Page 49 of Fractured Souls
“I was just singing your praises. Why?” she jokes.
“If I can’t, it’s okay. I was just thinking of meeting Bo at home a bit earlier.”
“You guys still living together?” she asks, curiosity in her brown eyes.
“Yeah, it’s working out really well, actually.” More than a little too well, but Sam doesn’t need to know that.
“Yeah, just finish up these applications, make sure everyone here is set, and then you can go.” She walks away just as our front doors open and a man walks through. He’s a little shorter than I am, with neatly styled black hair that’s shaved on the sides, and long and slicked back on the top. His handsome face is set in the bitchiest of resting faces—his lips pursed, eyebrows in a glower. His sharp jaw is clenched.
And he’s walking right up to me.
Hands in his dress pants pockets, a button-down black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and surveying the gym, he’s fit, but slimmer than I am.
And scary.
He walks up to the counter, pulling his hands out of his pockets, and his unnerving violet eyes land on me, his face not breaking into any sort of emotion. “Um, hi . . . uh, can I help you?”
“Do you have a boxing ring here?” is all he asks, with the touch of an accent. Russian? I’m not really sure. It’s faint, barely even there.
“Um, yes we do, it’s uh, downstairs.”
“How does it work? Is it free to use or do you need to sign up?”
The whiplash from his questions takes my brain a moment to catch up. “Well, you need a membership, and then yeah, you can sign up. There’s a schedule for signs-ups online or you can doit here. You get a thirty-minute session, but if no one’s waiting after you, you can stay, that’s okay. Sam doesn’t mind.”
“Sam?”
“The owner. She runs this gym with her partner.”
“And you are?”
“Camden . . . My name is Camden.” I grab the paper he needs to fill out, pushing it toward him with a pen. Something about him is unnerving. “This is the application. You need to fill out the questions, and I just need an ID and a card on file to charge the membership. It’s forty-five dollars a month, but classes are extra and vary. You do get discounts, though, the more classes you take. The membership gives you access to all the equipment and the ring downstairs.”
“I don’t have ID, or a card. I have cash.”
Um. . . “I uh, need ID, and a card to charge the fee to.”
“I’ll pay in cash. I’ll even pay next month’s fee.”
“I uh, I can’t, I need—”
“Do you not take money here?” He smiles tightly. “I’ll even pay double to end this conversation sooner.”
Why is he so mean? “I still need an ID.”
“Why do I need an ID to use a gym? Do you run background checks?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then I don’t see why it’s important.” The ghost of an accent becomes a bit thicker the more irritated he gets, and he drags his fingers through his hair, looking around nervously.
“For safety, we need to know who our patrons are.” My hands start to tremor a bit. I hate confrontation and he’s being a bit difficult. “We need some sort of ID. Anything you have to confirm your identity.”
The man sighs, reaching into his pocket and handing me an American passport. “It’s all I got. I haven’t had a chance to get an ID yet.”
“No, this is perfect. Um . . .” I look down at it. “Aiden.” I smile at him. “This works.”
“Fantastic,” he deadpans grabbing a pen off my desk to fill out his paperwork. His eyes narrow on it. “Do I need a home address?”
