Page 11 of Rooster

I don't know if I'll ever have answers to my questions, and that may have the power to drive me insane.

Chapter 4

Rooster

I don't have to look down at the treadmill display to know that I've run more this morning than I have in the last week, which is saying something because I'm on this damn thing every single day.

I don't get far from the conference room because I never know when an urgent call from one of the guys needing help will come in.

With the back of my hand, I swipe at more sweat on my face, only for it to be replaced by more droplets. My shoes squeak on the rubber belt from the wetness that has dripped from my skin over the last three hours.

I'm torturing myself today, and I know exactly why I'm doing it. I'm avoiding what I really want to do.

I shouldn't have been turned on yesterday.

Morgan was terrified of me, and I barely kept my cock from thickening and pointing at her when she ran her soft, cool hand over my chest. It wasn't her fear that turned me on, but that doesn't matter.

I should have better fucking control of what my body does.

I have to stop thinking about her because just the memories are enough to drive me wild.

Running has helped some, but the urge to jump into the shower and put a quick end to my suffering can't happen. It seems vile and disgusting, and I'm normally a better man than that.

But even running for hours on end hasn't done much to calm that ache inside me. If anything, the exhaustion in my muscles and the pain I'm causing my body have somehow merged, making me feel even wilder now than when I stepped into the gym hours ago.

The door to the gym opens, and I swing my gaze so quickly in that direction I nearly lose my footing.

"You good?" Bandera asks when I have to snap my hands out and grab the bars to steady myself.

"I'm fine," I grunt, turning my attention back to the television mounted on the wall.

A news channel is playing with the sound turned all the way down, and I don't have to read the subtitles to know that the world is a deadly, dangerous place. I also know as bad as the news makes everything sound, the world is much more dangerous. But most people don't have the capacity to be given all the truth. Society would crumble if people knew just how evil some people can be. They'd live in complete fear and probably would never leave their houses.

"You're going to dehydrate," Bandera mutters as he climbs on the machine next to mine and starts a quick walk.

I don't bother to respond to the guy. I don't need health advice from any of the guys here. They already have an unlimited amount of opinions about my food intake.

After a few minutes, Bandera ramps up the speed on his treadmill, and despite the silence other than our feet pounding on the machines, I can feel the tension rolling off him.

"What?" I growl when he darts his eyes in my direction for the third time.

"Is there a reason you're acting so aggressive right now?"

"Is there a reason you have something to say and are remaining silent?" I challenge, not bothering to look in his direction.

The mirrored wall opposite the treadmills gives me the opportunity to glare at his reflection.

He pushes the button on his treadmill to slow it down, but I keep mine at full speed. I work out enough I could probably run all day and not get too winded, but the effort it's taking not to get completely annoyed with him is starting to drag me down some.

When his machine fully stops, I watch in the mirror as he turns to face me.

"Has Kincaid said anything about the patch?"

I feign confusion.

"What patch?"

"The presidential patch."

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