Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(44)

“You ever get sick of being the maid, Till?” He laughed as he said it. That was Bailey’s way—an insult laced by a laugh to mask it. His mouth painted the picture, but the words told the story.

“Sorry. I don’t have a rich daddy that I can leech off,” I shot back. No laugh. Just an evil glare. That was my way.

“Right. Well, how is your dad? He doing well in lockup?” He smiled.

My nostrils flared. I didn’t have a clue if Bailey knew anything about my father. It wasn’t like I ever spoke about him. But with that shit-eating grin chiseled on his * face, I knew that he had done some homework on me.

“Let’s finish.” Flint stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I tried to look around him, but Flint mirrored my every move. “Forget about it,” he urged quietly.

Yeah. I’d forget about it—until I stepped into the ring with that motherf*cker. Sparring with Bailey suddenly sounded like a whole lot more fun.



An hour later, with my temper no less quelled, I headed for the ring.

“Go tell Bailey I’m ready for him!” I yelled to Flint, who was oddly not showered or changed yet.

“Nah. I’ll let you get him.” He smiled awkwardly.

“He’s doing it with that girl in the locker room,” Quarry announced as he took a bite from an apple.

“What?”

“You know, doing it. Like, having sex,” Quarry clarified as if that were the part I couldn’t understand.

Flint smacked him on the back of his head then nodded, letting me know that Quarry wasn’t wrong.

“Dumbass,” I cursed as I stormed into to the locker room.

The door to the massage room was shut, but even I could hear the moans echoing around. I slammed my fist against the door and heard a woman squeak in surprise.

“Let’s go, Bailey.” I was f*cking pissed. Not because I really cared that he was f*cking some sorority girl. But rather that he was doing it at the gym with several kids still milling around. Slate would destroy him if he found out.

“Give me a minute . . . Maybe five,” he called out, causing his girl to giggle. Within seconds, the moans started up again.

I was going to f*cking kill him. Plain and simple. I stomped out of the locker room but only long enough to dig the keys out of my bag. With the flip of my wrist, I swung the door open to their not-so-private refuge.

“Son of a bitch!” Derrick cussed as the chick grabbed her shirt to cover her breasts.

“Get out!” I growled.

He didn’t budge, but the chick shimmied up her shorts as she scrambled past me. “Really?” he huffed, dragging his own pants up.

“There are f*cking kids here. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, currently, blue balls. Thanks for that, dickhead. You think I can convince the other one to suck me off?” His eyes, tone, and face were stone-wall serious. So much so that I decided he had problems way bigger than me or even Slate.

Then he smirked.

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” I barked.

Reaching into his pants, he snapped a condom off. He made a less-than-half-assed effort to look for a trash can before dropping it on the floor. “Have housekeeping clean that up for me.” He laughed. “Oh wait . . . That’s you.”

I was honestly too stunned to react as he walked past me. Bailey was a f*cking prick, but he didn’t have balls. And if he suddenly thought he was going to grow a pair, I was going to rip those f*ckers off.

I spun around and grabbed his shirt, slingshotting him hard against the wall.

“Who the f*ck do you think you are?” I roared into his face.

“Wow. That got your hackles raised.” He stood there grinning at me as if he didn’t have a f*cking care in the world.

I couldn’t breathe without worrying about the myriad of somethings ever brewing in my head. Yet, even with my forearm across his throat, he grinned. It enraged me.

“You sorry sack of shit.” I shoved him harder, but the brick wall behind him failed to yield to my will.

I wanted to release the week’s worth of the hell I was living with onto his face. Hands, fists, hopes, dreams, fantasy, and—most of all—reality. I wanted to shatter it all—preferably over his skull. Just as I convinced myself that Slate would understand if I committed murder in his locker room, Flint came flying in between us.

“Stop.” He shoved me backwards.

I stumbled, but Bailey straightened his pansy shirt with a grin.

Like the fool he was, Bailey prodded, “What the f*ck is your problem? Don’t act like you haven’t dipped in the On The Ropes waters. Oh that’s right. You’re too *-whipped by that poor artist chick. Eliza, right?”

The sound of her name rolling off his tongue was more than enough to secure my spot on death row. However, the bastard wasn’t done yet.

“Maybe I should see what she’s up to right now. I bet that tight little ass of hers could more than cure my blue balls.”

My brain exploded, shooting adrenaline directly into my veins.

“No!” Flint yelled as I dived past him, landing a hard fist to Bailey’s chin.

Finally, that f*cking smile was wiped from his face.

Flint pushed and shoved between us, trying desperately to separate us. He was barely able to keeping us far enough apart to where we couldn’t land anything else.