Page 47 of The Enforcer's Vow
"Thanks for the observation."
"Rough night with the new wife?"
I drop the barbell with more force than necessary. "Watch your mouth."
"Touchy." He grins, but there's concern in his eyes. "Come on. Glove up. You need to hit something."
I pull on the gloves, feeling the familiar weight of them on my hands. We've been sparring together for years, know each other's moves by heart. Usually, it's controlled, technical. Today, I come out swinging.
I catch him with a right hook to the ribs that makes him grunt. He backs away, hands up defensively.
"Easy there, tiger."
I don't ease up. I advance, throwing combinations that have real heat behind them. He blocks most of them, but I can see the surprise in his eyes. This isn't practice anymore.
"What the hell, Maksim?"
I answer with a left cross that he barely deflects. He's forced to engage now, throwing punches of his own. We circle each other, trading blows. My knuckles sting inside the gloves, but I don't stop. Can't stop. All the frustration, all the confusion from the past few days pours out through my fists.
I overextend on a hook, and Grisha takes advantage. He slips inside my guard and takes me down, using my momentum against me. We hit the mat hard, and he pins me there, his forearm across my throat.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demands, breathing hard.
I struggle against his hold, but he's got me locked down. "Get off me."
"Not until you tell me what's eating you alive."
"Nothing's eating me alive."
"Bullshit. You've been different since the wedding. Hell, you've been different since you started spending time with her."
Heat flares in my chest. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't point out the obvious? She's got you twisted up, Brother. And that's dangerous." His weight is crushing, but I know I can take him.
I buck against his hold, manage to throw him off. We both roll to our feet, gloves up. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know you've never hesitated to pull the trigger before. I know you've never cared about collateral damage. And I know you sure as hell never let emotion cloud your judgment."
"She's not clouding anything."
"Then why is Damir Mirov still breathing?" Grisha's guard is down and my rage is sky high.
I charge at him, throwing wild haymakers. He dodges most of them, but I catch him with an uppercut that snaps his head back. He staggers, blood trickling from his nose.
"Fuck off, Grisha."
He wipes the blood away with the back of his glove, his expression serious now. "Listen to me, Maksim. I've known you since we were kids. I've seen you kill men without blinking, watched you torture information out of people who crossed the family. You're ice cold when you need to be. But this girl—she's changed you."
"She hasn't changed anything."
"Then prove it. Do your job. Kill the man who killed our cousin. Stop letting her pretty face get in the way of justice."
I pull off my gloves and throw them at the wall. They hit with a dull thud and fall to the floor. "I said fuck off."
"Be careful..." His voice is quiet now, almost gentle. "If she's in your head, if she's making you soft, you're not just putting yourself at risk. You're putting all of us at risk. The family, the business, everything we've built."
He turns and walks toward the door, leaving me alone with the heavy bags and the smells of sweat and leather. I watch him go, my hands shaking with adrenaline and something that feels dangerously close to fear.
