Page 46 of Volatile King (The Kings of Wayward Academy #6)

R en

My speech therapist, Angela, couldn’t come to the house today, but that worked perfectly for me. I’d been feeling cooped up and needed a break from the walls that screamed of a stolen past and an uncertain future.

The clock on the wall ticked in steady intervals, like the damn thing was counting every second I had to fight. Weeks of therapy and I still hated the sound of my own voice, but I kept showing up, showing out, and working through. I had never quit, and I wasn’t starting now.

“Alright, Ren,” Angela said, sliding the flash cards across the table toward me. “Let’s try these first. Take your time.”

My tongue felt thick as I stared at the first card. It used to be effortless. Now every word was a climb.

“She…she sells…sea…shells on the…sea…shore.”

The tongue twisters were the worst. The syllables stuck, my brow furrowed, and frustration rose like bile.

Angela didn’t rush me. “Good. Again.”

I swallowed and tried again. “She sells…sea…shells on…the seashore.” It was clearer this time, and the tiniest of smiles tugged my mouth. Progress.

Card after card, I worked through them. Everything from Peter Piper to How Much Wood Could a Woodchuck Chuck . Words had slowly become sentences. Sentences became short stories.

Five weeks ago, I couldn’t get past a single word flashcard without anger flooding me. Today, I finished a whole paragraph without breaking down into tears. I’d also made it through an entire memory game.

Angela set her pen down and leaned forward. “You’re really pushing through the blocks now. Do you feel it?”

I nodded, exhaling. “It…feels…mine…like me…again.”

A minor stumble on the words, but they were in the right order and came easier than last week. I rubbed my throat, as if that would smooth out the jagged edges holding me back. Unfortunately, my throat worked just fine. It was my brain that was screwed up.

“Good,” Angela said softly. “It is your voice. You’ve been through something life-altering. But your voice, your identity…it’s still here. It’s still in you. Hang on to every positive step as a symbol of hope and celebrate the moments, no matter how small.”

Her words hit like a punch because my voice wasn’t the only thing that had been taken from me without permission. Married. To Nash. No knowledge. No choice. No voice.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. Nash had signed our names on a contract and then abused my trust. It changed everything. I’d woken up in a life not my own. A life where my voice, literal and figurative, had been stolen.

“Ren?” Angela prompted gently.

Blinking, I forced a smile. “Sorry…lost…in…head.”

“That’s okay. One more exercise?”

“Yes,” I said and read the final card stack aloud, tripping only twice. Angela clapped softly when I finished, and I felt a little glow of pride.

“See you tomorrow, and I’ll be able to come to the house again,” she said, patting my shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Pulling my vest on over my hoodie, I stepped out into the waiting area to find Marcus and the other guards.

They had become permanent fixtures whenever I left the house.

It was…strange. There was no other word for being followed by a group of men who looked like they had stepped out of a Quentin Tarantino movie.

We walked out into the crisp afternoon air, and I stuffed my hands into my pockets. The line of SUVs waited at the curb, and one of the guards opened the door.

Once I was seated, Marcus slid in beside me. “Where to?”

Liam had sent me a cryptic text earlier, so I opened my phone to check the message.

L: Meet me at 77 Main Street. Two Shots Gym. Bring sneakers. See you soon, Little Rabbit.

“Seven…ty…seven. Main…street,” I said, and Marcus nodded as he gave me a little smile.

We pulled away from the curb, and I watched the world pass by through the tinted window.

The trees, homes, and other cars blended into a stream of color as my mind drifted.

I wasn’t just angry and hurt over the contract.

I was livid that Nash had run off into the night.

It was tempting to send him an angry text, and I had opened my phone a dozen times over the last few days to do just that.

But in the end, he would’ve won if I had.

Nash needed to man up and talk to me. He made this decision, and now he needed to explain and apologize.

Before talking to Eddie and the guys, I would’ve demanded a divorce, but…the logical part of my brain understood the protection this union offered. Still…I didn’t fucking like it, and I hated that I wasn’t consulted. The lack of respect…that was what really got me.

We parked in front of the gym, and I was once more flanked by guards. I’d never been here before, and everyone inside stopped to stare at me and my entourage. Men and women of all ages eyed the muscle that very obviously didn’t belong.

The place smelled of sweat, leather, and disinfectant. The rhythmic thud of gloves hitting pads slowly started up again and broke the uncomfortable silence.

Liam raised his hand from the back corner of the room.

I looked at Marcus. “Can wait…by door.” He narrowed his eyes, and I knew he didn’t want to leave me. “Please?”

“Okay, but we aren’t leaving the building. Your father will literally kill me if something happens to you,” he said, and I nodded.

Liam made my mouth water as he stood by a heavy bag, wrapping his hands, and looking like trouble in worn jeans and no shirt. The bonsai tree proudly displayed on his back made me long to touch the intricate design.

“You’re late,” he said, smirking as he tossed me a pair of gloves.

I caught them against my chest. “Therapy ran…long.”

Liam didn’t flinch or rush me when I stumbled on words. He never did, even when he was challenging me.

“Good. Means you’re doing the work.” He stepped closer, and the heat of his body radiated into mine.

I bit my lip. “Naughty Little Rabbit. Don’t bite your lip unless you want me to bend you over the weight bench.

” I stopped, and he smirked. “Take off your vest. Do you have something on under your hoodie?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then take it off, too. We’re getting back to boxing,” he said.

Slipping off my layers, I dropped them on the floor with his bag. I was already wearing sneakers and track pants, so I was good to go. Walking over, I waved my finger around.

“New location?”

He shrugged. “Sort of. We own it…as in all the guys. It was always part of Nash’s expansion plan, and we finally had the money to buy out the old owner. We’ll make some changes, but Nora stepped right in and has been managing this place as well as Volatile for us.”

“Wow…you all…doing well,” I said, truly impressed. I hated that anything to do with Nash impressed me right now.

I held out my hands so Liam could wrap them and put my gloves on. I hadn’t forgotten that he liked to do it. His fingers brushed mine as he helped secure the straps in place. The drag of his knuckles against my skin made me shiver.

“Cold?” His tone was sly as a fox.

“No,” I said too quickly. Liam grinned, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“You’ve been holding back,” he murmured, tightening the strap around my wrist. “Not just in here. Everywhere.”

My chest tightened when I met his gaze. “Maybe. Some.”

“No more of that, starting today.” He stepped back, gesturing to the heavy bag. “Show me what you’ve got. I know you remember what to do.”

I raised my fists, jab, jab, jab, cross, hook. My movements were mechanical, restrained, and my punches weren’t landing where I wanted.

Liam circled, shaking his head.

“You punch like you’re apologizing to the bag. Stop being so…Canadian.” He smirked when I glared at him. “Do it again.”

I threw another combo, but he stepped in, close enough that his chest brushed my shoulder as he caught my fist mid-swing.

“Ren.” His voice dropped. “Stop holding back.”

“Trying.”

“That’s not trying, that’s pretending. Hit me instead,” Liam said.

“What?”

He smacked the top of my gloves and walked away. Confused, I watched as he picked up a pair of sparring pads and slipped them on his hands.

“Hit. Me. Now.”

I laughed nervously. “You’re insane.”

“Probably. But I can take it.” He moved back, pads up in front of his chest, inviting the blow. His grin turned sharp. “Come on, Little Rabbit. Show me you’re still in there.”

Something inside me cracked. Anger at Nash, my broken speech, and feelings of betrayal all rushed in to fill the hollow space that had been present since I first woke up from the crash.

My fists flew before I even thought about swinging.

I hit Liam square in the pads, hard enough to jolt my shoulder.

“Better,” he said, steadying his stance. “Again.”

Hitting him again and again, he absorbed every blow. Liam laughed low in his throat as my punches grew harder, sharper, until my arms ached and my breath came out in deep, labored pants.

“You’re pissed,” he said, stepping closer, forcing me to pivot around him. “I can see it in your eyes. Good. Use it. Push yourself, don’t give up. Don’t be a quitter.”

Grunting, I swung hard, my glove smacking the pad with a satisfying crack.

“I hate him,” I suddenly gasped. The words startled even me.

Liam caught my wrists between the pads, eyes burning into mine.

“Do you really hate him?”

Sweat rolled down my spine, and I froze, chest heaving. “No…yes…I don’t…know. I hate…what he…did.”

“No, not good enough. Say it,” he urged. “Get it all out. These pads are Nash’s face, tell him why you’re so angry.”

My throat tightened, and my gloves shook in his grip.

“He…married me. Without…asking.” Liam released my hands and indicated for me to keep hitting.

“I…didn’t…say yes. He…took it. Took my choice.

Just like—” I stopped, tears pricking my eyes as I stared into Liam’s steady gaze.

“Axel,” I finally said the name that had been swirling around the darkest parts of my brain.

Liam didn’t move. His voice was softer when he said, “And you’re furious.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “And I can’t…stop…loving him. Hate myself…for that.”

There it was. Raw and ugly and real. The truth that had been strangling me.

Liam dropped the sparring pads to the floor and cupped the side of my neck with one warm and steady hand.

“Then be furious. Be hurt. But don’t run from it. Don’t run from Nash.”

Liam was looking at me, not with pity, but something sharp and protective. It sent tingles all over my skin.

I dragged in a ragged breath. “How…do I…forgive?”

“You don’t,” he said simply. “Not yet. You let yourself feel it. Then you talk to him, and only then will you decide what you want to do. Not before.”

My forehead nestled against his shoulder, and the gloves were still on my hands like shields. Liam didn’t scold me for taking what I needed. Instead, he wrapped his arm around me and held on. He didn’t move, didn’t press, he let me breathe against him until my heartbeat slowed.

When I stepped back, I felt lighter, like some of the weight had leaked out with the sweat and tears.

“Thank you,” I whispered, voice hoarse but stronger than before.

Liam grinned, cocking his head. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re not done. That was only a warm-up.” He nudged me toward the bag. “We’re going until you can’t lift your arms, Little Rabbit. This time, hit like you mean it.”

I laughed…actually laughed, and squared my shoulders. “You’re…annoying.”

“Every damn day,” he said, tracing his fingers down my arms. He slowly walked behind me, and the hair stood on the back of my neck. “But once I get you home later, I’m going to make all this pain worth it…that’s a promise, Little Rabbit.”

He grabbed the heavy bag and braced himself as I swung again.

This time, every punch landed with purpose. With power. With pieces of me knitting back together. I’d been taking hits on the chin my whole life, but now…I was hitting back.