Page 46 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

V ictoria’s emotions spiraled as she shut the door behind her. She could barely catch her breath, the severity of the situation crashing down on her all at once. Slowly, she slid down the door, pulling her knees up to her chest as the tears began to fall freely.

Clawdia, who had been hiding ever since Taylor had shown up the day before, finally appeared, her soft purring rubbing against Victoria’s legs.

“Hey, stranger,” Victoria whispered through her sobs, her voice ragged. “I think I just put a huge target on my friend’s back. The guy I have feelings for is either going to hate me or end up in prison. I’m so lost…”

Her words faltered as another sob wracked her body, her hands trembling as she wiped her face. Clawdia curled up next to her, offering the only comfort she could, but it did little to ease the chaos inside Victoria’s chest.

Thunder cracked, loud enough to startle Clawdia, who darted off to hide. The room felt too small, suffocating.

“I need to get out of here,” Victoria muttered, her thoughts racing. "I need to hit something. Scream if I can.”

She pushed herself up, the urgency of needing an outlet clear in her mind.

She swiftly moved to her room, pulling on a pair of black leggings, a matching sports top, and a pull-over with Wingleader across the chest. The weight of the world still pressing on her, she quickly braided her blonde hair back, every motion mechanical as she grabbed her gym bag.

Inside, she checked for her gloves, tape, and sweat towel, then her headphones. Everything was in place. She just needed to focus on the rhythm of movement—anything to drown out the noise in her head.

Not paying attention to the time, Victoria let the rhythmic pounding of her fists against the heavy bag consume her.

Each strike felt like a release, the tension that had been building inside her slowly unraveling with every hit.

After hours of dress shopping with Taylor, she had needed this—the sharp burn in her muscles, the sting in her knuckles, the kind of exhaustion that dulled everything else.

The gym around her faded into the background.

The clang of metal and soft hum of the gym’s lights became distant, irrelevant.

She barely noticed when a group of men entered, their voices muted and distant.

Clients, probably. She didn’t care. She was too focused on perfecting her form, her movements sharp and controlled.

Heavy footsteps thundered toward her.

Before she could react, a rough hand seized her throat, yanking her back. Her pulse slammed against her ribs as a deep, snarling voice filled her ears.

“Mr. Locke has a message for you.”

Adrenaline surged through her veins.

Victoria twisted sharply, breaking just enough of his grip to drive her elbow into his ribs. He grunted, stumbling back, and she spun, bringing her fist up hard against his jaw. He crumpled to the floor.

No time to breathe.

Another man lunged at her. She ducked under his swing, driving her knee into his gut. He staggered but didn’t go down, catching her wrist before she could land another hit. She fought against his grip, twisting her body, but then— A sharp blow to her ribs.

Pain exploded through her side as she gasped, barely catching herself before she hit the ground. The third man loomed over her, his face twisted in a sick grin. Her vision blurred, her limbs aching from the fight, but she braced herself anyway. She’d go down swinging.

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed across the gym floor.

A voice, smooth and laced with amusement, cut through the tension.

“Well, well. Looks like I walked in just in time for the entertainment.”

Victoria’s body tensed.

The men around her froze. The one still gripping her wrist let go like he had been burned, while the others turned stiffly toward the entrance.

Tristan Locke stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

The overhead lights carved sharp shadows over his sharp jaw, his mouth curled into an amused smirk.

But Victoria knew better. That wasn’t humor in his eyes.

It was ice-cold rage, controlled but deadly.

“You must be new,” Tristan mused, stepping forward with a lazy kind of confidence, the kind that made the air feel suffocating. “Because if you knew who I was, you wouldn’t have put your filthy hands on what’s mine.”

Mine.

The word sent a shiver through Victoria’s spine, even as fury curled in her chest.

One of the men swallowed hard. “L-Locke?—”

“Oh, good. You do know my name.” Tristan tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Then you also know what happens to people who cross me. Or did my father forget to mention that part before sending his lap dogs to do his dirty work?”

Victoria’s stomach twisted. Tristan didn’t know.

One of the men sneered, trying to mask his growing fear. “Your father sent us.”

A single beat of silence. Something in Tristan’s posture shifted. The smirk vanished.

His entire body went rigid, his expression darkening as his eyes flicked to Victoria. Bruised, bloodied, fighting off men sent by his father.

The realization hit him slowly, like a blade dragging through flesh. His father had sent men after her. But why now?

Tristan’s jaw clenched, but if he was thrown off, he didn’t show it. Instead, he let out a slow exhale and rolled his shoulders, that smirk creeping back. It was sharper now. Deadlier.

“Well,” he said, his voice deceptively casual, “that’s a shame. Because now I have to send a message back.”

The men barely had time to react before Tristan moved.

Fast. Brutal.

A fist to one’s throat, a knee to another’s ribs. Quick, calculated strikes that dropped two of them instantly. The third scrambled backward, reaching for a weapon, but Tristan kicked it from his grasp before slamming him against the nearest weight rack.

The last man standing stammered, his hands raised in surrender. Tristan tilted his head, considering him with cold amusement.

“Do me a favor,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Tell my father that if he ever comes for her again, he won’t just be losing pawns. He’ll be losing his goddamn king.”

That was all it took.

The man dragged his unconscious comrades and bolted, practically tripping over himself as he fled.

Silence stretched through the gym, the only sound Victoria’s ragged breathing.

Tristan didn’t move until the door slammed shut behind them. Then, and only then, did he turn to her, his gaze sharp, questioning.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Tristan took a step toward her, his expression unreadable, but his voice was softer now. "You alright?"

Victoria opened her mouth to say yes , to force the lie, but the words wouldn’t come.

Her chest tightened. The walls of the gym seemed to shrink around her, the edges of her vision blurring. She could still taste blood on her tongue, but it wasn’t the pain that made her tremble. It was the realization.

His father sent them.

The words rang in her head, over and over, drowning out the pounding of her heart. Her breath hitched. Her fingers tingled. Her chest…too tight, too small…she couldn’t breathe.

She was spiraling and her body wasn’t listening.

A choked sound escaped her throat as she stumbled back, her knees giving out.

Before she could hit the floor, strong arms caught her.

“Shit,” Tristan muttered under his breath.