Down and Out(70)

Blinking, I look down at the floor. I half-expect to see my bloody, still beating heart trapped underneath her foot.
It sure as shit feels like she ripped it out and stomped all over it.
Goddamn it, how am I supposed to just sit back and let this happen? It goes against every instinct I have to keep her safe and protected.
Sighing, I rub my head. “Why is your phone not working?”
She won’t meet my eyes. “It got cut off for non-payment.”
Right. She has no money. That’s why she’s doing this. “How much do you need?”
Her eyes lift. “Declan—”
“How. Much.”
“You’re not gonna pay my phone bill for me.”
“Yes, I f*cking am. You need a phone, Savannah, especially with that deathtrap you call a car. What happens if you get stranded? What happens if you get hurt? Swallow your pride for a goddamn second and be reasonable.”
I immediately feel like a douche. I’m pissed off and hurt, but that’s no excuse to be a dick to her, and I know it. I was raised better than that.
I open my mouth to apologize, but the icy look on her face stops me. She clearly doesn’t want to hear it, and frankly, I’m too tired to give it.
“I need sixty,” she says, keeping her eyes anywhere but on me.
Wordlessly, I turn and head down the hallway, into my bedroom, where I walk into my closet. Kneeling down, I enter the combination to my safe and open it, pulling out the cash.
I’ve got stacks of it in here. Like with any illegal activity where you make a shit-ton of cash, I can’t just take this to the bank and deposit it. Anything deposited over ten thousand dollars gets reported to the IRS, so I’m slowly—and carefully—laundering it through the gym per Jimmy’s accountant’s instructions. It’s illegal as hell, but then so is how I made the money in the first place.
I’d give it all to Savannah in a heartbeat if I thought it’d change her mind.





After piling my hair into a messy bun, I slip on my worn sneakers and open my bedroom door, pausing when I see Declan in the hallway. He looks down at my ratty sweats and old t-shirt, his expression unreadable.
He has to know I’m about to have my first training session with Marcus. If not from my clothes, then from Marcus himself. Those two are tight, and there’s no way they haven’t talked about this.
Fiddling with the unraveling hem of my shirt, I tell him, “I can ask Jimmy to give me another trainer, if you want.” The last thing I want is for Declan to feel like I’m stepping on his toes by working with Marcus.
He shakes his head. “Marcus is the best. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with your training.”
When he doesn’t say anything else, it’s obvious the conversation is over.
I hate this. He won’t talk to me unless I address him directly, and even then, his answers are short and curt. I hate that he’s mad at me, and I hate that I’m mad at him for being mad at me. It’s my body and my decision. I get that he’s worried about me, I do. And it’s really sweet, and I really appreciate it. But this is something I have to do.
College costs a lot of money—thousands of dollars that I’m never going to see otherwise. I’ll never be able to afford it working minimum wage jobs, and without it, I’m gonna be stuck doing those kinds of jobs for the rest of my life. I want more than that. I want security, and that’s never going to happen living paycheck to paycheck.
And taking Declan’s money just isn’t an option, for several reasons. Being raised in the foster care system taught me that people and relationships aren’t permanent. Couples break up, spouses die. Shit happens and when it does, I need to be able to fend for myself. I can’t depend on anyone else to take care of me, because they won’t always be there.
But more than that, it wouldn’t be right to take his money. He’s already done so much for me. I can’t take more from him.
I brush past Declan. At the sound of his footsteps behind me, I turn. “Are you coming with me?”
He frowns. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
Seriously? “Because you don’t approve.”
The muscles in his jaw twitch as he grits his teeth and moves past me. “That doesn’t mean I won’t make damn sure you know what you’re doing.”
My lips curl as I fight a smile and follow him out the door.
There’s the bossy * I’ve missed.

The gym’s busier at night than it is during the day. I look around, feeling awkward at having so many witnesses. Declan seems to sense my unease and says, “Get used to it, Kitten. You’ve seen how many people show up to these matches.”
Marcus waits for us by the ring. He greets me with a simple nod. “We’re gonna go over the basics tonight, then we’re gonna start you on a workout regimen. What do you weigh?” he asks, frowning as he tilts his head and looks me over. “A buck twenty?”
My mouth flops open as I self-consciously shield my stomach and glance at Declan. He looks pissed, but that’s nothing new. He’s been wearing that same expression since yesterday.
“Something like that,” I mutter, glancing back at Marcus.
“You need to put on at least fifteen pounds of muscle over the next nine weeks. That means astronomically increasing your caloric intake and working out every single day,” he says, slapping his fist to emphasize each word. “It’s gonna be hell. You’re gonna hate me, and you’re gonna want to quit.”
I nod in understanding. “I won’t quit.”