Chapter 89 Chapter 89 Mask
I have my 20 oz gloves on, music blasting in my ears as I work the new, heavier bags Uncle Tosho hung up last week. I had to buy them myself after I completely destroyed the last one. Taylor sits near the office in a chair, scrolling on his phone like he’s got nothing better to do, which—honestly—he probably doesn’t.
I punch and kick the hell out of the bag, letting everything out. Ivan’s been texting me nonstop, but I don’t respond. Taylor told me Dimitri asks about me sometimes. Taylor’s instructions are simple—tell him I’m fine. That’s it. I check Taylor’s messages when I can. Dimitri doesn’t need to know anything about me.
Asshole.
The heavier gloves keep my hands and shoulders from getting wrecked, which is good—prom is only a few days away, and I’m definitely not wearing gloves for that. I’ve calmed down on the outside, but inside? It’s still boiling. Lava, just sitting there, waiting.
Right. Left.
I throw a kick, only using my right leg. My left knee is healing, but I’m not about to trust it fully yet. I push it just enough to carry my weight, nothing more. My body has leaned out a lot, muscles sharper now, more defined.
I got offer letters from LSU and UNLV. There’s also an offer to play for the San Diego Devils. I mouth the lyrics to “True Love” as I keep hitting the bag. I don’t sing out loud—my voice sucks. I can match pitch when I talk, but singing? No way.
I move with the rhythm, punching as hard as I can. If Mason did one good thing for me, it was teaching me how to hit like this.
Life feels off without Dimitri.
He’s one of the few people who actually knew me.
I hear a faint whistle but ignore it, focusing on my rhythm. Then I hear it again. Before I can react, someone slides my headphones down to my shoulders.
I turn and swing.
My fist connects hard.
Mason drops to his knees, folding over and clutching his stomach.
“You still look really good down there!” I call out, then glance at Taylor. “Hey! This is the guy you’re supposed to keep away from me, baby!”
“You don’t even need me,” Taylor grins, still staring at his phone. “You just dropped the heavyweight champ. I got it on video—sending that shit to my boss.”
“Gemma said you might be here,” Alek says, stepping closer. “Damn, you look fucking amazing.” He grabs my headphones, glances at them, then shakes his head. “Turn that shit off. You’re not still hung up on that dog, are you?”
“I like the beat. It’s good for punching—and movement,” I reply, glancing past him at the rest of Mason’s crew. “Since when do you hang out with losers?”
“Why did you go out with Matthews?” Alek snaps. “I’m still waiting for that answer.”
Uncle Tosho steps in and starts wrapping Alek’s hands, ignoring the tension like it’s just another day.
“Ring. Now,” Alek says. “I’ll take it easy on you. You need a moving target.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Taylor mutters without looking up.
“I can handle her.”
I laugh. “Ha. I’m not your speed anymore, doll.”
He has no idea who I am now.
Whatever soft, feminine version of me existed before? Gone. Replaced by something sharper, meaner. Someone who doesn’t hesitate. Someone who pushes back.
“Matthews has a gorgeous dick,” I add casually, turning just enough to see his reaction. “And he’s a good fuck. You should really show it off more—it’s a shame it’s hidden in pants all day.”
Alek doesn’t laugh.
He looks pissed.
“I don’t want to see it,” he says flatly.
“Oh? Dimitri saw it,” I shrug. “Watched us, actually. Didn’t he?”
Everyone turns to Matthews.
He stares at the ground.
So much for the confident grown man act.
Taylor snickers under his breath. “The mouth on you…”
Alek doesn’t wait.
He swings for my face.
I see it coming and shift just enough to avoid it.
“You’ve got to be quicker than that, Grandpa!” I laugh, dodging another punch. “Fuck, you’re slow. When’s the last time you trained?”
“I’ll show you what I’m quick at,” he snaps.
“Yeah, that’s Mason,” I shoot back. “Also—not a brag.”
Laughter errupts in the gym.
He hesitates for half a second.
That’s all I need.
I lift my right leg and slam my foot into the inside of his thigh, right above the knee.
Pressure point.
Dimitri’s voice flashes through my mind from the beach, teaching us.
Fuck him.
Alek drops to one knee, wincing.
“No kicking,” he grits out. “Or I’d take you out.”
“You actually have to land something first, baby.” I mock.
I stop moving and face him fully.
“Stop playing and hit me.”
He smirks. “I’m not messing up that face right before prom. I heard the dress is going to kill.”
“There’s only one way I’d let you mess up my face,” I wink.
He looks up at me shocked.
I’m bored.
And hungry.
Taylor paces now, phone to his ear. The tone tells me everything—it’s Dimitri. He calls once a week. Always checking in. New number, too. The old one I have is out of service.
He doesn’t want to talk to me.
But he still asks about me.
I slip out of the ring and hold my gloves out toward Matthews, laces up.
He smiles and starts untying them. I could do it with my teeth, but I want to watch him do it.
“I need to eat,” I say. “You guys coming?”
They all look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Frozen yogurt?” Mason asks.
“Are you five?” I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “There’s a place down the street. Open late. Girls that work there are cute.”
“Who are you?” Mason asks again.
“Matthews you can pick up a girl that is not a stripper,” I laugh.
“I picked you up at a strip club,” he shoots back. “You were getting a lap dance.”
“That was Gemma,” I shrug. “Like I’d let some random stripper finger me.”
“Who are you?” Alek repeats, quieter this time.
They don’t like "Elena" without a mask, they miss the frail, unsure of herself, submissive, sad girl, broken girl.
Fuck them!