Chapter 15 – Ashton
ASHTON
“Answer the phone, you goddamn bastard,” I growl into Doc’s voicemail.
I’m going to lose my mind. After the countless messages I’ve sent her, Sydney finally called me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved in my whole life. And then she was gone.
Just a few words, but I heard it in her voice. She was scared. She hung up before I could get a grasp on the situation, and now I’m sitting here with seven unanswered text messages, leg shaking, and waiting for Sebastian to answer his goddamn phone.
I’m two seconds away from grabbing my jacket and heading over to her apartment to check on her myself when my phone finally rings.
“Finally,” I snarl when I pick up.
“What?” He says it like it’s barely a question, clearly annoyed with me. I can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual right now.
“Where is Sydney?” I ask.
“For fuck’s sake. You have to let this go. I don’t have time to keep going over this with you,” he snaps. For a calm and collected motherfucker, he sure is snapping a lot these days.
“That’s not what this is! Just listen to me!” I take a breath, forcing myself to calm down. “She just called me. Something has her rattled, but she hung up before I could figure out what was going on.”
A pause.
“When was this?” he asks.
“Thirty minutes ago. Right around the time I started calling you incessantly,” I tell him. “You need to answer your fucking phone once in a while, you know that?”
Another pause, the longest of my life.
“Give me ten minutes.”
The click on the other end of the line is the only sign he’s hung up.
Fuck. Fuck. In the ten minutes it takes for him to call me back, I’ve worked myself up even more. I’ve invented at least fifty different scenarios that could have happened, ways someone could have hurt her.
I’ll kill him. If Dante hurt her, if he scared her? I’ll kill him. I’ll finish what Doc started, I’ll beat him until there’s nothing left for even the best doctors in the world to put back together, I’ll—
I almost drop my phone when it rings in my hand, and again when I fumble with it trying to answer.
“She’s home,” Sebastian says, the second I answer. “And she’s not hurt.”
“Something scared her,” I insist. She sounded terrified. “Is there anyone else with her?”
“No. She’s alone, safe and sound.”
He’s probably right. “She’s really okay?”
“She’s fine.”
My shoulders relax. “You’re sure?”
“Ash…” Sebastian releases a frustrated breath. “I am looking at her right now. She’s in bed, sleeping. She’s fine.”
“She’s in bed?” I pause and rub the back of my neck. “And you’re watching her? That is… That is fucking creepy, bro.”
On the other end of the line, Sebastian swears. “You were the one who asked me to come and check on her!”
“Yeah, but like…” I run a hand through my hair. “Looking through her window while she sleeps? That’s another level.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Wait! She’s…she’s really okay?”
A long, irritated sigh, followed by a click as he hangs up the phone.
I try to take calm, steadying breaths, but I'm too amped to relax right now. I need to get out of here, get some of this energy out of my body. I grab my keys and head for the garage.
I haven’t spent nearly enough time prepping for my upcoming fight.
I’m not too worried, but with all this excess energy and adrenaline coursing through my body, it might help to get a few rounds in.
When I enter the boxing gym, it’s full of people.
Not exactly what I want, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I set up at my favorite bag, take my shirt off, and start wrapping my hands.
And as much as I want to feel the pain today, I decide against bare-knuckle boxing and pull on my gloves.
I’ve been here for nearly an hour, working the bag like my life depends on it. But it’s like my adrenaline can’t be burned away. I’m still buzzing, like there’s electricity in my veins.
Punch.
Sydney doesn’t trust me.
Punch.
Sydney was scared.
Punch.
Dante is after her. And she won’t let me near her.
Punch.
Won’t let me protect her.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Frustrated, I take my gloves off and throw them at the ground. Nothing is working, and I feel like I’m about to self-destruct. It’s almost like the harder I go at the bag, the more I need to move. I take my headphones out and try to calm myself.
Bad idea. Without the music blaring through my headphones, I can hear the entire gym around me, including the guys behind me chatting.
“Yeah, she’s a dime, bro,” one of them laughs, playfully punching his friend in the arm. “Ass you could bounce a quarter off.”
Gross. They’re both decently big guys, with a lot of muscle. But you can tell right away that it’s all for show. Vanity muscles, not the sort you build for work, for function. Those muscles are just to look pretty. Or their version of pretty, at least.
“Didn’t even take me that long to bag her. You’d think a girl like that would be smarter. Like… Who gets that drunk on the first date?” the second guy jokes back. “She knew what was going to happen.”
My ears perk up. Now I’m interested in the conversation.
“It’s pathetic, really. But what can you expect? They’re all sluts, some just hide it better.”
A low laugh. “By the time we got down to it she was barely conscious. Still a decent lay, though. I’d go back for a second round.”
“Her body, your choice, am I right?”
My vision is tunneling. I can barely breathe.
This guy raped someone.
And he’s here, in the middle of my gym, bragging to his friend completely unconcerned that someone might overhear him. With the energy under my skin buzzing, I shove my things back in my bag and casually stroll over to them, acting like I’m just taking notice of them next to the ring.
They look up as I get close, watching me.
“Hey man, what’s your name?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
“Uh, I’m Jordan,” Mr. I’m a fucking rapist answers.
The guy next to him sputters, eager to make friends. “Hey, man, I’m Harrison. Nice to—”
“Cool.” I ignore Harrison completely, staring down Jordan. “Want to go a few rounds in the ring? I need to finish up my workout, and I could use the practice.”
I’m taller, but he’s wider. From his point of view, I'm sure it feels like an even fight. Jordan seems taken aback by the offer, but he looks me up and down and then agrees. He really thinks those pretty muscles of his stand a chance against me.
“Sure, dude,” he says. “Let’s go.”
We step into the ring, Jordan laughing a bit with his buddy, not taking this seriously. Why would he?
Barely conscious but still a decent lay. My muscles flex as I stretch my arms out, eager to get started.
“Gloves or no gloves?” I ask. Technically, it’s against gym rules to spar without padding. But he won’t want to look scared. And these men? These are the ones who never think there are consequences to their actions. Who make shitty fucking choices.
“I’m good either way,” he answers with a shrug.
Perfect.
“No gloves, it is,” I say, dropping mine outside the ring, flexing my hands.
We start to circle each other, and a group of spectators gathers to watch.
I can hear it when the whispers start. This fuckbag may not recognize me, but others here sure do.
It doesn’t take long for the word to travel through the crowd.
Someone nudges his friend Harrison and says something to him.
When the guy’s eyes go wide, I know he knows.
He moves for the ring, trying to pull Jordan back from the fight, to warn him, but I’m faster.
My first punch sends him to the ground.
He wobbles as he stands, but I let him get back up.
Make him think maybe it was just a lucky shot, make him think he has a chance.
Because I’m not ready for this to be over, not yet.
He holds his arms up more confidently when he advances on me, fury in his eyes.
I hit him harder than I should have, harder than light sparring rules dictate, and I’ve seen it a thousand times before.
My hit embarrassed him. He doesn’t want to lose face, so he’ll overcompensate by getting more aggressive.
He throws an uncoordinated punch at me that I easily dodge and return with a right hook to his kidney.
I follow that up with a series of hits that have him back on the ground.
He stands again, still not willing to accept that he’s completely outmatched, and throws a wild swing at my head. It connects, but I barely even notice.
My next punch slams into him with an audible crack as his cheekbone breaks. He howls in pain as he hits the mat.
This time, I follow him to the floor.
I’m not fucking done.
Barely conscious but still a decent lay.
I punch him over and over again, without pause. His hand is out, begging for mercy, blood dripping onto the mat. I hear more cracking, more bones breaking, fracturing.
“Stop, man.” Jordan is crying. “Please, I can’t take any more.”
I lower my face to his. “Why should I stop? Your body, my choice, isn’t that right?”
And I level a final punch so hard, he’s knocked out cold.
No one says anything. The gym is silent as a fucking grave as I stand up, wipe the blood off my hands and make my way over to his friend.
“Harrison, right?” The guy nods, swallowing, a look of pure terror in his eyes.
“You have five minutes to drag your friend out of here. Consider your gym memberships revoked. And if I ever see you two even speaking to another woman in this city, this will look like a warm up, you understand? Don’t fucking test me. I have eyes everywhere.”
With that, I grab my bag and head out of the gym.
And wouldn’t you know it.
I’m finally feeling better.