Chapter Text
Garrick called it the cross-trainer. I called it a bunch of other names, mostly starting with the word fucking.
What I’d said about torture was pretty accurate. The cross-trainer was a relentless machine designed to break me. And it would have, had it not been for the incredibly annoying (but insanely hot) man beside me; the one instigating the punishment, watching and waiting for me to fail.
Talk about turning hostility into fuel.
It turned out my brilliant plan to extract information out of Garrick wasn’t so foolproof after all. Apparently you needed some level of physical fitness to be able to balance the gruelling workout with, you know, talking.
Who knew?
I was no closer to finding out a single piece of information on Liam that I could use (okay, exploit) in order to convince them to join the festivities.
Instead, I was a sweaty, panting mess, barely capable of speaking. When I did manage to gasp a few frantic words out, ‘The Body’ ruthlessly shut down any talk of decorating, the holidays, or his boss.
Moreover, he rewarded such talk with gruelling reps and increased the machine's resistance.
I didn’t know how much more of this my body could take before I simply broke...
“That’s time,” his voice, devoid of any sympathy, announced as he checked his stopwatch.
Thank fuck for that.
“Take a break here to catch your breath. Try not to pass out or throw up,” he barked.
“Jeez, thanks. How thoughtful of you,” I managed to wheeze out.
Completely exhausted, my legs felt like jelly as I stumbled off the machine he’d made me stay on for the last twenty minutes (which felt closer to an hour).
“I’m not done with you,” he said, his expression serious. “In exchange for the break, you can tell me what you’re really doing here, Violet and why you are so insistent on speaking to Liam?”
I blinked. His directness was more jarring than I expected.
“Like I said before, I simply want him to participate in the contest,” I said, feigning innocence. “Is Liam your boyfriend or something?”
Apparently, he found my suggestion hilarious. His head tilted back slightly, and a real, genuine laugh burst out of him. What do you know? There was a hint of humanity in there amongst the brooding.
“What’s it to you anyway?” I challenged, trying to steady my breathing.
He stepped closer, using the cross-trainer to corner me, his eyes locked on mine. The proximity was startling, but I also found it welcome — too welcome — if my frantic heartbeat was anything to go by.
“I’d say it’s a lot to me,” he countered, leaning in a fraction closer. So close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face, and see the gold flecks burning in his dark eyes again.
Beautiful.
“I watched you wander in, pay the induction fee despite clearly hating everything about this gym, and then camp out on the sofa for an hour. So, my question is: What’s so damn important that you had to throw away your money and waste my time in the process?” He levelled me with a hard stare.
“There has to be more to it than some stupid holiday contest.”
My exhaustion was immediately replaced by anger.
How dare he.
“Now hold on a minute,” I retorted, planting my hands on my hips in defiance. “First of all, it's my money … my choice what I do with it!”
Garrick raised one sculpted eyebrow in dry amusement but otherwise remained impassive.
“Second, it’s your job. You get paid to train me, and it’s not my problem you don’t deem me worthy of your precious time.”
That definitely got his attention. His face hardened, and his body stiffened.
“And third…”
Shit, I haven’t got a third.
His smirk widened.
Bastard.
“Third, there’s no need to be a meathead!”
“Meathead! Haven’t heard that in a while.” He tilted his head to the side, seemingly unbothered by my insult. “You have quite the temper. I think I’ll call you Violence from now on. It suits you better.”
My cheeks flushed in anger and embarrassment at the ridiculous nickname.
“Violence,” he repeated, testing the word.
I fell silent, refusing to give him my reaction.
“Fine, have it your way,” he said with a dismissive shrug, then turned and started walking to another machine. “There’s plenty more equipment left to sample.”
Oh, joy.
…
“Next we have the rowing machine.” His expression was pure malice and anticipation. “I hope you’ve saved some energy because this one is a killer.”
Bastard.
We were a solid hour into the session. His nickname had evolved from ‘The Body’ to ‘The Bastard’ after the gruelling circuit he’d put me through. I was a sweaty red-faced mess when I finally collapsed, unable to complete another rep.
“Fine. I give up. Just give me a minute to not throw up, and I’ll tell you whatever the hell you want!”
‘The Bastard/ Body’ (maybe I could combine the two nicknames into one) raised one dark, perfect eyebrow at me. He reached down, picked up a towel from a rack, and tossed it at me, before leading me to a set of unoccupied benches. I caught my breath and sat down with a thud.
“Talk,” he ordered.
“I already told you why I wanted to see Liam. I want him to join The Christmas Competition. My friend Rhi runs the cafe and is in charge of the street’s entry,” I explained, wiping the sweat from my eyes. “The entire town is participating. Everyone except...” I gestured around the vast, cheerless expanse of the dark, un-festive gym.
“Except us,” he finished flatly.
“Exactly! You are dragging down our collective score. We need the entire street to participate to win,” I said simply.
“So Rhi sent you to infiltrate and blackmail?” he asked, a frown deepening the scar over his eyebrow.
“No, that was all my idea,” I leaned in, getting closer than was strictly necessary. “She wanted me to ask outright, but Liam wasn't here, so I figured I could gather insider knowledge to persuade him later.”
“By insider, you mean me?” His gaze bore into me, his intense dark eyes unreadable, but the ghost of that smirk was back.
“I was hardly going to march up to Xaden’s office and ask to speak with him, was I?” I sniggered.
His eyes flashed darker. I supposed it did sound bad — using him and secondly, going behind his boss’s back.
Bad strategy, good intentions.
“So I’ll be eternally grateful if you could give me any useful information to support my cause,” I grinned what I hoped was a charming smile.
“Let me get this straight, you want me to help you convince the owner to cave to the pressure of ‘festive spirit’?” he asked, his voice low and amused.
“Exactly!” I beamed brightly.
Perhaps this would be easier than I thought.
Maybe I should have been honest from the start...
“No chance.”
Wait, what?
“But it’s for a good cause.”
“Don’t care,” he stated, folding his arms. “You’ve wasted your time.”
And his. The unspoken words hung in the air like a physical weight.
“Liam won’t be back today anyway. Come back tomorrow, and I’ll make sure he’s around so you can have your shot at convincing him.”
“You think he’d actually listen to me?” I asked hopefully.
“Liam likes a trier — someone who doesn’t quit. Show your commitment. It might work, it might not.” He said this with a shrug.
Helpful much!
“You’re just saying that to get more money out of me.” I couldn’t resist the snark.
He held that unnerving gaze on me. “How about I give you a week’s pass?”
“Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?” I pressed.
“Call it curiosity.” He paused, his voice dropping to a seductive register. “I’m trying to figure out how committed you are to your friend's cause.”
“So, nothing to do with you enjoying watching me suffer?”
“That’s an added bonus,” he replied. The mischievous glint in his eyes was almost as attractive as the rest of him.
His smile stopped my heart dead in my chest.
This is dangerous.
He is dangerous.
“The offer is on the table. Up to you if you take it, Violence,” he finished.
I knew I was walking into a trap, but staring into his eyes, I couldn't bring myself to care.
“Tomorrow it is,” I conceded with a decisive nod.
He walked me towards the changing rooms and that was that. I left The Iron Flame exhausted and sore, wondering what the hell I had let myself in for.