Chapter 38 Getting Physical #2
“Fine. Can you just tell me what it is I need to do now? I want to get this over with.”
His eyes dropped to my bouncing knee, and I stilled it.
I should have smoked some vaporleaf before coming in here. The tea was making me jittery.
“Ripped Lace’s payments have been late. They’ve promised they’ll have what they owe, plus interest, by next month. I want it tomorrow.”
The name didn’t ring any bells, so it must have been new.
“Strip club?”
Maia shook her head. “Omega.”
I grunted in understanding.
Omega bars were places where Magiks would pay omegas to sit with them and keep them company. They’d pour drinks, light their vaporleaf rolls, and just talk. Or listen, as was more often the case.
They didn’t have to do anything physical, but many of the omegas would make separate arrangements with their clients outside of work hours for extra runics.
“Okay, so why not tonight?”
“A couple of VIPs from Elmaris will be coming through tonight,” Maia explained. “We don’t want to scare them off. Plus, it means the safes should be full when you stop by tomorrow. And if they’re not, well…” She shrugged. “You might have to shake out a few pockets.”
I let out a deep sigh. This was grunt work, but I guessed that was the point. My dad wanted me to start from the bottom again. It was probably some kraken shit lesson on humility. Not that I cared too much—I wasn’t above anything that would get Sage back to me.
The only question now was, what the hell was I going to do for the next thirty-six hours?
My knee started to bounce again, and my father didn’t bother to hide his disapproval.
“It seems like you have some energy to dispel. Take this time to train, drive around the city-state and get reacquainted with our territory. Or get high and jack off, I really don’t care.
But you’re stressing me out with your nervous, undisciplined snarling and moping.
I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow evening with the money from Ripped Lace. ”
“Works for me,” I snapped, practically hopping out of my seat and bolting out the door. Half of what made me so anxious was just being in a room with that asshole, anyway.
Maia stayed behind, probably to talk about other Oniguro business I didn’t care about, and I started to head back to my room. Not that there was much to do there.
I paused on the way and sighed. Maybe I should work out. I wasn’t necessarily soft, but I’d lost a little definition in the past few years. Which wasn’t surprising, since I ate and slept like shit, and hardly had anytime to hit the gym. And wrangling bounties didn’t exactly qualify as exercise.
At the very least, it felt like something productive that would help when I finally faced off against the Premier.
I found some shorts and sneakers in my room, then headed back down to the first floor.
The gym was tucked in the east wing. There were no windows in the room, just fluorescent lights humming over concrete while the dull thud of flesh on leather and clanking weights echoed through the space.
I breathed in deeply, the scent of iron, sweat, and stale smoke bringing me back to days spent shooting the shit with guys I’d once called friends.
I took a look around at the men already here. Some were sparring in the ring while others were lifting. Conversations dipped when I walked in, then resumed at a lower volume, curious whispers following me as I moved.
I didn’t know who any of these grunts were, but that wasn’t surprising. They typically had a very short shelf life.
I probably should have done some cardio or stretching to warm up, especially at my age, but I really just felt like hitting something. So I wrapped my hands and went straight for the heavy bag.
The first punch landed hard enough to make my shoulder bark in protest, but I welcomed the sting and the way it shook the nerves out of my arms. I hit again and again, letting the rhythm take over, my screaming thoughts quieting to a low grumble.
“Weird to see you back.”
I didn’t need to turn, because I already knew that voice.
“Not as weird as it is to see you still here,” I replied, driving my elbow into the bag and finally turning to look at him.
Toru leaned against the weight rack, arms crossed. His gaze was colder, and an old scar cut through his left eyebrow. A scar I had given him.
On accident—butterfly knives and alcohol don’t mix, apparently.
Like me, Toru had filled out, replacing the vigor and litheness of youth with a thicker chest and sharper cheeks. But the burning resentment sat heavy on his shoulders, making him look bulkier than he was.
“Someone’s gotta stay loyal to the family,” he said mildly.
I wiped sweat from my face with my forearm to hide my rolling eyes. Ravaric, he was a dramatic mother fucker. “You’re not getting any gold stars for staying, you know. You could have left just as easily.”
Toru had been the one who’d told my dad about my growing friendship with Ivan, a burning need for praise from my dad that had driven him to betray me, his supposed friend.
For a long time, I’d thought about killing him in retaliation, but that desire had slowly morphed into apathy. My dad would have found out about my friendship with Ivan someday, and I couldn’t exactly be mad if Toru had wanted to gain something out of it, considering the world we lived in.
He smiled, thin and unpleasant. “Easy thing to say when all of your accomplishments were handed to you on a silver platter. I, however, worked for everything I have. I’m not throwing that away.”
A few heads turned our way, doing a poor job of pretending not to listen. Nosy fucks.
I picked up my water bottle, taking a slow drink. “What do you want, Toru?” I asked, not bothering to hide my annoyance.
He pushed off the rack and walked closer, eyes flicking briefly to the watching men. “Just surprised, is all. Ten years gone and you come back like nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed,” I replied with a shrug. “For me, at least. Looks like you’re the one still hung up on the past.”
“Yeah?” His gaze dipped, then rose again. “Funny. Looks like you still think your shit don’t stink.”
I really didn’t miss this. The constant pissing matches, the need to establish hierarchies and pecking orders. Being my father’s son and the heir to the Oniguro family had kept me immune from some of this posturing. But for the highly ambitious types, it made me a bigger target.
The air tightened between us, and Toru gestured toward the ring. “Spar with me.”
I glanced around the gym, taking careful note of all the watching eyes. If I said no, the whispers would start before I finished my workout.
With a slow exhale, I weighed my chances of winning. Sure, I was a little out of practice. But all I had to do was imagine that he was one of my bounties, and that my soul was on the line. “Gloves.”
The ring ropes creaked as we climbed in. I bounced a little on my toes until someone rang the bell, eager for the match to start.
Toru came out fast, just like he always had.
A sharp jab caught me across the cheekbone, and then another clipped my shoulder. He moved like he’d been waiting for this moment for years, old grudges powering his attacks.
“You’re slower,” he remarked with a satisfied smile, ducking my counter.
I really was.
“That’s what happens when you get older,” I shot back, absorbing a hit to the ribs.
He laughed, breathless. “Not for me.”
For a while, he did have the upper hand. His footwork was clean and his timing precise. I blocked, dodged, and conserved as best as I could, but he’d obviously been practicing, and I considered for a moment if I should just let him have this one.
Because whether I won this fight or not, I was still going to be the boss. And if the guys here couldn’t respect me for one loss, I’d just get rid of them and hire new ones.
Grunts were a runic a dozen in a city-state like Ignareth.
Then he leaned in close during a clinch and whispered, “This really all you got? No wonder your mate traded you in for something better.”
Something inside me snapped clean in half.
I shoved him back, fire surging hot and violent through my veins. The next punch landed square across his jaw, snapping his head to the side. Jeers rippled through the gym.
Toru staggered, blinking. “Touchy,” he chuckled with a sniff, trying to play it off.
I didn’t answer, and went straight on the offensive, my anger relentless. Every strike was fueled by her name, her fear, and the promise I’d made in the steam of my shower.
I got him with a hook to the ribs that stole the air from his lungs, and he finally went down.
The bell rang, the sound reverberating through the silent room.
Toru stayed on one knee, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin. When he finally looked up at me, the anger was still there, but so was what I needed—a begrudging recognition of my place above him, where I’d always be.
I could keep him down, assert the reclamation of my spot more definitively. Show every one of these grunts that they couldn’t mess with me.
Instead, I offered him a hand. He hesitated at first but finally took it.
“Welcome back,” he muttered, wiping his brow.
I stepped out of the ring, the watching men parting without being told.
“Thanks. Still hate it here,” I said quietly, not looking back.