Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
A comfortable silence fills the vehicle as we head to the gym. It’s the last chance to relax before I spend the morning testing every limit I have.
Tyler’s hand locates my thigh over the center console, like he’s asserting I’m his. Absent-mindedly, his thumb strokes it once and adds the faintest pressure.
My lips curve into a tiny smile and I don’t say anything.
By the time we cruise into the lot, the gym already has the lights on, and the bass buzzes through the walls.
Our trainer Leonardo blocks off the morning so that it’s just us.
Leo trained us how to fight long before he taught us how to shoot.
The first year was bruises, blood, and learning how to survive with nothing but our hands.
After that came everything else. Tactical drills.
Weapons training. Surveillance detection.
How to clear a room. How to identify exits.
How to navigate through volatile situations without losing composure.
Before opening the gym, Leo had spent years in special operations, and it showed in everything he embedded into us.
He didn’t waste time on flashy techniques or things that only worked in controlled environments.
Every lesson was practical, efficient, and designed for situations where mistakes got people killed.
He knows exactly what Tyler and I do. He knows we’ve spent the last two years hunting traffickers who thought they could prey on vulnerable people and live among us in disguise without consequences.
Most people would have walked away the second they learned the truth.
Leo didn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s a father himself.
Maybe it’s because he’s seen enough evil in the world to recognize when someone deserves to be stopped.
Whatever the reason, he never tried to talk us out of it.
Instead, he made sure we knew how to survive it.
He drilled everything into us relentlessly until it became muscle memory. Every lesson had the same purpose, making sure we walked away alive. Looking back, I don’t think Leo was just training us. I think he was preparing us for war.
We enter together, and the shift is unmistakable.
My posture straightens as everything snaps into focus.
The fog in my mind that never fully leaves, the memories, the frustration, the fury all falls away.
The gym strips down to simplicity. In here, there are no ghosts.
I know exactly what I’m getting into in here, sweat, discipline, and the scent of rubber mats and metal.
This place doesn’t ask anything from me except that I keep moving forward, one step, one punch, and one breath at a time.
Tyler matches my pace at my back.
“Try to keep up today,” he teases, nodding toward the mats.
I tilt my head to the side, playfully. “That’s cute.”
I grab my wraps, side-eying him, “You said that last time.”
“And?” he urges, shifting nearer.
I meet him halfway, and his voice dips, the words only meant for me.
“You were sore for three days.”
My lips part in surprise, amusement on my face.
“That wasn’t from the workout,” I state.
He huffs through his nose, looking entirely too entertained. Shaking his head as he starts wrapping his hands and I do the same.
“Focus,” he mutters.
“Who says I’m not?” I question, stretching as I peek up, locking eyes with him.
I check my wraps; I always like them tighter than necessary.
He picks up on that too.
“You’re staring,” I taunt.
“I’m assessing,” he corrects.
My brow lifts. “Mm. That’s what you’re calling it?”
He steps into my space, stopping a few feet away.
“Something like that, Mrs. Chase.”
I ease back on my heels, scrunching my face.
We both stay still, sizing one another up.
“Are you just looking for an excuse to ogle me?” I challenge, a teasing edge in my voice.
“Get up,” he insists.
I take my time, fully aware of the effect it has on him. By the time I’m directly in front of him, his eyes have gone noticeably darker, fixed entirely on me.
“Are you going to make me work for it today?” He asks, his eyebrow raising.
I inch closer, my voice falling into a hushed tone.
“Always.”
“Cassidy, get your ass over here, or you’re doing a hundred burpees!” Leonardo shouts from the other side of the gym and the moment dissolves instantly.
I head for the ring, hooking a hand around the boxing ring ropes.
Tossing on my gloves, I spring into position.
We dance around each other before I make the first lunge, distributing my weight.
I move through my punching combination with fluidity, jab, cross, hook, and uppercut.
He meets me head-on.
A strike snaps through my guard, and I deflect, reset, and come back harder.
He blocks and counters.
This continues, the back-and-forth.
Sweat drips down my face as I wipe it away with the back of my hand, pulling in a steady breath. I stay light on my feet, hands up, determined.
“Again!” he barks when he sees me getting winded.
I rein in my temper and go again with more intensity.
This time, he’s not ready.
He stumbles and goes down.
I don’t think twice.
I’m on him straightaway, driving forward, targeting his face. He grunts, blocking what he can, trying to throw me off with his weight but my legs clamp around him.
The noise surrounding me melts away and my focus narrows to a single point. Everything beyond the target in front of me blurs, punch after punch, until I hear it.
Tap.Tap.Tap.
I push away from him and stand, chest heaving, going straight to my corner. I snatch my water, take a deep gulp, then dump the rest over my face, letting it run down, cooling me off.
Taking a deep, profound breath, centering myself.
I duck through the ropes and head for the heavy bag.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I continue to unload as each strike hits with more force than the one before.
This is where it all started. That mat. That moment.
Rising from the wreckage, clawing out of that place of brokenness.
I started with basic self-defense, then pushed into kickboxing and mixed martial arts. Tae Kwon Do and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu followed. I am still working toward black belts in both, each one demanding persistent discipline.
Krav Maga is where I thrive. Reality-based. Brutal. It changed me into something built for hand-to-hand combat. The training is unforgiving, and I’m still climbing toward that black belt too.
Every step is reshaping me into something stronger.
Before shattering on that gym floor, I was a victim; now I’m a survivor.
I come to an abrupt halt, sensing him before I ever see him.
Tyler.
On the far side of the gym, he is lifting weights with Leonardo.
My attention switches to him.
Shirtless, ink maps his arms and spans his chest with my name clearly woven into the design over his heart.
A restless yearning stirs within me, a fierce need building to have him inside me again.
The lights above spill over him, glinting off the metal in his nipples. I smile as the memory surfaces. He saw mine, understood it without explanation, and chose to shoulder part of the burden.
We never talked about it, he doesn’t need words and never has.
My chest seizes, not with weakness but with purpose.
I survived, and that was their first mistake.
They created me, they should fear what I’ve become.
Alpha Chi thought they broke me. They didn’t. They built something far worse that they’ll never be able to stop.
What they really did was create their own downfall.
I let myself take Tyler in for one last second, then I bury it, compelling myself back into the zone.
My hair slips loose; I tuck it behind my ear, wincing as my fingers graze the damaged cartilage.
A reminder.
Returning to the bag, my fists connect in rapid succession, a fresh surge of anger fueling every hit.
I stop containing my rage and let it burn through me.
The time to collect has come.