Page 11 of Shadows Within (Millhaven #1)

The Boxer

Callum

I’m not a stalker. Even though I listened to Scarlett and Sophia as they walked up the path to that party four years ago.

Even though I know about her one drink limit.

Even though I can’t stop thinking about her.

As long as I can remember, no one has piqued my interest enough to pay much attention to them.

But running into Scarlett was intentional, and talking to her at the party was not a coincidence.

For the first time, I’ve wanted to know more about someone—that alone makes Scarlett Voss dangerous.

Since last night, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. She isn’t the type of girl you mold into the perfect housewife. She fights back. Although I barely know her, I’m damn proud of her for that.

I’ve been too busy with The Society to ever pay attention to my feelings—all I know is that they’re dangerous.

I can’t understand why I’m so fixated on her.

She’s the first person I want to shelter from The Society, but nobody can find out.

When I heard some of the pledges talking about drugging her at the party, it sparked something inside of me, something I’ve never felt before.

I often lose interest in women after a couple of nights. They provide me with a release that doesn't come with blood on my hands or pressure behind my eyes. While there’s no genuine intimacy or trust in my actions, there’s control. And that’s what I crave the most.

The pledges know their place, just like all the other men that are pushed into The Society by their families.

I hate my parents— their legacy, expectations, and everything they stand for.

But being a Mercer has one benefit: people listen to you.

In my case, maybe people are just afraid.

I let them be. Fear gets you further than respect ever will.

I’ve been a part of The Society for almost four years, and my final initiation is later this year.

Nothing feels worse than carrying the burdens that come with the role of a pledge.

I try not to think and pull a cigarette out from inside my jacket, along with a box of matches.

There’s something about pulling the cedar stick along the side of the box that I love.

I throw it back onto my dash and light the toxic filth that fills my lungs.

I throw the match out the window and onto the sidewalk.

Right as my mind is stuck on her, my newfound obsession walks out of the arts building, without a care in the world. Her light brown hair blows in the wind, like the leaves that fall from the trees.

She talks to Sophia. I wonder if she knows that Sophia’s dad is corrupt. Money in exchange for silence is all it took to guarantee District Attorney Roberts to protect his daughter. I bet she has no fucking clue.

“Love you! I’ll call you later!” Scarlett yells to her sheltered friend as she throws her bag in the passenger seat and climbs into her car. I start my engine and discretely follow her across town.

We end up outside of an old gym, the kind that doesn’t come with a high price tag or complimentary water.

I’m not surprised that Scarlett works out, but why does she come here?

There are two gyms on campus and one near her mom’s house.

Although, based on what I’ve seen, I wouldn't want Scarlett to spend a lot of time at her mom’s place anyway.

She steps out of her car, carefully closing the door, and walks toward the worn building. She pulls her hair back out of her face. As she opens the door with her elbow, I feel the urge to follow her.

I get out of my car, slamming the door. My feet are heavy and quick on the pavement. She has no idea I’m following her.

When I make her mine, I need to teach her some self-awareness. She doesn’t understand: this town can get you killed. The slight thought of her getting hurt makes me cringe. I approach the gym door and try not to let my anger get the best of me.

As I enter, I’m hit with the smell of sweat and humility.

This gym is large— I can blend in easily.

The equipment is older, the lighting isn’t great, and it feels like the kind of place you’d go to avoid others.

I scan the room and notice her sitting on a bench in the back.

She isn’t sitting with everyone else putting their shoes on.

Why is she in the back of the gym? She ties the laces of her tan and black sneakers.

I turn the corner to try and get a better view of her, but I try to remain hidden.

She walks up toward the boxing ring and slides in, between its ropes, like she’s done this a million times. I notice the sparring gloves in her hand.

A middle-aged man comes over and greets her with a routine smile.

My eye twitches.

Who is this motherfucker?

He helps her tie the gloves, running his fingers over the calluses on hers. He’s too close. He puts his own gloves on, and they put their mouth guards in. I know what’s going to happen next, but I didn’t expect it. Scarlett is a… boxer? Interesting.

I wonder if she boxes for control. There’s something calculated in the way she moves, almost as if she’s running her fingers along the edge of a blade just to see if it’s still sharp.

Boxing allows her to lose control without actually losing it, like dipping her toes in deep water.

She’s in a safe and controlled place with someone she obviously trusts.

I need to find out who this guy is—an addition to my mental checklist of things to do later.

The more I watch her, the more it seems like she is fighting something bigger than the man in front of her.

Maybe there’s more to Scarlett Voss than I thought. Maybe she’s just trying to survive, one punch at a time.

Just like me.