The rope of the ring creaks when I lean my weight into it, watching the kid on the mat throw a sloppy right hook.
"Wrists up," I say. "You want to protect your hand, not kill it."
He nods, sweat dripping from his hairline, and adjusts, this time landing the glove properly against the heavy bag with a satisfying thud.
Better.
Hayes Combat Arts smells like old leather, disinfectant, and the faint tang of adrenaline. It's not fancy—concrete walls, industrial lights, faded posters from amateur fights I barely remember. But it's mine.
Well. Mine enough for the cover story.
The bell over the front door jingles, and a draft of cold New York air snakes in. Darius steps inside, shaking snow off his hoodie.
"You look like hell," I tell him.
"You always say that," he replies. "One day it's gonna hurt my feelings."
He hops up to sit on the edge of the ring, dark eyes scanning the gym—automatically counting people, exits, cameras. Old habits die hard.
"You hear?" he asks quietly. "Another bust in Queens. Same pattern. Three girls missing."
My jaw tightens. "Did the cops caught anyone. Any word on who's running it?"
"Nope, they didn't. As usual, Same rumours. Same ghost. No names." Darius pauses. "They think it's connected to that explosion in Kandahar. The funding trail, at least."
Kandahar.
The word is a punch I don't block. For a second, I see sand, smoke, hear someone screaming for a medic, smell burning metal. And then I'm back in the gym, gloved fists thudding, someone laughing, a jump rope slapping against the floor.
I flex my fingers, pulling myself back.
"Still no face," I say.
"Not yet," Darius says. "But Intel likes your angle. 'Ex-army vet opens martial arts gym and conveniently attracts every hothead within a five-mile radius.' They're counting on you to catch some spillover."
Lucky me.
I left the army a year ago after my best friend Connor martyred in the battle. It wasn't the first brutal death I witnessed nor the first friend I lost in the battle but the circumstances and how the government justified it. A year later, they tracked me down and spilled the truth. The truth that boiled my blood.
I didn't leave the army because I stopped believing in the cause. I left because I watched my best friend—Connor—get blown apart by a bomb someone paid for.
And now I'm here, pretending to be another scarred-out vet teaching people how not to get mugged on the subway, while quietly following whispers of a trafficking ring that washes money for the same people who killed him.
I don't wear the uniform anymore, but the mission never ended. it will only end when I find the man who was responsible for my friend and God knows how many others cause of death. Even if it is the last thing I do.
The bell on the door rings again, louder this time, carried on a wave of shouting.
Outside, the air vibrates with noise. Chants. Honks. Sirens, distant but edging closer. I walk to the front window.
A protest is spilling down the street, signs waving, voices raised, phones held high like torches.
I hate crowds. Too many variables. Too many weaknesses. Too easy for something to go wrong.
Theo appears at my shoulder, mouth already crooked in amusement. "Uh-oh. Your favorite."
He loves people. Too much.
"Tell them to stay off my damn steps," I say.
He laughs, then pauses, squinting at the crowd. "Oh. Ohhh. Look at that one."
I follow his gaze, and that's when I see her.
Standing on a lamppost base like she's conquering a kingdom, sign raised above her head, curly hair bouncing as she yells something I can't hear through the glass. Her face is flushed, eyes alight, mouth curved in a grin that's way too alive.
Chaos, in a crop top and ripped jeans.
"She's trouble," I say automatically.
Theo smirks. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Because she is" I say.
She's not my problem. Not yet.
I turn away and head back to the ring. Tightening the shard of cloth around my fists. Theo enjoys bugging me off. Says I'm too stoic and rigid all the time and I should let lose sometimes. Little did he know, that I'm dying to let lose, the inner demon. But not on the world, not on anyone, but on that one person.
His intention of letting lose is probably something else but its easy for him to say. He is very cool and friendly person. He can manipulate anyone instantly and make them his friend without much effort. His tall figure, moulded muscles from years of fighting and training is a plus to attract anyone, especially girls. Enchant them with his smile, as he gloats.
I'm not here for "Enchanting" anyone. I need to stay low and discreet as good as I can to draw no attention. Once I'm out of this gym, I'm a nobody, a shadow in the dark. Sniffing the trails for the clues that could take me an inch closer to any intel. Exposing and marking all the possible hideouts, tracking every hooded shadow, it's my thing.
I have another friend too. Darius Carter. He is different from both of us. Tall, dark, and handsome, naturally strong mass. His African genes blessed him with natural physic that so many people spend hours in the gym. But he is not like Theo. He doesn't talk much. Kind and easy going.
My personal favourite? Darius. For obvious reasons. Theo knows that and doesn't complain. So, I'm tolerating him too.