Page 40 of On the Wild Side

“Thanks.”

I park just outside of Ry’s shop, where the gym is also housed. It has its own entrance in the back, and because my brother is who he is, this gym is likely outfitted with better and more state-of-the-art equipment than theactualgym just outside of town.

When I walk in, I find Jake on the treadmill, earbuds in his ears, sweating as he jogs. I wave at him and head straight to the corner, where a punching bag hangs.

After slipping on gloves so I don’t tear my knuckles apart, I start in. First, I see that asshole’s face from today, and I pound it as hard as I can. Then I make my way through the fuckers that were supposed to protect Abbi when she was a teenager. The ones who not only hit her, but raped her, and tore apart her mental health, as well. She didn’t spell it out for me, but it was clear.

And I wish I could make them all pay.

So, I hit and hit and hit until my arms and shoulders sing in protest. Until I’m fighting for breath and every inhale is pure fire. Until all the injuries I’ve ever had—and there are more than I can list—scream in protest.

And then I hit some more.

The bag falls from the ceiling, catching me by such surprise that I step back, and then applause breaks out around me.

When I turn, I find Ryan, Jake, Remington, and Chase all standing nearby, hands on hips or in pockets, watching me.

“You’re going to hurt tomorrow,” Rem says.

“I hurt now. Give me just five minutes alone in a cell with him,” I say to Chase as I wipe my arm over my forehead.

“I can’t do that, no matter how much I want to,” Chase says quietly. “He threatened to sue her for assault.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I turn and kick the bag now.

“He dropped that idea when we reminded him that what she did was in self-defense.” Chase crosses his arms over his chest. “How is she?”

“Better. She’s a lot better. Bruised and sore, but she ate and wanted to go home with Daisy. And I needed—” I point to the bag. “I’m just so fuckingpissed.”

“Did this help?” Jake asks quietly, watching me with sober eyes.

“A little. I pictured his face.” I blow out a breath as I tug my sweat-drenched shirt over my head and then accept the bottle of water that Ryan offers. “I hate that there’s nothing I can do.”

“You did it,” Ryan replies. “You stayed with her. You took care of her. That’s all you can do.”

“It’s not enough.” I chug some of the water. “Hey, you’re fancy.”

Ryan’s lips twitch. “Are you insulting me?”

“No, Millie says I need a new suit for this big party. But I only have a couple of days until the gala.”

“Oh, I can take care of that,” Ryan says, pulling out his phone. “What color do you want?”

“It’s a fucking suit, I don’t know.” I eye Jake. “Sorry, buddy.”

“I figure you have the right to swear a lot today,” Jake replies. His face is still sober. “Did he hurt her really bad?”

“He got one hit in,” I reply and walk to him, patting him on the shoulder. “And she smashed a frying pan over his head. Made him bleed.”

Jake nods, relief obviously moving through him. “Good. That’s good. Maybe I’ll go see her tomorrow and see if she needs anything. I’m gonna go kill some zombies.”

He waves at us and then walks out of the gym, closing the door behind him.

“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I should have thought of how he was feeling before I went on my rampage.”

“He’s okay,” Ryan says. “He’ll go kill some zombies and feel better. The way you killed my bag over there.”

“Sorry.” I grin at him. “Not sorry. Hey, this asshole is the son of a rich fucker. I can’t hurt him physically, but?—”

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