Page 12 of Stone

Stone

I deliver another spinning kick to Elijah, my trainer, and he drops to the floor. I’ve been coming to this gym for as long as I remember, which isn’t all that long, truth be told, but it sure as hell feels like it.

Elijah is an ex-boxer turned mixed martial arts trainer, and we hit it off from the moment Don left me here in his capable hands.

“Fuck me, that was a good one.” The kid outside the ring claps, then hoots and hollers, pulling my attention away from Elijah.

“Jesus, Stone. Did you have to go in so hard?” Elijah grumbles, and exhales dramatically as he gets back on his feet, rubbing his back. There’s no way in hell that hurt him, but every now and again, he pulls the old-man card.

I chuckle at his theatrics. Apart from being around Sienna, this is the only place I’m comfortable enough to be myself and let my true personality come out instead of the stoic, controlled, and contained animal my family like me to be.

My scars are on display for everyone to see here, and it doesn’t bother me. They don’t berate me for them. If anything, they fear the darkness in mine. I’ve faced evil head-on, and I remain standing, scars and all. They see me as unbreakable, made of stone, and I want them to. If only they knew it would only take a small woman for me to crumble, then they wouldn’t see me as strong at all.

“When I grow up, I wanna be just like you.” The kid, who can’t be a day over sixteen, smiles gleefully, and I sneer in his direction, forcing him to stumble backward. Fucking dumb-ass comment.

He doesn’t realize that means being tortured, belittled, and raped. It sure as hell is a kick in the teeth to hear him think that me fighting is a simple thing to achieve.

“Kid doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Elijah declares, then he slaps me on the back, and I stiffen. The only person I allow to touch me is her. He chuckles, garnering my attention. “You’re going to win this weekend. What do you want your prize to be?” His eyebrows wiggle in jest.

My mind whirls with the prizes he’s presented to me like a proud father. He’s the only man who has ever come close to showing me any sign of affection. The prizes he gifts me are minor items, ones I treasure. Like a keyring with my name engraved on one side and “Let your heart be your guide” on the other. It’s corny as hell, but it’s the first gift I remember receiving. A bank card in his name that I have free access to despite never using it, but knowing I have access to money outside of my family’s control is reassuring. He once gifted me a spare key to the gym and told me I could use it any time I needed somewhere to get away. That act alone made me feel something I only ever felt toward Sienna, but I just as quickly shot it down and pocketed the key with a swift nod while averting my gaze.

He also never pushes the women, who prowl the arena looking for a champion to fuck, on me. If anything, he bats them away, protecting me from them.

I’m not sure what he sees in me, nor do I know what he knows about me, but I can tell he knows something, and while I’ve considered asking him, I’m also scared of the repercussions of the answers and the fallout that would inevitably follow.

“Go clean the changing rooms, kid.” He shoos the grumbling kid, but with one glare from me, he scampers toward the changing room door.

Elijah throws me a towel, and I wipe the sweat from my forehead and crack my neck from side to side, hating the way my body aches so much after a training session. It’s like a comedown from the exertion I’ve just put my body through, but also a reminder of my past and future. The pain radiates from me, exaggerated with the way my body has been abused over the years. But it’s also a stark reminder I’m not getting any younger and my body will only regress further.

Then what will happen to me once I can’t fight anymore?

“Czar has a lot riding on you tomorrow,” he states, unwrapping his hand.

“I won’t let him down.”

“I know you won’t. You never do.” He watches me from the corner of his eye as I rip the tape from my own hands. “And you have another fight at the end of the month.” It’s a statement, not a question, so I don’t answer. Years of training to know when to use my tongue and when not to, leave me silent a majority of the time. “In New Jersey, right?” He side-eyes me, as if awaiting a response.

“Right.”

“Why over there? LA is the bigger scene, right here in California.”

“They have an excellent set of trainers there.” I shrug. “Not old men like you,” I jibe, with a grin tugging on my lips.

“Just want you to be careful, kid.” His tone turns flat, as if defeated.

“It’s just a fight,” I quip in a lame attempt to reassure him. Yet I know damn well it’s more than that. Does he realize it too? The feeling in my gut tells me he does, but I refuse to delve deeper.

“Maybe there’s a bigger picture. You just need to look hard enough to find it. Sometimes, we have to search inside us and follow the beat of our heart. If you listen hard enough, it can guide us home.” I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to ask questions and dig deeper into the conversation, but I don’t. I won’t. Maybe it’s because I’m scared of what I’ll find, but mostly, I’m scared of it taking me away from Sienna.

Slowly, my father’s ruse slips into place. They have me over there to fight, but also, I’m taking out the guy with the serious expression. Almost as if my repeated training sessions and fights in New Jersey have been leading up to the end of the month.

There’s more at play here than the obvious, and something tells me I should know, yet, as frustrating as it is, I have no fucking clue and no way to find out without getting myself killed.

“It’s just a fight,” I repeat.

I swallow back the growing knot and shake my head. Whatever they want to happen will happen. I’m just along for the fucking ride. A puppet attached to their sick strings.

“Is it?” Elijah voices my concern with his tone, and I finally open my mouth to ask him what he knows, but the door to the gym opens, and Slavi, one of my father’s goons, steps inside, glancing at his watch.

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