Page 51 of Bound By Thorns
“Ready?” he asked, his tone a low rumble. I nodded, assuming a defensive posture with my hands raised, yet inwardly I steeled myself not to strike, not even once.
Ronan started with a series of measured jabs, testing my defenses. I parried each attack effortlessly, keeping my movements fluid, my gaze never leaving his. As the initial silence of our bout gave way to the soft thuds of our sparring, I found the moment to begin the real fight—the one against myself.
“You’re good at this,” I commented casually as I blocked a swift left hook. “Must have been all that training while I was gone, huh?”
Ronan grunted, not taking the bait just yet, focusing instead on a combination that I deflected with ease. “It’s nothing personal, Logan. Just keeping sharp,” he replied, circling me with cautious steps.
I dodged another jab, feeling the rush of air close to my face. “I imagine it’s tough, carrying on after—well, after everything. After losing Riley,” I pushed, watching his reaction closely.
His punches hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.
“You know, wondering if it could’ve been different. If we all came back instead of just some of us.” My words were deliberate, heavier, designed to dig deeper.
The change in Ronan was palpable. His movements grew sharper, his strikes harder. “Don’t talk about my sister,” he warned, his voice thick with a barely restrained emotion.
I absorbed a particularly aggressive punch, letting it land against my ribs. The pain was sharp, grounding. “Why? Does it make you angry, Ronan? Angry that we survived and she didn’t?”
His response was a fierce hook that I barely blocked in time. “Shut up,” he growled, his eyes flashing with anger now fully kindled.
“I mean, isn’t that why you’re hitting so hard? Trying to punch the regret away?” I continued, each word more provocatively than the last, stripping away my own defenses verbally rather than physically.
“Fucking fight back!” Ronan exploded, throwing a barrage of punches, each harder than the last, driven by a raw, unfiltered fury.
“Logan, fight!” Leora yelled, her shriek almost deafening.
But I didn’t. I let my hands drop, exposing my chest, absorbing the impacts. “Hit me,” I pressed, my voice a low challenge. “Isn’t this what you need? To feel like you’re avenging her somehow?”
He hesitated, then delivered a punch that cut through the air with a speed that left no room for blocking, even if I had tried. The force of it knocked the wind out of me, sending me staggering back.
“Fight, Logan! Fucking fight, dammit!” His voice was a ragged shout, filled with pain and accusation.
Yet I stood there, bleeding, baiting him further with each pained breath. Then I smiled through the bloodied teeth. His next hit came without warning, a clean shot that sent me to the floor, the gym spinning around me. Above me, Ronan stood, breathing heavily, a mix of victory and defeat etched across his face.
“Get up,” he commanded, his voice echoing in the gym. But I lay there, my body a map of bruises and the dull throb of aching muscles, thinking only of the pain I believed I deserved.
Ronan exhaled deeply and left without another word. I barely had time to process his departure before Leora was at my side, her phone pressed to her ear, likely summoning help. Momentslater, Zarek and Dylan crowded around me, their faces etched with concern.
I couldn’t help but let out a wild laugh, mixing with coughs and then more laughter. “I didn’t lose any teeth, did I?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood as I pushed myself to a sitting position.
Their worried glances didn’t waver as they helped me to my feet.
“Logan, man! What the fuck?” Someone said from behind me, but I didn’t care.
I trudged towards my room, insistently waving off their attempts to accompany me, needing the solitude to gather my thoughts.
Once inside, I faced my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bruises and scrapes were evident, but nothing serious. A low chuckle escaped me again. I showered off the sweat and grime, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of the gym floor.
Crawling into bed, the exhaustion from the physical exertion finally caught up with me, and sleep enveloped me quickly.
TWENTY-ONE
Logan
Seven. Seven torturous days went by without seeing her, hearing her voice, or knowing how she was. I would gladly take Tyka’s beating over this hell. She was in the hospital, and others visited, but I felt too heavy to even try.
Then she was back. I heard the door click shut and saw Delara step out, giving me a tentative smile before walking away. Again, I found myself unable to knock on Kaylan’s door. Fearing I’d just bring more pain, I backed off to my room.
Later, at dinner, she rolled in with a wheelchair. Dressed in a long gown that seemed too formal for her liking, she still managed to look radiant. She smiled, but it seemed to falter whenever she caught me staring, which made me eventually just focus on my plate.
