Lachlan
The day drags on, the monotonous day of physical labor doing nothing to ease the storm inside my head. I'm covered in grime from head to toe, sweat sticking to my clothes, my muscles aching from hours of hauling, lifting, and bending. My hands are raw, calloused from the work, and it feels like everything in my life is the same: endless cycles of labor, the constant expectation to do more, be more. To be like my brother.
I keep thinking about the fight with my dad earlier. His words echo in my mind, even as I lift another bag of concrete mix onto the pallet. I don't even look at him anymore, not after the disappointment that's been written all over his face every time I fail to live up to whatever version of success he's envisioned for me. My dad is always talking about how Lance—Lance, my older brother—was already making something of himself, how Lance is the one who got everything right. I can't help but feel like I'm always falling short, like I'll never live up to that image.
And then there's the fight, the one I walked away from earlier. It was more than just words—he wanted me to give up on everything. To give up on myself. But I won't. I can't. I refuse to just fade into the background like I'm nothing.
The buzz of the phone in my pocket breaks my thoughts. I pull it out, half-expecting a message from my mom, trying to smooth things over between me and my dad. But it's not her. It's Chiron.
"Come to the gym. We've got work to do."
My heart skips a beat. I don't need to think twice. My hands tremble slightly as I stuff the phone back into my pocket. The weight in my chest starts to lift, even if just a little. Training. I need this. I need to feel like I'm moving forward, like I'm working toward something that's mine.
I glance at the clock on the wall. There's still some daylight left, and I know I can slip away for a while. This labor? This job? It's not me. It never was. The gym, the training—this is where I feel alive. Where I feel like I can do something that matters.
The gym smells of sweat, leather, and the metallic tang of old equipment. The sound of gloves hitting pads echoes through the air, the rhythm steady and measured. I step inside, my boots heavy on the floor, my body still sore from the day's work, but it doesn't matter. I'm here. That's what matters.
Chiron's in the center of the room, his hands wrapped, his stance solid. He's in his element, like always. And I'm here to get my head right.
He glances over when I walk in, nodding his approval. "Took you long enough. You've been carrying something all day, haven't you?"
I stop at the edge of the mat, feeling that weight press down on my shoulders again. It's like my dad's disappointment is suffocating me, like everything he's ever said is crowding my thoughts. I don't answer, because I don't have to. Chiron can read me without words.
"You gonna stand there, or you gonna train?" Chiron asks, stepping aside and gesturing toward the open space.
I know better than to waste time with small talk. I drop my bag and strip off my jacket, feeling the familiar burn in my muscles as I stretch out, loosening my limbs. Chiron's eyes are sharp as ever, and I can tell he's watching me closely, his gaze evaluating the way I move. He knows I've been distracted, and he won't let me get away with it.
Training tonight feels different. It's not about anger, not this time. It's more about clearing the fog in my head, the confusion and frustration, the constant weight of trying to please my father.
Chiron keeps me moving, the drills harder and faster than before, but it's just what I need. The repetitive motions, the steady rhythm of punches and blocks, it's grounding. It clears my head. Every punch feels like I'm breaking through something—each one is a small release, a piece of the weight slipping away.
"Focus, Lachlan," Chiron says, his voice gruff but steady. He's not the type to coddle. "It's not about power. It's about precision. Control."
I nod, wiping the sweat off my face with the back of my hand. Every muscle in my body aches, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Not now.
As the rounds continue, I push through the fatigue, the doubt, the frustration. It's hard, and my limbs feel like they're made of lead, but I don't slow down. I'm here to prove something to myself. To stop letting the weight of my dad's words control me. To show that I'm worth something, even if he doesn't see it.
Chiron gives a nod of approval, a rare expression of acknowledgment from him. "You're getting there. Slowly, but you're getting there."
It's not much, but it's enough. Enough for me to keep going. I don't need my dad's approval anymore. I don't need to be the version of myself he wants me to be. I'm building something here, something that's mine, and no one can take that from me.
The session ends, and I'm drenched in sweat, my body sore but more alive than it's been in days. I grab my water bottle and take a long drink, the cool liquid feeling like it's washing away all the tension. I look over at Chiron, who's wiping down his hands with a rag, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Thanks," I say, voice rough, feeling that familiar ache in my throat from the exertion.
He doesn't respond right away, but after a beat, he looks at me, his gaze steady. "You've got more in you. Don't waste it."
I let out a slow breath, nodding as I took the last swig of water. The doors to the gym swing open as a woman I'd never seen before enters.
"Carmen!" Chiron shouts, "What brings you here?"
"Ria." She gets through her heavy breathing, "She sent me a bunch of frantic texts saying she was not safe when she was with some friends. I contacted the police, but they wont send anyone."
"Where." Chiron said sternly.
"Baron Sterling Projects." Carmen yelled back, "Please, help her."
"Lachlan, you know where that is?" Chiron says sternly, "I do." I respond
Go, now. I'll stay here and console Carmen." Chiron said flatly, "I'm also about to really bitch at some officers."
The Baron Sterling Projects were a nightmare masked in neon lights and pounding bass, the kind of place where anything could happen if you were desperate enough. I knew it was a bad idea, but when I saw Carmen's face—terrified, lost—I couldn't refuse. Ria didn't belong here. But she was. And that's when everything inside me twisted.
I pushed through the dense crowd, the heat of the party making my skin prickle. The sound of laughter, clinking bottles, and muffled voices faded into the background as I zeroed in on her. She stood against the wall, her eyes darting nervously, her body too stiff, as if every part of her was waiting for something bad to happen. I saw one of the men who'd been eyeing her earlier approach.
"Got her all set," the man said, his voice low and smug. "She's gonna make us a lot of money."
Another man laughed, a sharp, grating sound that made my stomach turn. "Yeah, she'll do just fine. Upstairs. Let's get her prepped."
Upstairs. My chest tightened as I scanned the crowd, but the thought of what could be happening to her made my blood run hot. I wasn't going to let them touch her. Not like this.
I moved quickly, staying in the shadows, the adrenaline already pushing me forward. The corridor upstairs was dim, dirty, flickering lights casting shadows across the peeling walls. I could hear them laughing. I could hear them talking about what they were going to do. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. I wasn't going to let them ruin her life.
I turned the corner and found them—three of them. The one holding a knife was grinning like he owned the world. The others were just as vile, their eyes dark and full of malice. The smell of sweat and alcohol stung the air, but it was their intentions that made the room suffocating.
Before any of them could react, I lunged.
I was on the first one in a split second, driving my shoulder into his gut, knocking him back into the wall with a sickening crack. He gasped, barely able to react before I was on him again, grabbing his hair and slamming his face into the floor. His skull cracked against the dirty tiles with a sickening sound. He didn't move after that.
The second guy tried to draw a knife, but I was faster. I grabbed his wrist, twisting it until I heard the bone snap with a sharp crack. He screamed, but I didn't stop. With one brutal motion, I shoved my knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his face a mask of pain. But it didn't matter. I was already moving on.
The last guy was the one with the gun. He pulled it out, aiming at me, his hand shaking. I didn't hesitate. I rushed him, grabbing his arm before he could fire, twisting it until I heard the agonizing pop of his shoulder dislocating. He screamed, dropping the gun to clutch at his mangled arm, but it was too late. I slammed my fist into his throat, crushing his windpipe. He choked and staggered back, his eyes bulging as he tried to breathe, but I wasn't done.
I grabbed him by the neck, lifting him off the ground as I slammed his back into the wall. His legs flailed uselessly, but I didn't let go. I kept squeezing until his body went limp.
When he dropped to the floor, the room was silent.
I turned to Ria. She was still on the bed, her eyes half-lidded, her skin pale, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. She hadn't moved. They'd drugged her—heavy. She was barely conscious, her body barely holding on.
I reached for her, lifting her up, my hands trembling as I held her against me.
"Ria... Ria, wake up," I whispered, shaking her lightly. She didn't respond. I pulled her closer, cradling her in my arms. The weight of her felt wrong—too heavy, like she was slipping away from me.
I couldn't let that happen.
I staggered out of the room, the sounds of my footsteps echoing through the hallway, my mind focused on one thing: getting her out. I didn't think about the blood on my hands, the bruises blooming across my body, the rage still bubbling just under the surface.
The night air hit me like a slap to the face, but I didn't stop. I pushed through the door and out into the streets, carrying her through the cold, my breath ragged, my vision blurring at the edges.
I didn't know how far I walked. Didn't know how much time passed before I found the nearest hospital. They took her from me the moment I walked through the doors, the nurses rushing her away. I couldn't keep up with them. I was left standing there, my blood still hot, my heart racing in my chest.
I wiped my hands on my pants, but the blood wouldn't come off.
I didn't know if she was going to make it. Didn't know if I had done enough. I didn't know anything except that I had to keep her safe.
The waiting room felt like a prison as I sank into one of the chairs, my eyes glued to the door they had taken her through. The voices of Chiron and Carmen jolted me back to reality as they berated me with questions. All I could do was sit there, and explain. Carmen was crying, I was crying.
A few weeks later
I stood in front of Chiron's still in a daze. The last few days were a blur, giving statements to the police too helping Chiron and Carmen deliver food. I snapped back into my head when I saw Ria standing in the doorway. I walked toward her, pure happiness that she was alright, I mean I knew she was from what Carmen told me, but seeing her in the flesh made it a reality.
"Took your time getting here today." Ria said sarcastically.
"Nah, I think I got here in plenty of time." I Responded with a smile.
"Thank you." Ria said through a shaking voice as she hugged me.
"It wasn't any trouble." I said awkwardly while I pulled away, "Nothing I couldn't handle." I said walking toward Chiron. "I'm sparring today right?" I shouted to Chiron.