Kingsley
My fists slam into the punching bag, each hit harder than the one before.
One. Two. One. Two.
My right AirPod gets knocked out of my ear by the force of my punches, but I don’t pick it up. Just like I don’t bother to wipe the sweat out of my eyes, or even notice my sore hands from hitting for so long.
Working out has always eased the tension in my chest. In my world of chaos, corruption, and death, exercising became something I could be proud of that hadn’t already been expected of me from a young age.
Yeah, we’ve gone through training with the Crown, which comprises super-intense workouts, but it is not the same as hitting up the gym for a little cardio or muscle-building.
Going to the gym is something I choose to do for myself.
I used to do some sort of workout every day, but it’s been ages since I last went. Everything I used to enjoy doing felt like a chore, and I couldn’t be bothered.
However, today I had an urge to ask Shawn to hit the gym with me.
Shawn couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but once I convinced him I wasn’t fucking around, he joined me.
It’s like something sparked inside of me, and I got a quick burst of motivation to go out and live again.
Maybe because I’ve been out a lot lately this past month with Rip and Thomas?
Yeah, that must be it.
I’m laying into the punching bag, almost to the point of breaking it, when a sudden dizziness washes over me. I catch myself on the bag, holding on tight with a grunt.
Shawn, shirtless and sweaty, stops punching and faces me. “King, you good?”
It takes a second of focusing on him before my vision steadies. “Yeah. Just got lightheaded.”
He studies me as his fingers thread through his damp hair. “It’s because you’re going so hard on that bag. These community punching bags aren’t like the ones in the base. They’re for the regular people, so they’re weaker.”
The base is where all the action happens. It’s where we all get together for meetings, but not like the stuffy business dinners my parents do at home. Those are for deals and negotiations with investors and other business bullshit I’ve got to learn. The base has the more illegal shit.
It’s hidden inside an “abandoned” warehouse ten minutes from here. The Crown uses it to train, plan, and it’s also where we keep cargo and shipments. There’s also a fight club that happens every weekend on the first floor, which is everyone’s favorite part about it.
Everyone’s second-favorite part about the base is the stellar gym. Sleek machines line the wall, all top-tier equipment that most gyms can’t afford, let alone get their hands on, and it’s all just for us.
Shawn wraps an arm around me and leads me to the bench. I grab my water bottle and chug it.
“I still don’t see why you didn’t want to go there,” Shawn says as he brings his water to his lips. “You’d rather use this cheap equipment the resort gives to the guests than our own private stuff?”
This shitty equipment is rough, but it beats having my comrades stare when they spot me at the gym for the first time in a year. I don’t even want to think about dealing with all their questions and unsolicited comments I’ve managed to avoid. The resort gym may be trash, but at least it’s empty.
“I want to get back into the groove of it before I gotta hear the guys run their mouths.”
“Fair.” Shawn sets the empty jug down between his legs and leans against the wall. “I’m glad you’re back at it. When you make a reappearance in Fight Club, everyone’s gonna lose their shit. It’s what we need to scare the bastards back into place.”
It’s been a while since I hit up Fight Club, back when I was a teenager. Not ancient history, but long enough that showing up now will be a big shock. Since I’m trying to get back in the gym, I figure why not speed up my reacclimation by fighting a few rounds in the ring?
Well, I didn’t figure that. Shawn insisted, and I gave in.
“We can call it ‘Kingsley Reborn,’” he suggests, flashing his hands as if to announce it.
I chuckle through my nose. “Instead of focusing on me coming back, we need to focus on finding Ryland.”
With Ryland missing and a mole running around, it looks like shit is about to go down.”
Thinking about Ryland’s disappearance last night makes my stomach twist. My dad thinks he’s fled, but not only is Ryland a loyal guard, he’s also one of my closest friends, so I know he wouldn’t try to weasel his way out of the Crowncrest. It would be stupid of him—he knows the only way to be out is to be dead.
That means someone took him, probably the same bastards tipping off the cops, so finding the mole is even more urgent.
And it all falls on me. Maybe we wouldn’t have a snake if my dad hadn’t been so careless and dumped responsibilities on everyone else because he’s been feeling superior for the past few years. Everything we’ve worked to build means nothing in the end if it crumbles from the inside out.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?” I ask. Shawn was patrolling the perimeter around the time we think Ryland was taken.
He shakes his head. “When I switched shifts with Banks, everything was quiet.”
“Fuck.” I drop my head into my hands. “Maybe if I didn’t have to do the pointless side quest with the Wright boys, we’d be closer to finding who it is.”
I’m griping, but in reality, I don’t mind how much time I’ve been spending with Rip and Thomas as much as I try to convince myself.
Our interactions are usually strictly business, and I loathe drawn-out business transactions, but with them, I don’t feel the impending doom I do when shadowing my father at meetings.
Is it because we’re so close in age that it’s like hanging out with Shawn? Because I get to witness their brotherly arguments? Or because I don’t mind staring at Rip’s face every day, with his broad shoulders, tattooed body, and his dirty blonde mullet that curls at the end.
I’ve been with both girls and guys before Sylvie, but after her, I haven’t even felt mere attraction to anyone. Yet when I thought Rip was going to kiss me, my heart skipped a beat. Why did I like the thought of that so much?
What is it about him that keeps my mind curious and my body responding?
“Maybe they’re the moles.”
My head snaps his way. “Rip and Thomas?”
Shawn nods. “Think about it. They show up, the cops get tipped off, now we’ve got a snitch, and Ryland’s taken. Two young and attractive social media marketers. Who would ever suspect them?”
I’m not an idiot. The thought has crossed my mind of how ironic it is that just as Rip and Thomas show up, everything goes sideways.
Still, the Crown checks everyone out super thoroughly before hiring them for the resort, and the Wrights’ backgrounds came up clean.
A coincidence doesn’t make him a criminal mastermind infiltrating the enemy.
Hmm.
“I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Good. I’ll see what information I can get from others in the base.” With a slap of the bench, Shawn stands, and a drip of sweat falls from his nose. “My shift starts in an hour, so I’ve gotta go. But don’t worry, man, we’ll find who it is and show Xavier that you’re back in the swing of things.”
I don’t even care about proving anything to my dad; I want to break the neck of whoever thought it wise to go against my family. I’ll let a lot of things slide, but never betrayal.
Shawn may be done exercising, but I’m not.
I’ve been here since eight in the morning.
It’s now twelve-thirty, and all I’ve had is water to get me through the long hours.
I couldn’t be bothered to eat breakfast before, afraid that by the time I finished, I would have lost the spark of motivation to get back into my old habits.
I hop on the treadmill, crank it to speed four, and my legs feel like lead with every step—I’m definitely at my limit. I’ll rest up after this since I’ve got some paperwork and logistics for Crowncrest to sort out.
“You work out?”
Despite the music blasting in my ears, I hear the familiar voice. Rip catches my eye, wearing a white tank top and shorts that show off his thighs, and a condescending smirk I want to smack off his face.
I pull my right AirPod out because I know he’ll have more to say, then give a sharp nod.
“Here?” Rip eyes the place like it’s dirt underneath his shoe, not nearly good enough. “Shouldn’t a prince like yourself have his own gym?”
“Sometimes, even royalty have to use commoners’ items,” I say.
“Of course. Mind if I work out with you?”
Struggling to keep the pace of my jog, I shrug. If by working out with me he means next to me, then he can go for it. This is a community space, after all.
Rip gets on the treadmill and sets his speed to match mine, and I’m not sure if it was by chance or if he’s trying to compete with me. I don’t care to get into petty competitions, unnecessary competitions, so I keep my focus on my own pace.
Until I’m ready to up my speed. Now I’m at a seven, and Rip immediately copies me. I give him a pointed look, but all he does is smirk in response, so I turn away. I’m not about to play this ridiculous game with him.
We run beside each other in the empty gym for twenty minutes. I told myself I’d stay an hour, but if I stretch it any further, I won’t be able to face doing this again tomorrow. So, for the last bit, I push the speed to eight, putting me at a full-blown sprint.
It’s good to know I haven’t lost all of my athletic ability in the past year, but old me would have barely broken a true sweat by now. He’d be ready to go for another hour at least. Embarrassing.
Against my better judgment, I peek at Rip. His eyes trail up and down my body, so focused on me, I worry he’ll trip and fall flat on his ass. Is he trying to intimidate me?
My thoughts come to an abrupt stop when black spots invade my vision. Another dizzy spell hits me like a ton of bricks, and I’m stumbling off the treadmill, barely managing to grip the handle before I crash to the floor.
A firm hand grips my shoulder, steadying me. “You trying to pass out on me, or what?”
I shrug his hand off me as I move to the bench and cradle my face in my hands as I let the dizziness pass.
When I look up minutes later, Rip is sitting beside me.
He’s a noticeable distance away, but close enough to hand me my water.
Silently, I take it, draining the last contents of the bottle in seconds.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Don’t worry about it.”
It’s quiet between us. We’re the only ones in the gym, surrounded by equipment, quiet tunes from the speakers, and the sound of our ragged breaths. My gaze drifts from Rip’s lips to him, then to the gap between us, and finally back to him.
“Am I contagious or something?” I ask lamely. Not sure why I’m calling it out.
Rip eyes the space on the bench. “Are you?”
After the cellar, Rip wouldn’t dare touch me with a ten-foot pole. We were never really close, but now he’s all about keeping his distance, like he’s scared getting too close will cause a repeat of that night.
He said he doesn’t like men, as if I were plotting to make a move on him.
How kind of him to assume that after one shared moment I’d rush to jump his bones—I’m not even the type to make the first move.
All he did was give me proof that what I felt back there was somewhat mutual, even if unwanted.
It’s good to know I’m not losing my mind like I worried.
Rip moves closer, but a wide gap remains. “You alright?’
“I don’t need a babysitter, Rip.”
“With the way you almost ate the floor, I’d say otherwise.”
I snort. “You’re kind of funny.”
“My mum used to call me her little jokester.” He sports a sly grin as if he’s reminiscing. “I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.”
Me neither. “I do when you humor me.”
“Well, this time I’m serious. I can’t have you bailing on our reservation tonight,” he tells me. “I’ve had my heart set on gumbo since we got to Louisiana, and I’ll be damned if I wait any longer.”
Just like all the other guests and tourists.
Lucky for them, the resort makes some of the best. As for the dinner tonight, the lightness in my head comes from a mix of overworking my body and a lack of food to supply it.
What Rip doesn’t know is that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and I know how to navigate my body. I’ll be fine by tonight.
“Is that the only thing you’ve been dying to try?” I ask.
Rip looks at me, nose scrunched as if he can’t believe I ever asked him, then places his palm against his chest. “Are you… making conversation? Is this real? I must be dreaming.”
I roll my eyes as I try to stop the smile spreading on my face. “I’m about to end this conversation.”
He pushes his damp hair strands from his face. “I want to try everything I see online, like beignets, even though there’s so much sugar on them, I think it might send me into cardiac arrest. And I want to hit up the popular spots. Tommy and I haven’t had the chance since we’ve been here.”
I’ve been running the streets of New Orleans forever, so it’s kinda wild when I remember how much people outside find appealing.
Coming all the way from England, there’s no doubt a laundry list of things Rip and Thomas want to explore, and I haven’t been out there in ages.
What better way to get good content than to film the activities that visitors come to NOLA for in the first place?
“Zara makes beignets,” I say. “They’re great.”
Rip’s shoulders relax. “I’m sure they are.”
I don’t know when he moved closer, but there are only a couple of inches between our thighs. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, eyes focused on his clasped hands. I let my leg relax, and our legs touch. He doesn’t move it.
“Maybe we can go down Bourbon Street for some content,” I suggest. “It’ll be a big deal since I haven’t been in the public eye like that in a while.”
His eyes narrow. “You want me to spend my time on Bourbon Street tailing you and lugging around a camera?”
“You don’t have to record at all times, and you’ll get paid for it. Or don’t do it at all, it doesn’t matter.”
It’s a nice change that I’m slightly in the mood to go out, same as getting motivated for a workout, but I already know next week I’ll dread the public’s scrutiny and judgment. Do I really want my first public appearance to be with Rip and Thomas as they tug a camera around?
“Am I allowed to get drunk?” His question catches me off guard.
His blue eyes meet mine. “If we go, when you’re not filming, I won’t be your boss.”
“But you’ll still be the city’s prince, surrounded by all his villagers. I’m a villager, so you’ll be my boss.”
I suppress another eye-roll. Are we still on about this prince shit?
“I’m anything but a prince,” I state, the buzz inside me now dead.
“Not to me.”
I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.