15. Hudson
HUDSON
I practically bolt from the room.
My heart is pounding too hard.
I flex my hand as I walk.
It’s like I can still feel her there.
The warmth of her skin.
The way she stood her ground and didn’t back down.
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face.
"What the fuck was that?"
“It was just a physical reaction, nothing more.”
At least that's what I keep telling myself.
But it doesn’t feel that simple, even though it should.
She's a target.
A bargaining chip.
A means to an end.
But thoughts of her keep coming back.
I don't want to examine that too closely.
I already know where it leads.
And I'm not going there.
And yet my cock’s still half hard like I’ve lost my damn mind.
I let out a sharp breath, shove the whole mess down, and walk faster.
I need to burn this out.
Now.
I head straight for the training gym inside the mansion.
The place is empty when I walk in.
Quiet.
No questions.
No distractions.
It’s just me and the weight of everything I’m trying not to think about.
I grab some wraps and wind them tight around my hands, focusing on the pressure across my knuckles.
Controlled.
Predictable.
Then I head for the speed bag.
The rhythm comes easy, muscle memory taking over while I try to focus on anything but Eva Sorenson.
It doesn’t work.
After a while, I move to the heavy bag and start working combinations.
Right hook.
Uppercut.
Round kick.
Left jab.
Sweat covers my skin quickly.
The movement is familiar, grounding me more than anything else right now.
The bag swings violently under the force, chains rattling overhead.
But it still isn’t enough.
Because then I remember her lifting her shirt.
The bruises.
The cuts.
All the damage Martin left behind.
My jaw clenches.
I hit the bag harder.
Again.
And again.
I keep going until my shoulders burn and my lungs ache.
“Fuck.”
The word comes out rough.
Because anger isn’t the real problem.
The real problem is everything underneath it.
And no matter how hard I hit, it won’t stay buried.
“Jesus.”
Lucian’s voice cuts through the noise behind me.
I don’t stop right away.
I let the bag swing back once more, hit it again, then step back and roll my shoulders, trying to calm the energy buzzing beneath my skin.
“You training?” Lucian asks as he wanders farther into the gym. “Or are you trying to kill the bag?”
I don't answer.
Mostly because I don't feel like talking.
Especially to him.
“Thought I'd find you in here.”
“Yeah?” I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge and twist off the cap. “Why's that?”
He shrugs.
“Because this is what you do when something’s eating at you.”
“Mmf.” I take a long drink. “The only thing bothering me right now is your face. Go work out.”
Lucian doesn’t bite.
“What was that back there?” he asks instead. “You dragged that girl out of the kitchen like she was about to stab somebody.”
“None of your business.”
I head back to the bag and throw three hard punches in quick succession.
Lucian watches me for a second.
“Who is she?” he asks. “She said her name’s Eva.”
I slam a kick into the bag hard enough to send it swinging violently.
“If you already know her name,” I say, “why are you asking who she is?”
“Hudson.”
There’s a warning in his voice now.
Irritation.
“Lucian,” I volley back. “It’s club business.”
“I’m part of the club.”
I scoff.
“You’re an apprentice mechanic,” I say. “Not a soldier or an officer. You know what people decide you need to know.”
He scowls at me.
It almost makes me laugh.
He’s made that same face since he was twelve. Somehow it still gets to me every damn time.
I'm weak in exactly one place.
Unfortunately, it's my little brother.
“I know you guys kept shit from me when I was a kid,” he says. “Fine. I get it. But I’m not a kid anymore.”
He folds his arms across his chest.
“I can ride. I can work. I have eyes and ears, and I’m not weak.”
“Nobody called you weak, dude.”
I hit the bag again.
The chains rattle overhead.
Lucian doesn't back off.
“So who is she?”
I let out a slow breath.
“The Trusted Saints stole from us.”
“So we stole something from them.”
Understanding flashes across his face.
“The girl?”
I nod.
“If she matters that much, she's important, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Like somebody's wife?”
“No.”
I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face.
“She's the daughter of a rival club leader.”
“There,” I add. “Mystery solved.”
Lucian ignores the hint.
“Then why couldn't she help in the kitchen?”
I groan and drive another punch into the bag.
“Dude.”
“What?”
He throws his hands up.
“I’m not an idiot, Hud. I know the club does... stuff.”
I snort.
“Stuff?”
“Yeah. Stuff.”
“Real criminal mastermind vocabulary there.”
“Shut up.”
A grin tugs at my mouth despite myself.
“You know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I do.
I catch the bag when it swings back toward me.
“That's because I don't want you to know more than you already do.”
Lucian's expression tightens.
“You guys still treat me like I’m twelve.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“That’s an adult.”
“Barely.”
He flips me off.
I ignore it.
“Listen to me,” I say.
Something in my voice must get through because he stops smiling.
“You've got friends. A future. A chance at a normal life.”
I jab a finger toward him.
“Go, chase girls. Make bad decisions. Lose your virginity. Do dumb nineteen-year-old shit while you still can.”
“I am not a virgin,” he says, sounding genuinely offended.
I stare at him.
“I’m not,” he says again.
Now I roll my eyes.
“Congratulations.”
“I'm serious.”
“I'm sure you are.”
Lucian shakes his head.
“Whatever.”
A beat passes.
“Still,” he says, “that girl is really pretty.”
My fist lands hard enough to rattle the chains overhead.
“Who?”
Lucian gives me a look.
“The Eva girl.”
He pauses.
“The one you're keeping locked up.”
I stop moving.
The bag swings once.
Twice.
Then settles.
“Who says I'm keeping her locked up?”
“Come on, Hud.”
His voice is patient now, like he's explaining something obvious to a child.
“I might not know every detail, but I'm pretty sure you're the guy Uncle Martin sends when something ugly needs doing.”
The words hit harder than he realizes.
Lucian keeps talking.
“Which is the part I don't get.”
“You don't get a lot of things.”
“No, seriously.”
He folds his arms.
“You play in the NHL. You're rich. People buy your jersey.”
“So?”
“So why are you still involved in all this?”
I don’t answer.
Because there isn't an answer he'd understand.
Hell, some days I don't understand it myself.
“Just stay out of it,” I say. “I'm serious. And we're done talking about this.”
I hit the bag one last time.
“And the redhead is off limits. Stay away from her.”
Lucian narrows his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but then he just shrugs and heads for the treadmills.
A moment later, I hear the machine whir to life, followed by the steady rhythm of his sneakers hitting the track.
I ignore him for another half hour and keep working the bag until sweat pours down my back and my shoulders ache.
The whole time, my mind keeps drifting back to my brother.
To how badly I don't want this life getting its hooks into him.
Lucian ran track and cross-country in high school.
Tall like me.
Faster than me.
Still untouched by most of the things that ruined the rest of us.
Colleges wanted him.
He turned them down.
Stayed here instead.
I still hate that.
He could’ve had something normal.
A campus.
Friends.
Some girl breaks his heart, instead of this place grinding him down piece by piece.
Instead, he chose motorcycles, engines, and late nights around men like Martin.
Around men like me.
I guess I understood it, in a way.
I was never much of a student either.
Hockey just happened to give me another exit.
Lucian could’ve had one too.
Eventually, the edge wears off.
My shoulders ache.
My shirt is soaked through.
The anger's still there, but it's manageable now.
I step away from the bag and start stretching.
Lucian wanders over.
“I'm gonna shower.”
“Cool.”
I hesitate.
“You got plans?”
He looks surprised. “No. Why?”
“Want to do something?”
“Like what?”
“Like getting the fuck out of that dark-ass nerd cave you live in.”
He laughs. “I am not, as you can clearly see, currently in the nerd cave.”
“I’m off today,” I say. “Figured maybe we’d take the bikes out.”
His whole face lights up.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of ride?”
“Fast.”
He grins.
“I'm in.”
“Ten minutes.”
“No promises.”
I nod once and head toward the locker room.
My body feels heavier as the adrenaline finally burns off.
But my head’s still fucked.
Because no matter how hard I try to ignore it, she keeps finding her way back in.
Into my thoughts, my decisions.
Into places she has no business being.
Because men like me can survive a lot.
Doubt usually isn't one of them.