43. Gio
43
GIO
I stare at my wrapped knuckles, covering the light smattering of almost invisible scars I’ve gotten over the years. The sounds of the others in Cory’s gym behind me fade as I contemplate the last week.
The memory of Juliet sprawled out beneath me, her shirt torn and her tits on display is branded into my head. They’d been perfect, the right amount of softness, full enough to almost overflow my hands, and the way she’d gripped them and held them up for me as I’d jacked my cock … fuck. I have to stop thinking about it or I’ll pop a fucking tent right here.
Turning away from my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I finish tucking the tape in place and bound into the ring where my opponent waits. Cory stands nearby, his eyes scanning an old, cracked iPad with a pair of reading glasses I’ve never seen him wear perched on the end of his nose. He looks older with them and the sight bothers me for some reason.
“Alright, asshole,” I say, redirecting my gaze to my opponent—a lanky guy with a mottled bruise on the side of his face from an earlier sparring match. “Are you ready to do this?”
“Far more ready than you, pretty boy,” he sneers.
I arch a brow. Yeah, I know I’m pretty, but this guy must not know me from my reputation—or at all. Just because my packaging is a lot nicer than most guys’ doesn't mean I can’t lay his ass out.
“Keep it civil, G,” Cory calls over to us, not even bothering to look up from the iPad. The fact that he said anything though, tells me that just because he looks distracted doesn’t mean he’s not well aware of everything going on in the gym.
“Got it, old man.” I refocus on the guy in front of me, narrowing my eyes on his smug expression. The sooner I wipe it off him, the better I’ll feel.
We begin to circle each other, my feet sliding across the ring’s mat-floor with comfortable ease. The echoing sounds of grunts and repetitive thuds from the other men in the gym echo all around us, as well as the low sound of rap music that Cory keeps on most of the time. It’s just loud enough for anyone who forgot to bring their own music, but not so loud that I can’t hear myself fucking think—or hear the intake of breath that preludes my opponent’s first move.
Dodging to the left as he barrels towards me, I watch the moment the guy realizes his initial plan of attack hasn’t worked. He whirls back towards me. We go back to circling. The next time he attacks, I capture his arm and bend it backward.
Using his own momentum, I swing the man around and turn his thumb up, shoving it into his back until he screams like the little bitch I knew he was. With an eye roll, I squeeze tighter for a second until Cory’s head comes up. Then I release the fucker and push him away.
“Is this really the best you could come up with?” I ask, directing my question to Cory and not my fight partner.
Cory shakes his head. “Didn’t say he was the best,” he says. “Boy’s in training.”
“Well, he’s too cocky,” I reply.
“Fucking asshole.” The ‘boy’ as Cory had called him mutters as he rubs some feeling back into his arm.
I ignore him and slip out from the ropes of the ring to find my footing on the floor next to Cory. A light coating of sweat covers my upper body and trickles down the side of my face. Not necessarily because of the fight, but because it feels hot as fuck in the gym with so many people here today. My gaze moves across the room to the morning sky outside. I’ve got to hurry up and go home soon for a shower if I’m gonna pick Prep Girl up in time. A three-hour drive with just the two of us … alone. It’s impossible not to think of the last time we’d been alone.
Cory lowers the iPad to his side and eyes me. “‘ow’s our girl?”
I sniff and wipe away a droplet of sweat from my upper lip with the back of my tape-covered knuckles. “She’s fine.”
More than fine, she’s a fucking work of art. Those nipples of hers had been a rosy hue, so tight and puckered as she’d undulated against me, practically begging me to spill my seed all over her.
Stop. Thinking. About. It. The mental reprimand is a blaring warning in my head. Not that it does me much good. I check the clock on the wall reminding myself we need to leave soon if we’re gonna get there by the start of visiting hours. I’d promised Lex, too, that I’d slip a note from him to one of the guards to give to Allen Donovan sometime later. The security of the prison is pretty good, but a prison guard’s salary can always use a bit of padding and he’s been hard at work tracking connections for the Donovan trial. It’s coming up soon and I’m sure seeing her father will remind Juliet of that fact.
“She came in for a bit,” Cory says, dragging me back to the present and my plans for later.
“Yeah?” I start to unravel the tape on my fingers and Cory’s brow arches.
“She missed the place,” Cory says, though he doesn’t comment on my actions.
“I’m sure she has.” And Nolan doesn’t live close enough to the gym for her to walk. “She’s been working a lot.”
Cory hums in the back of his throat as I ball up the first bit of tape and toss it into a nearby trashcan before working on my next fist.
“Hear she ain’t been to her apartment in a while,” Cory hedges. When I don’t respond, he huffs out a breath. “Is she staying with you?”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it, but I shake my head. “What do you think, man?” I rip off the last of the tape and it goes the same way as the rest. “She wouldn’t be safe at my place.” My own mama ain’t safe at my place, but I don’t say as much.
“Darrio don’t like her kind,” Cory agrees with a solemn nod.
An understatement if I ever heard one. It’s not that my father hates Juliet specifically, but everything she once was—and everything he isn’t. A more jealous, envious man there never has been. Darrio Vargas wants what everyone else has—money, power, fame, and respect. Not that Juliet has any of that now, but for a long while she did. For most of her life, she’d been a queen. Just because she’s fallen into the gutter with the rest of the peons doesn’t mean she’s one of us.
But you could be … the reminder of my own words to her that night circle in my mind. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted them to be true until they’d come out of my mouth. Juliet Donovan could be a Scorpion if she really wanted—she’s strong enough, brave enough, and doesn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.
She’s the kind of girl that’ll burn your house down and then fuck you in the ashes, and if that doesn’t make her the hottest woman I’ve ever known…
“You taken care o’ her?” Cory asks.
I take a step back from the old man and move to the cubbies as I call an answer over my shoulder. “Don’t worry about her, Cory. She’s tougher than she looks.”
“That ain’t an answer, boy!” Cory shouts.
I grab my bag from the cubby I’d chosen earlier and swivel to eye him across the room. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that Juliet Donovan is Scorpion property now, but I don’t. I hold it in. Juliet isn’t mine. She’s not any of ours—no matter how much we might want her to be.
“See ya later, old man,” I say instead, giving his frowning expression a wave as I turn and head to the exit.
The sound of footsteps behind me stops me from fully leaving the building though. Surprised, I turn back just in time for Cory to drop the iPad he’d been holding onto the front counter before heading in my direction. My brows lower and I pause, waiting there with my hand on the door handle.
“You let her know she’s welcome here whenever she needs a good bout of stress relief,” Cory says, his tone brooking no argument. It's not a question but a command.
I arch a brow. “That how it is?”
“Yeah.” He places his feet shoulder-width apart and stares at me. “It is.” It’s easy to forget that Cory wasn’t always just a small-town gym owner. He’s a calm presence that has a way of smoothing over even the roughest of guys. All kinds enter his gym from fighters to gangbangers to regular bar brawlers. They work out here to let loose some of their masculine anger, but it’s not the machines or the always well-maintained fight ring that brings them around again and again. It's this man right here.
Cory is a big man, but not the biggest I’ve ever known. Everyone around Silverwood knows Cory’s got some good connections up north in a place called Eastpoint. Unlike a lot of kids from southern Silverwood, he’d gotten out for a time— entered a talented program at a university there. Why he’d ever come back, no one knows, but one thing is for sure, Cory never let anyone get away with shit that wasn’t right.
He’s a great personal trainer, but he’s an even better ally. His strength isn’t in size, but in the way he cares about people, and to him, Juliet is one of those people now. When no one else gave a shit about her, he did. He taught her. He took her in. He gave her a place to release her anger.
Did Juliet know that when she came into his gym that first time or was luck just on her side?
I reach into my duffle and pull out the keys to my Firebird. “She’s gonna be just fine, Cory,” I assure the man. “We’re looking out for her.”
His brown eyes move from my face to the keys dangling in my grip. Cory flicks one of the longer dreads hanging down his shoulder back before leveling me with a wary look.
“You ain’t messin’ with her, is you?” he demands. “You and those boys o’ yers?” A cold sort of look enters the older man’s eyes, and for a second, I feel as if I’m staring into the face of a man who could go against my own father.
I put a hand up to ward off Cory’s anger. “She’s under our protection,” I tell him honestly. “If anyone can use it, she can.”
Cory’s eyes narrow. “You three ain’t known for offering up your protection for nothin’,” he says.
I repress a groan. Convincing Cory that we don’t mean Prep Girl any harm feels more daunting than the idea of seeing Allen Donovan, her actual father. “She’s … fuck, Cory,” I grit out. “I don’t know what to tell you. She’s different—at least, for us she is. We’re not fucking with her. Even if we were, do you really think she’d stand for it?”
Cory gazes at me for a bit longer before the tension in his body eases again and he rocks back on his heels with a decisive nod. “You right,” he admits. “She’d knock yer asses out.”
Yeah, she would. I shake my head and push open the door. “Now, I really gotta go or I’ll be late—and if you’re right, she’ll knock my ass out for that too.”
The husky laugh from the other man follows me out the door into the cold morning. A smile graces my lips and my hands clench around my keys. I start to reach for my phone in my pocket to let Juliet know I’ll be there soon when I realize I left it in my car. With a sigh, I head around the gym building and cross through the alleyway to the back lot.
I’m so focused on getting to my car that I don’t hear the sound of footsteps at my back until it’s too late. Frowning, I turn slightly just as something hard and rounded slams into the side of my head. Staggering as the jolt of agony shoots through my skull, I slam into the opposite wall of the empty building next door, hands scraping against the stone exterior. My duffle drops to the ground. My keys slip free from my fingers and my knees hit concrete. Air whooshes out over my head, but I misjudged my opponent, and a knee slams directly into my face on my way down. My vision tilts and blood spurts from my nose.
“Fuck!” The garbled curse ricochets up the walls as a body slams on top of me.
Ignoring the pain in my head and face, I kick out, my sneaker connecting with someone’s leg. There’s the deep baritone of a male voice and then a fist comes swinging towards my face a second time. I roll away, rocks and gravel digging into the thin barrier of my t-shirt and shorts.
The sweat still on my skin makes the dirt and grime stick to me as I struggle back to my feet, swaying. Liquid drips down over my upper lip and the vile taste of rust and blood fills my mouth. When my vision clears enough for me to see my attackers, I grit my teeth. There are three of them—covered in black from head to toe, black balaclavas over their faces to hide their identities. The first dives for me, fist outstretched, but I spin out of his reach and shove him, face first, into the wall. There’s no time to enjoy the sound of bone on brick crunching and his responding scream before the second and third rush me at once.
I take a right hook to the face as I kick out at the other’s legs. Blood. Sweat. Pain. It fills me from the inside out. I fight—punching, kicking, panting, cursing. I struggle against them until my vision blurs again, going black at the edges. Something wet oozes down the back of my head and I realize that the first hit must have been done with an actual weapon of some sort.
I’m bleeding both in the front and back. Something slices through my t-shirt, right over my abdomen, and I gasp as pain cuts through my flesh—freezing in shock. The man with the knife leans in close, pressing his lips almost against my ear as he speaks.
His voice is even and clear. “We were asked to deliver this message,” he says. “Leave the Donovan girl or else.”
The knife is ripped free and I go down hard on my knees, the bits and pieces of rock and gravel on the alleyway floor cutting through the skin of my kneecaps. A cloud of dust rises around the front of my shorts as I cup two palms over my stomach.
Glancing down, I swallow hard as I see the red slipping out from between my fingers.
“Hey! What the ‘ell you doin’ out here!”
My lashes flutter as I hear the sound of Cory’s angry tone reach my ears. Never in my life have I ever been so fucking happy to hear that old man than I am now. Pain sears through my stomach and more blood seeps into my shirt, staining the gray fabric a crimson brown.
Rushing footsteps fly past me as the world tilts and the ground comes rushing up to greet me. Just before my face connects, the last thought in my head is … Prep Girl’s gonna be so pissed.