Page 40 of Tinsel & Chrome

Cyclops hasn’t moved. His eyes fixed on the door Larissa disappeared through. There’s murder in his gaze. “We need to know who did this,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

I nod, my fists clenching at my sides. “We will. One way or another, we’ll find out.”

Cyclops turns his steely gaze on me. “You seem awfully close to my daughter, Tex. Something I should know?”

There’s a threat in his words, barely veiled. I meet his eyes, unflinching. “Nothing’s changed, Pres. I’ve always looked out for her. Same as everybody else.”

He holds my stare for a long moment before nodding, seemingly satisfied. But I can see the doubt lingering in his eyes. He knows me too well.

“We need a plan,” Mace interjects, his voice tight with tension. “Can’t just sit around with our thumbs up our asses while some fucker’s out there thinking he can lay hands on one of ours. On my goddamn baby sister.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration and anger warring inside me. “We need to be smart about this. Larissa’s not gonna just give up the name. We push too hard, she’ll bolt again.”

Cyclops grunts, his face a mask of barely contained rage. “Then we do it the old-fashioned way. Start asking questions. Someone knows something.”

“And if they don’t want to talk?” Mace asks, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Then we make them talk,” Cyclops growls.

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Chapter Three

Larissa

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The gym in the clubhouse smells like sweat, old leather, and determination. It’s quieter than the rest of the place, and that’s exactly why I came here. I need space. I need to breathe.

My fists pound against the heavy bag, each punch sending a jolt through my already sore body. It hurts, but I welcome it. Pain is simpler than emotions. It doesn’t twist or confuse you. It just is. And right now, it’s better than letting my thoughts spiral.

Better than thinking about Tex.

Too bad. You’re getting saved anyway.

The way he said it, like I’m some damsel in distress who can’t handle herself, made me want to scream. I didn’t survive years with an abusive asshole just to have some smug enforcer act like I’m helpless. Tex doesn’t know me like he thinks he does. He never has.

“Your form’s sloppy.”

I whirl around to find Tex leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and that damn smirk on his face. The bastard’s been watching me.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” I snap, turning back to the bag. My fists connect with a satisfying thud.

Tex chuckles, the sound low and rough. “Just saying, if you’re gonna throw a punch, make it count. Otherwise, you’re wasting energy.”

The audacity of this man. I pause, wiping sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. “What do you want, Tex? You here to lecture me on my technique?”

“Thought you might want a sparring partner,” he says, stepping into the room. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s giving me a chance to kick him out. As if I could stop him if I tried.

“I’m fine on my own.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says, eyeing the bag with a raised brow. “But you’re not hitting it right. Let me show you.”

He’s already peeling off his cut and setting it aside. Before I can argue, he’s standing in front of me, his hands up. “Come on, princess. Hit me.”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Tex.”

“Good,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. “Neither am I.”