Page 8 of Becoming Brandy

After sealing the wall, Tork made his way to the weight bench, loaded it up with flat black disks of various weights, and started bench-pressing. Brandy watched his muscles flex, wondering what in the hell she was supposed to do here.

She’d never been one to work out. Her agency, which was a nice way of saying her pimp, wanted her to be waifish—with enhanced breasts, of course. So she’d worked on her skills in bulimia and then calorie counting when throwing up proved to be bad on her system.

The clank of the weights hitting the rack drew her attention. Tork was sweating. He drew his shirt off, revealing glistening pecs and abs that any male on Earth would’ve killed for. He also had tribal tattoos on one arm, though she had no idea the meaning. Averting her eyes, she felt her pulse speed up. She should not be ogling his amazing body. Tork would get her in trouble. And if Drake claimed her, she could get Tork in trouble, too. Best to avoid him and stay quiet.

“If you aren’t going to work out, then you can spot me.” He waved her over as he situated himself underneath the heavy bar again.

“Spot you?”

“Yeah. Over here. Don’t let the bar crush my spine. Simple. You can handle that. Right, puppy?”

God, she wanted to deck him. Or maybe let the bar crush his spine. Instead, she walked over and put her hands under the bar as he pushed out something like twelve more reps. He didn’t need her help, moving the bar up and down like it weighed nothing. Cartharians were naturally strong, so she didn’t was why she didn’t understand why he pumped weights.

He got up, using his shirt to wipe the sweat from his torso. The glistening muscles would’ve put Conan the Barbarian to shame.

“Your turn.” He gestured at the bench with his balled-up T-shirt.

Her eyes popped. “My turn?”

“Yeah. Bench or squat? Or maybe you’d rather do some bag training.”

“Bag training? How can you think any of this is my thing?” She gestured to her very non-muscular body.

He wiped his face with the shirt again before tossing it on the floor. “Look, sweetheart, I was told to get you some exercise and that is what I plan to do. Now, don’t give me a hard time about it. We can finish here and go on our merry way. I know that’s what we all want.”

Back to her cell. She wasn’t sure which was worse, being here with him or being locked up alone.

“Fine, I’ll work out, but don’t you have a treadmill around here somewhere?” She scanned the room.

“You don’t need that shit. Waste of time.” He took her hand, dragging her toward the center of the gym and the large boxing ring that occupied it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to tug away, but his grip was strong.

When they got to the base of the ring, Tork started handing her sparing pads. Thick headgear, gloves, and a mouthpiece. She stared at them with a growing sense of horror. “What are these for?”

“Jesus, you ask a lot of questions. Does Han put up with that mouth? Get the gear on. Put the mouthpiece in first so I can’t hear your yammering.” He got a bandage out and started to unwind it. Then he took her wrist and began to wrap it.

She was expecting him to be rough, but his touch was gentle. His fingers brushed against the skin on her wrist as he expertly bound it. His eyes flicked up to hers and then down at his work. “So you don’t break your bones when you hit me,” he said, reaching for the other one.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Can’t break my bones, puppy. At least you can’t. But thanks for the concern.”

“Han could break your bones.”

His eyes shot up, narrowing. “Yeah, your precious Han could. If he could catch me.”

“He’s not my precious Han.” She pressed her lips together, realizing she shouldn’t have said anything. She wanted them to think she was worth something to Han, so they would keep her alive. But the words were already out, and Tork pounced on them.

“Eyes only for his pregnant bride now, eh? Tossed you aside? Jilted lover?” he mocked, one eyebrow arching.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Or is there something else you’re not telling us? Maybe you aren’t the prize you’ve been pretending to be?” His eyes zeroed in on hers.

Did he know she hadn’t been able to produce heirs for Han and his brothers? If he suspected, then it was all over. They’d toss her out of the airlock. Or worse, they’d use her for pleasure and throw her away. There was that broken-toy feeling in the pit of her stomach again, making her sick.

But Tork didn’t press the idea any further. He finished wrapping her wrists, and then helped her put on the boxing gloves. After jamming the headgear on her head, he slipped the mouthpiece between her teeth. “In the ring,” he commanded.

---