Page 15 of Shattered By Grace

Satisfied, she pushed open the door and stepped into the gym. The shift was immediate. Noise swelled around her. Weights clanking, fists pounding against heavy bags, the rhythmic grunts of fighters pushing their limits. Chaos, discipline, sweat. She thrived in it.

Tony stood in the ring, his presence unmistakable. A fighter through and through, his body bore the stories of a thousand fights in every scar and every muscle.“Ready to get started?” Tony called out, his voice carrying a blend of authority and encouragement.

Victoria nodded, climbing into the ring. “Always,” she replied, her voice steady.

Tony tossed her a pair of gloves. She caught them easily, sliding her hands in and tightening the straps.

“We’re going to work on your footwork today,” Tony said, his eyes assessing her stance. “You’ve got the power, but we need to make sure you can move fluidly.”

Victoria nodded, positioning herself in the center of the ring. She knew Tony's training style was tough but effective. Every session with him pushed her to her limits and helped her grow stronger.

Tony began demonstrating the drills, his movements fluid and precise. “Remember, it’s all about staying light on your feet. Keep moving, don’t let your opponent find an opening.”

Victoria mirrored his steps, her body falling into the rhythm of the movements. She focused on the feel of the mat beneath her feet, the subtle shifts in balance, and the constant motion.

As they worked through the drills, Tony kept a close eye on her, offering corrections and encouragement. “Good, Grace. Keep it up. Don’t forget to breathe.”

She moved faster, her confidence growing with each step. The gym faded into the background, and all that existed was the ring, her opponent, and the rhythm of the fight. This was where she felt most alive, where she could channel all her fears and frustrations into something productive.

After an hour of intense training, Tony called for a break. “You’re doing great, Grace. Take five, and we’ll move on to some sparring.”

Victoria nodded, taking a good-sized drink. The bitter coldness coated her throat with much-needed pleasure. She leaned on the ropes, catching her breath, when she noticed a sudden change in the gym's atmosphere.

The moment they walked in, the gym’s energy shifted just like it always did. Impossible to ignore.

Tristan, ever the social butterfly, moved through the space with effortless charm, exchanging easy smiles and casual conversation, his presence both magnetic and commanding.Tyson was his contrast. Silent, intense, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. He didn’t need to speak to make an impact. One look from him felt like he was peeling back your layers, seeing every secret you’d rather keep buried.

Fuck me.Victoria clenched her jaw.I was hoping to get through this workout without them here today.

The two dark-haired, god-like twins strode in, effortlessly commanding attention. Their chiseled features and sculpted muscles were impossible to ignore, each movement radiating confidence and control. Victoria’s pulse spiked as her gaze flickered over the intricate tattoos snaking across their arms and chests, dark ink etched against golden skin.

She knew those symbols all too well, the unmistakable marks of their family. The family responsible for everything she lost.

Why do they have to look like that? So beautiful. Ugh. It would be so much easier to hate them if I wasn’t attracted to them.She mentally rolled her eyes at herself, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

Being near them was infuriating. Their father had ordered her father’s murder.

She tried to keep her distance, to avoid them altogether, but Tristan was insufferable, and Tyson was an enigma she couldn’t ignore.

She hadn’t come back to the city for distractions. She had a purpose. To find answers about her father’s death and figure out how to get them.

Remnants of her past flooded her mind, taunting her.

"What are you looking at, Dad?" Victoria had asked, peering into the room. He was hunched over his desk, rifling through a pile of photographs, his expression tense and focused, as if searching for a crucial piece to a puzzle. The photos were of different men who all bore the same intricate tattoos.

Taking a look around the room like her father had taught her, she noticed several drawings of those tattoos pinned to the wall, each accompanied by rankings. Her father's meticulous work was evident in the detailed annotations and sketches.

Her father snapped shut the notebook he was scribbling in, panic flickering in his eyes before he could hide it. "Just some work stuff, darling," he lied, forcing a loving smile as he looked up at her. She was his precious daughter, shielded from the dangerous world of the Locke family that loomed over their lives.

The memory of those cryptic tattoos and the enigmatic men they represented haunted her to this day. The Lockes were more than just a last name, they were an insidious power that controlled everything from hospitals and banks to the police force itself. And her father had been a part of it all.

Tony was the boxing trainer at the gym. Tristan and Tyson were relentless with him, their intensity revealing a deep-seated connection. It was clear that Tony respected both their power and their family name. "Tristan... Tyson," he stuttered, a mix of reverence and fear in his voice, snapping Victoria back to the present.

Tristan towered over everyone, a cocky smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he surveyed the room, savoring the attention he effortlessly commanded. Beside him, his brother Tyson was a shadow, quieter but no less intense. Every move he made was calculated, his presence as dangerous as it was precise.

“Tony," Tristan greeted coolly, his eyes flicking toward Victoria. "Well, if it isn't Grace."

Victoria locked eyes with Tristan, her expression neutral, her gaze sharp.

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