Page 73

CHARLOTTE

Song, the crown, take luck

https://takeluck.komi.io

“ W –where are you taking me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, as he links his fingers through mine and leads me out of the room on shaking legs.

I hate feeling weak. I hate that he’s the one holding me up. And worse…I hate that it feels right.

“Well, we either fuck it out or fight it out. I’m using my brain for once and going for option two.”

I freeze.

He chuckles. “What? You prefer the first option, heartbreaker?”

Electricity shoots up my arm, and I swear he feels it too by the way he looks down at our hands.

His thumb brushes mine. It shouldn’t feel this way. I pull in a breath.

“Beating you on your ass is fine.”

Not that I’m in any shape to. But I’ve trained for this. I can always fight. No matter what.

He leads me down the stairs and into a long hallway. At the end, he pushes open two double doors, revealing an indoor gym.

It’s all state-of-the-art. Sleek equipment. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. And a fucking cage in the center of the room.

Figures. These guys probably all fight like pros. Especially the big one.

Declan finally lets go of my hand, and the skin still tingles where his fingers were. He tosses the gloves to me. I catch one. The other falls to the ground with a soft thud.

Suddenly, I’m hyper aware I’m wearing only a tank top and tight black shorts. Great. Bending down, I snatch up the glove and pull both on, securing the Velcro with my teeth.

“Mats or cage?” he asks.

I scan the space. “Cage rules?”

His white teeth flash as he grins. “No rules. I can take it.”

“I’ll be gentle with you,” I say, smiling before I can stop myself.

For a second, it’s like we’re somewhere else. Another time. Just me and him.

“I don’t do gentle, sweetheart,” he replies, his deep Irish lilt dropping an octave. Butterflies erupt in my stomach.

I tighten my ponytail and climb into the cage. He follows and shuts the door behind him with a solid clang.

As I turn to face him, he raises the mitts to shield his face.

“I wasn’t going straight for the face!” I laugh.

“With you, I never know where you’ll aim.” He drops one mitt to cover his crotch.

I throw a soft right jab into his shoulder. “See? Gentle.”

Jogging in place to warm up, I wait as he sets the position.

“Hit as hard as you want. Let it all out,” he says, his voice calm and low.

“1–2–1 to start,” I tell him, settling into stance. He nods.

The first few punches are light. Testing. Controlled.

“Come on. You can do better than this,” he taunts.

So I land a harder shot.

“Good girl. Better. Keep going.”

So I do.

Punch after punch, I hit harder. Faster. Sweat begins to bead on my forehead, dripping down the side of my face. My arms burn, lungs heaving.

“More!” he yells.

I give him more.

He shifts the mitts, changing placement, making me think, making my body work.

“Imagine it’s him. Hurt him. Show me how much you hate him. Show me how fucking fierce you are.”

And then I see them. Vlad’s black eyes. That cold smirk. The monster in my nightmares.

A scream rips out of me as my fists take over.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just fight.

All I want is revenge. My baby safe. And my husband buried in the fucking ground.