Page 77 of Deliverance

We’re interrupted by a group of guys.

“Hey, G!” One of them splits from the others and moves in our direction. “Who’s your friend?” His gaze lands on me. “Wassup?”

“Hey.” I unzip my bag.

Genesis shoots me a sideways glance and points two fingers at her mouth, doing a gagging motion.

I get the hint. The guy is a nuisance.

“When are we hanging out, beautiful?” he asks after his attention shifts back to Genesis.

“Never.”

“Ouch.” He places both hands over his muscular chest and leans back an inch. “You’re breaking my heart, girl.”

“Fuck off, Cornell.” She gives him the finger.

A burst of laughter fills the room as I spin back to my locker and start getting ready. Behind me, the chatter grows more animated.

Genesis stands up and leans over to close the space between us, her voice low. “Don’t let the assholes intimidate you. They’re all bark and no bite.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime.” A wink. “See you in the ring.” Then she walks off.

I spot her at the barbell squat rack a little later while warming up for my session with Roque. She’s tied her unruly curls into a bun on top of her head and is oblivious to the hordes of men swirling around the station and trying to strike up a conversation.

Eventually, while I’m stretching on the opposite side of the gym, our eyes meet and she grins. I return the gesture.

Just as he promised, Roque is waiting in the ring. I approach the punching bag and size it up, a flood of old memories swamping me.

We spend the first fifteen minutes going over the basics. My body aches in places I’d forgotten it could as my pulse races and my heart beats a hole into my breastbone.

“Spread your feet,” Roque reminds me while we move around the ring. “You cross them, you’re dead.”

I’m riled up and sweating buckets when he finally allows me near the punching bag. The first blow sends a dull stab of pain up my arm and into my neck and shoulder. I slide back, using the balls of my feet, and wipe the moisture that’s accumulated on my forehead with the outer side of my forearm.

Roque gives me an encouraging nod.

I draw in a lungful of air and circle the bag, imagining it’s Rhys. Imagining he’s staring at me, taunting. My arm shoots out and connects with the tattered leather. This time, I control my fist better. Instead of pain, it’s something else that ripples through my body.

Anger.

Hot, thick, throbbing anger.

It licks my chest and stomach, its flames spreading through my limbs like fresh lava.

Knees slightly bent, I throw a left hook. A grunting sound comes from somewhere above and I take a moment to drink in my surroundings but realize that there’s no one else in the ring right now but Roque and me.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Drew,” he says.

Several people have moved in to watch us.Watch me.

Squeezing my eyes for a second, I bring my elbows up. The image of Rhys, solid and deadly, swims back into focus.

What are you wearing? You look like a whore.

My glove connects with the bag again. Thwack.

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