Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Ember
I stare at the video. My laptop glows, my heart pounding when I click start. This one is…different.
The video begins with a blurry view of a man’s face on a video call. He’s sitting in a cluttered room, his face cast in shadow but the terrified whites of his eyes staring at the screen. His voice quivers.
“I—I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I didn’t—”
“Louder. Don’t fucking stop until you sound like you mean it and you’re not just afraid of me tracking you down and beating your ass.” Oh my god. It’s…it’s his voice.
The man flinches, looking anywhere but at the camera. “I’m—I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry I harassed her.”
My masked man’s voice is sharper, pressing. “Who?”
“Dream Mafia Queen,” he says in a rush of words. “I’m sorry.”
I stare, horror-stricken and somehow…warm with pleasure. He… did this… for me? It’s like the online version of cornering my schoolyard bully with a fist under his nose.
“Good. I’ll let that pass. Now delete the comments and delete your account. Everything.”
He nods frantically, his fingers scrambling over the keyboard. I scroll back to my comments as fast as my fingers can move and see every one of the hateful comments on my posts are gone.
My hands shake, my breath coming in shallow gasps. He did this online. He can’t threaten someone like this, he’ll get—
Oh. Wait.
That’s when I note that this video is only for my eyes.
I stare and blink, shaking my head. What has he done?
I put my phone down, my emotions all over the place.
This…this crosses a line, he has to know that. I’m shaking my head in disbelief, still trying to process how I feel about this, when my DM’s ping.
Bratvabloodline
He won’t bother you again.
I shut the app and stare at my wall.
I’ve never had anyone defend me before. I didn’t know it would feel like this. I can’t—
I really need to get my head in the game.
The gym is my church. This is where I worship.
I need to get my sweat on.
I toss on my gear and head to the gym, where I can control chaos and channel it into something tangible.
The weights don’t lie. The pull-up bar doesn’t judge. In here, I’m strong.
Untouchable.
I love plugging in my headphones, cranking my music, and zoning out. It’s just me versus me.
It feels good. It feels right.
And I’m finally getting over the mixed emotions from the apology. So the prickling awareness at the back of my neck? It pisses me off.
At first, I ignore it. There are always eyes at the gym, fleeting glances I brush off like sweat on my forehead. But this? This feels different. It’s heavier. More deliberate.
For fuck’s sake.
Who’s staring at me? Yes, I have a fine ass—thanks to endless squats and hip thrusts—but it’s my ass, and I don’t appreciate someone raking their unwanted gaze over it.
I drop from the pull-up bar like a cat, landing lightly on my feet with a soft thud. I turn toward the source of that invasive gaze, already bristling with annoyance.
I’m not wrong.
But I’m also completely unprepared.
He’s leaning casually against the dumbbell rack, arms folded across his chest, a cocky smirk curving his lips. He’s tall—ridiculously tall—with a face my grandma would’ve called “devil-may-care.” His body? Built like he spends his life in places like this, all broad shoulders and carved muscles.
But it’s not just the muscles. Not even the height. It’s the way he looks at me—sharp, knowing, like he’s already two steps ahead. Like he knows me.
Wait… maybe he does. He looks oddly familiar. Do I know him from somewhere?
Still, he shouldn’t be looking at me like that, like he—no, my romance conditioning is getting ahead of me again.
“Is there something you need?” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut.
His smirk deepens, his cheek dimpling just enough to make me furious. And yeah, fine, he’s hot. Too hot. And by the way he carries himself, he knows it.
“You’re cheating,” he says, his tone maddeningly smooth.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Your hands,” he says, gesturing lazily toward the pull-up bar. “They’re too close. It makes it easier.”
That voice…
No. It can’t be.
I roll my neck with exaggerated patience. “Oh, really? So, you’ve been watching me long enough to critique my form?” I narrow my eyes at him, the annoyance simmering into something sharper. “And how’s my ass? Get a good look at that, too?”
The words are out before I can stop them.
“I haven’t, actually,” he says, pushing off the rack with an infuriatingly casual flex that makes every damn muscle in his body stand out. I swallow hard, hating myself for noticing. “But if you want to turn around…” He twirls his finger in the air, smirking like he owns the world.
“I’ll turn around,” I say sweetly, flipping him off instead. Then I face him fully, which—great—gives him a perfect view of my chest. My stupid, flimsy workout top does nothing to hide the outline of my nipples.
His eyes flick down for a fraction of a second, just enough to make me want to throw a dumbbell at him. His smirk grows, and he shakes his head like I’ve just confirmed everything he already assumed.
“Figures you’ve got a mouth on you,” he says, sighing like he’s already resigned himself to some cosmic truth. “Figures I love a woman with a mouth on her.”
And I hate how much that makes me want to smile.
“Are you going to do a real set, or are you done already?”
My lips part in disbelief. “Excuse me?” I repeat.
He gestures lazily to the pull-up bar, his smirk widening.
That isn’t just one dimple, but two. The rugged appeal of this man is hard to resist—scruff on his jaw, and even though he wore a long-sleeve shirt, I could see the outline of strong muscles beneath the fabric.
His voice is smooth and deep and does all sorts of things to my body.
“I thought with the way you were doing those, you were maybe pacing yourself.”
Pacing myself?
I press my lips together. If he’s trying to get a rise out of me… it’s working.
“So you’re the resident expert here? Funny, you don’t have a badge, and I don’t recall ever seeing you here before.”
When he takes another step closer, my first thought is… god he’s tall. Intimidatingly tall. But his presence feels… predatory, but in a way that makes me want more.
I really, really need to stop spending every waking hour reading dark romance.
“Not an expert,” he says with a shrug. “I know my way around a pull-up bar though. And you look like a woman who likes to challenge herself.” He winks, and my belly does a flip.
I like to challenge myself, alright. Right now, I want to challenge myself to grow the fuck up and get out of here before I let Mr. Flirt get to me.
I tilt my head. Couldn’t hurt to get a little view, could it?
“Prove it.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He steps under the bar, jumps, and grasps it with practiced ease. His muscles flex as he hoists himself up, slow and deliberate, his form infuriatingly perfect. Each movement is controlled and smooth, like an Olympic gymnast’s. By the time he hits fifteen, my jaw’s tight.
“Show-off,” I mutter.
He drops down, rolling his shoulders as he faces me. “We should have a contest. I’d love to see you try to overpower me.”
I snort. “There’s no contest. You’re predisposed for greater upper body strength.” I jerk my chin over to the leg machines. “Though I could crush your skull with my thighs.”
His gaze grows predatory as it travels down the length of my body. “If that’s a threat, I can live with it. If it’s a promise…”
The thought of his head between my legs makes my cheeks heat instantly.
I should be furious at the audacity, but honestly… I walked right into that.
“Ladies first,” he says, stepping back with a smirk.
I grab the bar again, ignoring the way my palms are slick with sweat.
My muscles protest, but I push through, matching his pace with stubborn determination.
I feel his eyes on me—heavy, like a weight of their own.
They trace the line of my arms, linger on my shoulders, and sweep down the curve of my back.
By the time I hit ten, my body is screaming at me to stop, but I don’t give in. Not with him watching. I drop to the ground, landing lightly despite the burn in my legs, and turn to face him, a little out of breath. “Your turn,” I say, tilting my chin up in challenge.
He steps up, his grin widening as his eyes lock on mine. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, a spark that feels electric. “Try not to be too disappointed,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. It sends an unexpected shiver racing down my spine.
He grabs the bar with a casual confidence that makes me grit my teeth.
His movements are fast but controlled, playful in a way that feels infuriatingly deliberate.
By the time he hits thirteen, he slows down, lets go with his right hand and drags out the last pull with his left like he’s savoring the moment.
When he finally drops to the ground, he’s barely winded, wiping his hands on his shorts with maddening ease.
“I could’ve gone higher,” he says, his voice dripping with smugness. “But I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
I laugh, sharp and short, masking the heat rising in my chest. “Oh, trust me. You didn’t.”
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the gym disappears. The hum of machines fades, the clinking weights vanish. It’s just him, his gaze sweeping over me, staying a fraction too long on my lips. My pulse drums in my ears, louder than it should be.
I hop up and once more… crash out at twelve. It’s hard as fuck, ugh.
Then the clang of weights in the distance cuts through the spell. He steps back, his lips curling up like he knows exactly what he’s done.
“Not bad,” he says, his tone full of teasing arrogance. “For a beginner.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “Beginner? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
His grin deepens, and his eyes spark with something wicked. “I’ve got a lot of things,” he says, his voice dipping into something that makes my breath hitch. “See you around, beautiful.”