Page 83 of Lock

No.

I stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back.

I needed movement. Something physical. Something that wasn’t my brain trying to make sense of shit that made no sense.

I went out back to the small training area behind the garage. It was half gym, half empty space where men fought off energy before it turned into stupidity.

Fuse was there, shirt off, tightening his wraps.

He glanced up when I walked in. “Morning, Prez.”

“Morning,” I said.

He nodded once and went back to his hands.

He didn’t ask questions. Fuse didn’t do questions. He liked tasks.

I grabbed the heavy bag and slammed my fist into it.

Pain sparked up my arm. Good.

I hit it again.

And again.

Hard enough that my knuckles started to throb.

All I could see was Kellan’s face when I called everything a mistake.

All I could hear was that omega calling him hostage.

All I could feel was the way he’d leaned back into me without thinking, like he’d needed it.

Like I was the only steady thing he had.

That made me want to kill someone.

That made me want to burn Reapers to the ground.

And that was exactly why I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

“Prez,” Fuse said, voice low.

I kept punching.

“Lock.”

I stopped on the sound of my name.

I turned.

Fuse was watching me, wraps half-done. His gaze was sharp, the way it always was. He saw everything.

“You’re gonna split your knuckles before the real fight,” he said.

I looked at my hands.

Blood smeared across my knuckles.