna get messy
I’m not sure why I’m surprised.
Crossing my arms, I make a face at Avery. “You expect me to believe that Tristan won’t care.”
“No,” he quips, lowering his black aviators over his eyes with a smirk. “Because you’re not stupid.”
My glower intensifies. “But you want me to come with you anyway?”
Sitting in his vintage Mustang, grinning with his sunglasses on, it’s truly unfair how hot he is. A fact that only gets truer when he flashes a crooked grin .
“C’mon,” he taunts. “You know you want to, kitten. Be my bad girl and get in the car.”
I bite my lip, considering. “I’m in workout gear. Do I need to change?”
He eyes my spandex shorts and the artfully torn crop top I have on over a blood-red sports bra. Feral interest gilds the ghostly blue. “If you do, I might cry.”
Well, then.
I glance around, as if the other alphas and their cars might somehow materialize on the spot. When they don’t, I sigh in defeat.
How bad could this be?
“Okay, fine.” He keeps that wild smile on his face the whole time I spend buckling myself in. I shake my head, muttering, “Menace.”
I should know by now—when it comes to Avery, I need to expect the unexpected.
When he told me he wanted to bring me to his gym, I didn’t picture anything quite this grand. His outfit wasn’t exactly a hint—the man wears his tattered, basically-naked workout gear every minute of the day.
Unless he’s actually naked.
No , I scold myself. No perfuming in the gym full of aggressive alphas beating each other up .
Luckily, the underwear Tristan provided comes with a handy scent-absorbing feature. Avery still senses my thoughts shift, cutting me side-eye while we stride into the building. “Whose ass am I kicking first? You’re not supposed to smell like that for anyone but me.”
He has a jealous streak that I probably shouldn’t find so damn sexy. Actual ly, most of Avery’s appeal probably shouldn’t be so damn sexy. Including the fact that I fully believe he would challenge any alpha I pointed to.
And then kill them.
Yeah, this whole not-perfuming thing isn’t going so well.
I start to feel self-conscious, darkening my scent as it winds into the air around the entrance. Avery turns to face me, shifting his gym bag from one shoulder to another before wrapping his arm around my waist and dropping his forehead to mine.
“Hey. Kidding, kitten. Mostly.”
It hits me then—this is the first time I’ve been out with any of them alone. I could embarrass him. Or send another alpha into a rut. Or ? —
“Serena.” Avery’s voice is more serious than I’ve ever heard it. When my gaze skitters up to his, I find that his face matches—the starkly gorgeous features set into solemnity that looks all wrong on him.
Those blue, blue eyes scan my expression. Heat and outrage spark there. And even though I know— I know —he would never hurt me, I still brace, waiting for him to lash out or lunge or?—
“ Listen up, assholes !”
He’s clearly the alpha in this gym because all the others immediately freeze when his bark rends the air. He steps in front of me and nods at a side exit. “Everyone get the fuck out.”
No one moves, but I do hear some derisive snorts.
From my place partially behind him, I barely catch Avery’s rabid smile. “Let me rephrase that: The last one out of here is going to fight me. Right now. No tapouts.”
There’s an odd moment of silence.
And then people move .
I gawk around the inked-up curve of his biceps as a dozen grown men gather their things and haul ass out of the sprawling, impressive gymnasium.
After the side door swings shut for the final time, deafening silence sweeps through the cavernous room. Or, warehouse, really .
The place is a giant rectangle with concrete floors and metal walls three stories high. I spot a traditional-type gym off on one side, a few boxing rings, a corner filled with rows of punching bags, and then, in the center…
The Octagon.
At first, it looks like an enormous cage. Rubber-coated chain-link stretches up from the solid black base, with some sort of padded canvas stretched across the floor.
Avery steps up beside me, bumping my shoulder playfully. “You’re not ready for the Octagon, kitten. As a spectator or a participant.”
I turn to scowl at him. “What do you mean? You didn’t bring me here to watch you fight?”
He laughs. “ Fuck no.”
My tattooed alpha turns to me, his hand coming up to hold my jaw in his soft, demanding way. His eyes scan mine, reading me so easily. “Look, my Alpha may be a total simp for you, but in general, he tends to be a complete psycho. I promise I’ll show you what I mean some day, but I have another idea for us right now.”
Avery and his ideas have gotten me into trouble all over the pack house. But when recalling all of those instances makes my scent a little thicker and sweeter, he only quirks a knowing smirk at me.
Narrowing my eyes, I toss out a cocky hip. “Okay, Menace. Do your worst.”
“Oh, baby,” he whispers, brushing his soft, full mouth over mine. A shiver runs down my back as he steps away, his light eyes darkening. “No one wants to see that.”
With one last teasing glance, he lopes off, waving a hand over his shoulder. “This way.”
My stomach sinks as he hoists himself into one of the smaller, square boxing rings that dot the corners of the cavernous gym. I stand beside the platform, my throat drying while he reaches a hand down to pull me up.
“Avery… ”
He flashes that crooked grin that gets him out of everything. “Trust me?”
It’s a complicated question and he knows it.
Do I trust him with my actual life? Yes.
Do I trust that he won’t have some sort of insanity up his sleeve?
Not in the slightest.
But I set my fingers in his and let him help me climb into the ring.
He pulls me straight into his arms, twirling me right into his chest and giving me a squeeze. “My girl is brave,” he whispers, kissing my brow.
We’ve had more and more moments like this, where I feel like he’s saying one thing, but he’s trying to tell me another.
It reminds me of the night we met. How we connected so fiercely without saying much at all. Just like that, when he leans back far enough to look into my eyes, I see so much more than I ever expected to.
On the surface, he’s still cool blue fire. Pride, passion . Those are two things I always see when our gazes lock.
But there’s more, today. A solid sort of determination I’ve never seen him turn on me—only for me.
It’s there now, though. Cold and steely behind the cornflower flames.
And somehow, I know exactly what he wants me to do. “Avery,” I start, voice shaking. “I—I don’t think I can…”
Fight .
I don’t think I can fight. Because every time I’ve ever tried, I learned it was better not to.
But certainty flexes over his face. “Try.”
The word, his tone, his eyes—it’s a command .
Only, is it? Because there’s something—deep down in the invisible cord between us—that makes me think this is the closest I’ll ever see him come to begging.
I feel light-headed as I nod. He wastes no time, bending to pluck two shiny black boxing gloves from the ground. He tucks one under his arm while he reaches for my hand, sliding the second glove onto it and strapping me in tightly.
The nylon strap chafes my wrist, the padded material weighing my hand down. It instantly sinks to my side while he straps on the second one, pausing to lovingly brush his thumb over my pulse. The second he lets me go, my left hand drops to join my right, dangling uselessly.
Avery drops back, peeling his shirt off and tossing it away. The spotlights angled onto the ring illuminate every dip and hollow on his muscled form, casting shadows under his cut collarbones, the ladder of his abdomen, and his bulging pecs.
Black ink swirls and curves. Skulls, roses, crosses, crowns. My favorite is the monarch butterfly branded right at the top of his sternum; its wings spread under each clavicle.
He must have gotten some new ones because there are two white band-aids plastered on either side of his chest. And Jonah once joked that the only injuries Avery bandages are the ones that come with ink.
Normally, I might ask him, but my throat feels as tight and dry as it did the night they found me. When I open my mouth, I feel like I’ll choke on my tongue.
Avery slinks into a fighting stance that looks every bit as natural on him as standing normally. He holds up his own fists, which now have red gloves on them, demonstrating how to pose.
He tosses me a tilt of his head and another cocky grin. “Put 'em up.”
I try to swallow, but it hurts. Wincing, I shake my head, stepping back.
Avery’s eyes glint dangerously. “Serena.”
He never calls me that. Not unless something is wrong. Fear squeezes my throat as I shake my head harder. The two french braids holding my hair back fly around my shoulders.
He takes a step, closing in. “I’m not just fucking around here, ” he mutters, scowling at me. “I want you to learn this. Put your fists up.”
I flinch, forcing a raspy word out of my sticky gullet. “Why?”
Fervor shines his gaze, filling all of his features. “Because nothing scares me, Serena. Nothing . But every time I take your clothes off and I see those scars, I can’t fucking breathe .”
My whole body trembles as he steps into me, putting us chest-to-middle as he holds my eyes. “Because if anyone ever tries to hurt you again and I’m not there,” he growls, “I need to know you’re going to fight .”
He falls away again, glaring at me as he lifts his hands. “If there’s even a chance I won’t be there to defend you, then I’m going to make sure you know how to defend yourself. Now, put your fists up .”
It’s the only time he’s ever barked at me. Another order—but his gaze doesn’t match it at all.
He really is begging me. He needs this. My safety. His peace of mind.
And I’m starting to suspect that I need him .
So I put up my fists.