Page 67 of Ugly Truths
I arch an eyebrow at him, intrigued. “Oh?”
The idea of circling each other—searching for weaknesses, trying to best one another—sends a spark of adrenaline straight to my bloodstream.
Silas’s grin darkens, his shoulders lifting casually. “I have to see if all this money I’m paying Jeff is actually worth it.”
A sharp, incredulous laugh escapes me. “You’re an ass.”
The corners of his lips curl even further. “So I’ve been told.” His gaze stays on me, daring me to say no.
I pretend to contemplate my options as I sink to the ground, stretching my legs out in front of me. “I guess I have some time to teach you a thing or two,” I muse, swaying my head side to side. “Give me a few minutes to warm up.”
Silas snorts, shaking his head. “How generous of you.”
A smug grin forms on my lips as I reach forward to touch my toes.
While I stretch and cycle through a few quick cardio drills, Silas adjusts the tape on his hands and moves to one of the cabinets in the back corner. He rummages through the shelves until he pulls out the pair of mitts Jeff uses for striking drills and gloves that are my size.
By the time I’m finished warming up, he’s already wearing them, standing at the edge of the grappling mat, waiting. I roll out my shoulders and shake out my limbs. “You know how to run these?” I ask.
He smirks, flexing his fingers in the mitts. “I think I can handle it.”
I put on the gloves and we start slow.
Silas gives me the first few sets, calling out strikes. He’s taller than Jeff, has a more rigid stance, and his reach is longer, but I adjust quickly.
Soon, we fall into a dance between his instruction and my execution.
Jab. Jab. Cross. Reset.
Lead hook. Rear hook. Step back. Again.
Silas keeps his tone even, his cues sharp, but I barely hear him. My mind is the kind of quiet I used to only find when I was in Jeff’s gym.
“I’m kicking myself for never watching you train before,” he admits with sparkling eyes, tracking my movements with the precision of an apex predator.
I huff out a laugh, stumbling through my next step before catching myself. “I was thinking the same thing,” I respond.
I’m rewarded with the most devious smile, but I don’t give him a chance to respond more than that before I step back into position, reset, and we begin again.
He’s good at calling out my strikes and keeping me on pace, but he’s not pushing me the way Jeff does. It’s endearing, really, but also kind of annoying.
I don’t need to be handled.
So when I see the opening to land a clean shot, I shift my body into the movement and my glove connects solidly against the mitt with more force than before. Then another. A little faster. A little sharper.
Silas’s nostrils flare, and something dark and thrillingly familiar flashes through his gaze.
I smile, refocusing on the mitts. “What’s on your schedule today?”
Silas shakes his head slightly. “Mostly meetings. Checking in with Everett on next quarter’s financial projections. A research and development update on the latest trial phases for an arthritis medication. And a call with the legal team about the executive transition.”
I nod, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Anything else?”
His expression flickers for a moment before he adds, “I need to call Jeremy.”
My movements slow. He told me about what had happened after he got home yesterday, still seething from the board meeting. I sat on the couch as he paced the den. I hadn’t interrupted while he tried to make sense of how his own father could do something like this.
What makes it so cruel is that Jeremy wasn’t aware of William’s real motives. He thought his father was giving him a real shot to prove himself.
