Page 111 of Tragic Empire
“Come here.”
The following kiss I plant on her makes my fucking head spin.
ChapterThirty-Five
Ana
Today I woke up with one nagging thought.I need to punch something.
There isn’t a huge pit of rage in my stomach driving me toward aggression, but frustration that sex can only do so much to cure instead. I’m getting restless as days without answers continue to pile up.
Killian is mostly recovered according to Cassio, and he’ll likely be able to show face around here soon. But anonymous messages continue to ping on my phone—no matter how many numbers I block—and my mother and Cole have yet to be avenged.
When I thought of the mafia before being a part of it, I thought these men were nearly invincible. That problems could be solved at the drop of a hat, and sometimes that can be true. Unfortunately, this situation is shady with a capital S. Someone is pulling the strings too well, and it’s impossible to take scissors to threads we can’t see.
I want Killian home, and I wantMr. Creepy Textsto fucking die.
So, I’m going to take my resentful attitude down to the gym and see if I can’t sweat it out. I haven’t used the Knight family gym in far too long, but it’s perfectly equipped with anything I could need. Exercise machines, several different punching bags, mats for judo sparring, a balance beam, pull up bars, and more.
I start with a quick run around the area, getting my blood pumping and my body warmed up to stretch. It’s quickly apparent that my stamina has taken a hit after months of being mostly sedentary. I used to work out at least three times a week, cardio and keeping up with Judo mostly. It can be therapeutic, and the endorphins are good for stress.
Thankfully, by the time I start heading for a punching bag, I’m not overly winded. I’m warm, sweating a little, but breathing quite easily. It seems I haven’t entirely fucked up my endurance.
“Hey, pretty girl, I heard you wanted to hit someone,” a flirtatious Armani greets, waltzing into the gym with Colton in tow.
My eyes bulge at the sight of them, both men are entirely missing shirts and dawning athletic shorts that hit just above the center of their thighs. If they were barefoot, I’d assume the pair were going for a swim. They might as well be wearing boxer shorts with their trainers.
Armani is slightly bulkier than Colton, but they’re eerily similar in stature. Both with wide, toned shoulders, slim muscular waists, and thick thighs that could crush a grown man’s head. Both are intimidating to look at, but Armani most of all.
Despite his Fabio-like silky hair that sways just past his collarbones, his stark tattoos make him look more like a prisoner than a pirate. He’s covered in ink, arms, chest, legs… dark intricate designs decorate more than seventy percent of his visible skin. He’s like a work of art himself.
“Bloody hell,” I blurt, unable to hide my astonished face.
“Are you checking us out right now, doll?” Colton teases, waggling his brows.
“I feel objectified,” Armani tacks on in mock offense.
Sputtering, I fold my arms over my chest. “Youfeel objectified? I feel like I’m watching Magic Mike! Those shorts would be small onme,” I exclaim. “Do you two seriously work out in that?”
“Like your sports bra and fuck-me leggings are any less scandalous,” Armani challenges, looking me up and down before arching a brow.
“Fuck-me leggings.” I scoff. “These are the most basic?—”
The two burst into laughter, cutting off my rant.
“Something funny?” I demand, hands flexing into fists.
“We’re only fucking with ya, doll,” Colton soothes, putting his hands up in surrender. “We figured if we were going to let you pound on us for a few hours, we would get a little ego boost out of it first.”
“So worth it,” Armani tacks on. “Besides, it’s good to keep Cassio on his toes. He has to know he’s not the only eye candy rolling around here. He needs to behave to keep his wife, lest one of us tries to swoop in.”
“I doubt either of you have ever truly been in need of an ego boost,” I grumble, trying not to smile at their antics. “And a pretty face isn’t enough to sway me from Cassio, Armani. He’s mine, if he doesn’tbehave, I’ll handle him myself.”
“I knew I should have volunteered to marry you,” the tattooed man groans, clutching his heart with false pain. “A possessive woman after my own heart.”
“Yeah right,” I huff. “You don’t want to be tied down, and I like my men firmly bound. Besides, I would have picked Cassio even if you did volunteer.”
Colton cracks up and Armani makes a sound of protest. “Now you’re just being mean.”
