Page 90 of Celestial Combat

Tony was already waiting for me, like always.

He didn’t ask why Zane was here. Didn’t so much as blink when my new bodyguard took up a spot in the back of the gym, arms crossed, that scary expression on his face as he watched.

After making sure I was okay after the events in Chinatown, we worked the pads, refining my footwork, focusing on speed and precision. The repetitive rhythm of punches, the weight of my fists connecting against the pads – it was the only thing that made sense. I threw myself into it, letting the movements ground me, push out everything else.

After that came strength training. Weights, endurance drills. Then sparring, where Tony put me through hell, forcing me to go harder, to be faster.

And the entire time, I could feel Zane’s eyes on me.

Watching.

Assessing.

Unmoving.

By the time I was done, sweat clung to my skin, muscles burning in that familiar way I needed. The workout left me drained, but alive – a reminder that no matter what was happening around me, I was still in control of my own body.

But as I grabbed my towel and wiped the sweat from my face, my gaze flickered toward Zane, still standing in that same damn spot.

For the first time, I wondered if I’d ever really be alone again.

Three hours later, I stepped out of the changing rooms, freshly showered, my damp hair falling over my shoulders. The scent of my coconut shampoo mixed with the lingering sting of menthol muscle rub on my skin. My body ached from the workout, but it was a good ache – the kind that settled deep in my bones, making me feel lighter somehow. More in control.

But whatever sense of ease I’d gained in that shower evaporated the second I spotted Zane.

He was leaning against the hallway wall outside the locker rooms, waiting.

Hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, hoodie pulled over his head, those black tattoos licking up his throat and ending just at his jaw. His nose ring caught the light, glinting faintly. My heartbeat dropped like a weight between my legs.

I exhaled through my nose, coming to a stop in front of him. “Can I help you?”

“We need to go to your place. Get your stuff.”

“So when exactly do you stop following me?” I asked, arms crossing over my chest.

“When you’re not in danger.”

The answer was simple. Too simple. Like this wasn’t some insane shift in my life. Like it made perfect sense for him to be here, for him to be following me everywhere, for him to be treating me like I was some helpless girl who needed a damn bodyguard.

I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers against my temple. This was really happening.

Still, arguing wouldn’t change anything. If my parents and Trevor had signed off on this, I wasn’t going to get out of it so easily.

Instead, I just shook my head and pushed past him, heading toward the exit.

The car ride to Queens was mostly filled with conversation about my training – how my footwork was improving, how I needed to be more aggressive when cutting angles, how I shouldn’t rely so much on speed.

“You rely on dodging too much,” Zane said, one hand on the wheel, his focus sharp on the road.

“That’s called not getting hit.”

“That’s called getting tired.”

I shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. He rarely was.

There was something about the way he analyzed everything I did, the way he studied my movements in the gym. Like he wasn’t just watching – he was learning me.Learning my body.

By the time we pulled up to my place in Southside Jamaica, the conversation had died down, leaving only the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city.