Page 32 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Elena

B efore I even realize I’m awake, I’m seated upright. My pulse pounds as the duvet falls to my waist, letting cold air rush over my sweat-slicked chest and neck.

It takes a moment to realize where I am—the massive bedroom, the ornate curtains, the eight-foot windows. Silas’s side of the bed is empty, an imprint on the pillow still visible in the darkness. The bathroom light is off.

My fingers curl into the sheets, rubbing the buttery-soft fabric between my fingers as a reminder of what is real and what is not.

It was just a nightmare .

Or something like it. I don’t even remember what I saw before I ended up here again. It’s just a blur of fragmented images, but I know something terrible was happening. I was fighting for my life in my own head.

I used to have a lot of these dreams after Drew. I rarely remembered the specifics, but I woke up screaming her name more times than I can count. Sometimes I wondered if she was doing it to punish me from some afterlife.

Those type of dreams came back after the warehouse explosion, but they hadn’t been as frequent since I moved back in with Silas. I thought maybe things were starting to settle because I was beginning to feel more like myself. I don’t know. I’m not sure why I expected anything different .

The sky outside is still blanketed in darkness as I slide back down onto the mattress and onto my side. The small analog clock near my head says it’s just after five in the morning. I curse.

There’s no world where I fall asleep after that.

With a sigh, I roll onto my back. Davey and the guys made solid progress on the servers yesterday, and Corey managed to extract coordinates for a general area in Sierra Blanca, which feels promising, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now.

I find myself putting on a pair of biker shorts and a t-shirt. I never work out this early, but getting rid of the electricity that’s zipping through my veins feels like the only productive thing I can do.

By the time I brush my teeth and make it down to the basement, the space is already thick with body heat and sweat. “Basket Case” plays over the speakers, loud enough to muffle the impact of Silas’s gloved fists against the heavy bag in the corner.

He throws perfectly controlled strikes into the leather, footwork light.

His shirt is discarded on the floor nearby, and his glasses have been replaced with contacts.

Sweat glistens along the ridges of his back, sliding down to the waistband of his shorts, and catching on the deep cut of his muscles. Heat curls low in my stomach.

Am I about to become a morning person?

Silas doesn’t break his rhythm or even glance in my direction through the mirrors on the surrounding walls. He lands several hard hits against the bag before finally speaking.

“Did you come down here just to ogle me?”

My cheeks flush. “It wasn’t my plan,” I admit, crossing my arms with a smirk, “but it’s a big perk.”

That gets his attention. He drops his hands and turns to me, fighting a smile. My body relaxes almost instantly at the way his eyes linger on me without a guarded edge. No measured silences, no distance.

Today is a good day .

I cross the room, placing a palm against his glistening chest, meaning to just press a quick kiss to his jaw. But before I can move away, Silas pins my hand against his skin with one of his gloves.

He tilts his head in question. “Why are you awake?”

I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” Then, with a smile, I free my hand and back away. “Don’t let me interrupt. Jeff isn’t coming today, so I was just going to lift and do some cardio.”

Silas watches me for a beat as he strips off his gloves to reveal the tape wrapped around his fingers. Then, he reaches for his water bottle, tipping it to his lips as he speaks against the opening. “Or we could run some drills together.”

I arch an eyebrow at him, intrigued. “Oh?”

The idea of circling each other—searching for weaknesses, trying to best one another—sends a spark of adrenaline straight to my bloodstream.

Silas’s grin darkens, his shoulders lifting casually. “I have to see if all this money I’m paying Jeff is actually worth it.”

A sharp, incredulous laugh escapes me. “You’re an ass.”

The corners of his lips curl even further. “So I’ve been told.” His gaze stays on me, daring me to say no.

I pretend to contemplate my options as I sink to the ground, stretching my legs out in front of me. “I guess I have some time to teach you a thing or two,” I muse, swaying my head side to side. “Give me a few minutes to warm up.”

Silas snorts, shaking his head. “How generous of you.”

A smug grin forms on my lips as I reach forward to touch my toes.

While I stretch and cycle through a few quick cardio drills, Silas adjusts the tape on his hands and moves to one of the cabinets in the back corner. He rummages through the shelves until he pulls out the pair of mitts Jeff uses for striking drills and gloves that are my size.

By the time I’m finished warming up, he’s already wearing them, standing at the edge of the grappling mat, waiting. I roll out my shoulders and shake out my limbs. “You know how to run these?” I ask .

He smirks, flexing his fingers in the mitts. “I think I can handle it.”

I put on the gloves and we start slow.

Silas gives me the first few sets, calling out strikes. He’s taller than Jeff, has a more rigid stance, and his reach is longer, but I adjust quickly.

Soon, we fall into a dance between his instruction and my execution.

Jab. Jab. Cross. Reset.

Lead hook. Rear hook. Step back. Again.

Silas keeps his tone even, his cues sharp, but I barely hear him. My mind is the kind of quiet I used to only find when I was in Jeff’s gym.

“I’m kicking myself for never watching you train before,” he admits with sparkling eyes, tracking my movements with the precision of an apex predator.

I huff out a laugh, stumbling through my next step before catching myself. “I was thinking the same thing,” I respond.

I’m rewarded with the most devious smile, but I don’t give him a chance to respond more than that before I step back into position, reset, and we begin again.

He’s good at calling out my strikes and keeping me on pace, but he’s not pushing me the way Jeff does. It’s endearing, really, but also kind of annoying.

I don’t need to be handled.

So when I see the opening to land a clean shot, I shift my body into the movement and my glove connects solidly against the mitt with more force than before. Then another. A little faster. A little sharper.

Silas’s nostrils flare, and something dark and thrillingly familiar flashes through his gaze.

I smile, refocusing on the mitts. “What’s on your schedule today?”

Silas shakes his head slightly. “Mostly meetings. Checking in with Everett on next quarter’s financial projections. A research and development update on the latest trial phases for an arthritis medication. And a call with the legal team about the executive transition.”

I nod, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Anything else? ”

His expression flickers for a moment before he adds, “I need to call Jeremy.”

My movements slow. He told me about what had happened after he got home yesterday, still seething from the board meeting. I sat on the couch as he paced the den. I hadn’t interrupted while he tried to make sense of how his own father could do something like this.

What makes it so cruel is that Jeremy wasn’t aware of William’s real motives. He thought his father was giving him a real shot to prove himself.

The first night I met Jeremy, I knew something was off.

Not in a shy way, but in a way that felt studied.

As if he were taking cues from the people around him, mirroring their reactions instead of forming his own.

It unsettled me then, and it still does now.

But even I can see that the poor guy is lost and his father is doing nothing to help him find his footing.

“Maybe you’ll be able to find some common ground,” I say, trying for optimism. “Work some stuff out.”

Silas nods, but he’s only humoring me. I don’t press him on it. Instead, I refocus, falling back into the rhythm we’ve built between us.

Jab. Cross. Reset.

We move together in the same way river water passes over rock. His voice is gruff, precise—a tether pulling me forward. The satisfying weight of every hit lets me lose myself, until my gaze flickers past him and lands on the digital clock above the door.

6:32.

Silas notices it in the mirror's reflection, too. The hard lines around his mouth reappear as he exhales. “I need to get ready.”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead, offering him a small, knowing smile. “Duty calls.”

He peels the mitts off his hands and tosses them onto the mat.

I barely have time to blink before he’s in front of me, the heat rolling off him.

I jolt at the sudden proximity. The tape on his hands is rough against my face before he kisses me so slow and deep that it stokes every ember in my body white-hot.

“I might need to drag you out of bed for drills more often,” he murmurs against me. “Never seen anything sexier.”

A laugh bubbles up, and I press a still-gloved hand against his chest, pushing back just enough to breathe. “Try waking me up before I’m ready and see what happens,” I joke.

Something dark and pleased rolls through his eyes as he threads his fingers through the end of my ponytail. “Maybe I will.”

His grip tightens, arching my body against him. His mouth descends on my throat, all teeth and lips, biting before immediately soothing with soft sweeps of his tongue against my already damp skin.

For a second, I forget how to work my own limbs. The electricity from earlier has turned into something more pleasure than pain. Then, too quickly, he pulls back.

“Shower,” he demands, his coffee eyes unflinching.

The words linger between us for only a second before he pulls off my gloves and starts moving, but not before curling his fingers around my wrist to go with him.