Chapter 21 Colt hit the bag hard with his gloved fist, then watched it swing back, the chain creaking as it moved. He hit it again, harder this time, ignoring the ache in his arms. The exhaustion that pulled at his limbs. He'd lost track of how long he'd been here. Far longer than he should have. An entire week had passed since his run-in with his father, and he still felt that searing rage. The pulse of frustration and hate. It flooded every quiet corner of his body. Gordon had contributed nothing good to his life. And now, the asshole felt like he was owed something? The scumbag was owed nothing. He needed to leave. And because he wouldn't, Colt had to look over his shoulder every time he left the house. He had to shadow Indie when she went on shoots just to make sure she was safe. She'd told him it wasn't a big deal, but that was a lie. There were already stupid rumors affecting her business-thanks to his mother-and now she also had to tackle the fact that she couldn't give her clients privacy during their shoots. When would it end? Gordon wasn't getting a cent of fucking money from him or his mother, so if he was smart, he'd already be gone. But his father had never been a smart man. Colt knew full well that if he gave the son of a bitch money, he'd just be back again, asking for more. Nothing would change. Two more punches followed by a kick to the bag. From his peripheral vision, he saw someone approaching. The man was tall and broad, with dark hair and intelligent eyes. Without even knowing the guy, Colt knew he was dangerous. After years as a Marine, it was something he'd picked up. Sometimes it was as simple as watching how a person moved. The man stopped beside Colt, arms crossed. "Hey. Colt, right?" He lowered his fists and turned, regulating his heavy breaths as he took the guy in. The laser-blue eyes. The short brown hair. The small scar on his left brow. Definitely dangerous. It radiated off him. "How'd you know my name?" "Looked at your paperwork. I'm Zane Merrick, the owner." "The UFC fighter." This place had only opened a few months ago. And yeah, word traveled fast in this town. "Former UFC," Zane corrected. "And you're military." "You hear that around town?" "No, I can see it in your combat stance. It's defensive. Hands up, chin tucked. You hit with purpose. Plus, you keep scanning the gym, giving away your situational awareness. Bet you've already identified every exit and entry point and categorized every person in here." True. But that was also because there was a threat in the form of his father in this town. "How do you know all that?" "I did a stint in the military before I got in the ring. Army Ranger." Colt snorted. "That's not a stint. That's an elite group of soldiers trained for direct action missions." Zane nodded slowly. "It is." "Would have taken a lot of work for you to get there, only to leave." "I could say the same for you." True again. "Why come to Amber Ridge?" "Why not?" The guy was keeping his cards close to his chest, but then, so was Colt. "You're going at that bag pretty hard. Everything okay?" "Not really." Not even close to okay. Zane shot a glance over his shoulder before looking back to Colt. "If you ever want a real workout though, let me know. We have floor space for striking and grappling. We also have a ring." The ring was hard to miss. It was an octagon-style ring that centered the room and was a real focal point. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." "You do that." When Zane walked away, Colt turned back to the bag and started punching again. Memories of his father's fists flashed in his mind. The anger in his eyes when he was high. Colt could almost feel the fear that had paralyzed him for so much of his early childhood. Fear of his father's fists. And on that last night, fear of the men who'd entered his house. "I'm going to kill you, boy!" Colt sprinted through the living room and into the library, his heart beating so hard it felt like it might punch right out of his chest. He didn't try to silence the loud thuds of his feet against floorboards. Speed was more important than silence. His mother wasn't here to protect him and his father had sent the nanny home. It was just the two of them. But he was glad his mother wasn't here. She always got hurt when she was, and Colt hated his dad for that. He slammed the library door closed behind him and ran straight to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. In the bottom corner, he removed the false panel before slipping into the small hole. He just fit. His mother had hidden him here so many times. Then, when he'd gotten bigger, he'd hidden himself. Another year and he'd probably be too big. Quickly, he pulled the panel closed behind him, then lifted the butcher knife. He couldn't remember when he'd first hidden it here. He'd never had to use it, but he'd made a promise to himself that the next time he heard his father hurting his mom, he would. His father wasn't even supposed to be home. It was supposed to be just him and Anita, his nanny. But then he'd stumbled through the door, and Colt had seen his red eyes. Glassy eyes. Unfocused. Whenever Colt saw him like that, he knew to run. Because whatever came next wasn't good. The library door crashed open, making Colt flinch. He closed his eyes and worked hard to control his breathing, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the knife that his knuckles ached. "I know you're in here, boy. I just need the details of the accounts. I know your mother shares them with you." He was eight. Why would his mother give him that sort of information? But then, his father rarely made sense when he got into these rages. Colt hit the bag harder, the memory making him want to go back and kill the man who'd terrorized the child version of himself. Colt shut his eyes, every part of him wanting to run out there and pay his father back for all the times he'd hurt his mom. Kick the asshole's ass. But he was too small. He was no match for his dad. One day, though...one day, he'd teach the asshole a lesson. Then he heard something...it almost sounded like the distant click of the front door closing. Colt's eyes flew open. Was it Mom? No. Please. She wasn't due home for another hour. His stomach twisted, one hand going to the false back of the bookshelf while the other still gripped the knife. He wasn't going to touch her this time. Colt would make sure of it. "What are you-" His father's voice was cut off by a grunt and a mechanical click. "Gordon Sharp, you owe us money." Who was that? The voice was deep and unfamiliar. And not really angry...but definitely dangerous. It made Colt want to shrink back. Disappear into the wall. "I'm-I'm getting it for you." His father sounded short of breath. "You see, you said that a month ago, but we still haven't received anything. I'm losing faith in you, my friend." "No! I'll have it to you, I promise. I just need the missus to tell me where the money is." A deep laugh sounded, but it was a strange sound. Kind of like when a bully found someone to pick on. "I'm starting to think she cut you off. Which means we might have a problem. And do you know what we do with problems?" "No, please-" A pained shout came from his father. Colt slammed his empty hand over his ear and pressed the other to his shoulder, scrunching his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. He started counting in his head. Long, slow counting that took his mind off whatever was going on in the library. Suddenly, the panel opened. Colt wrenched his hands from his ears and grabbed the knife-only to freeze at the sight of his mother. Her eyes were wide and fearful. "Colt...baby! You're okay." "Mom?" She reached in and tugged him out, immediately pulling him against her chest. "Baby, I'm so sorry! I didn't know he was coming home early. I saw him on the camera. Are you okay?" He nodded. He wasn't sure if it was a lie. Maybe. He wasn't hurt. But he didn't feel okay either. "I was so worried." She pulled back again and studied his body. "Your father isn't here. And I'm going to make sure he doesn't come home ever again. I'm calling someone for help. His name's Ben. He's going to protect us." Colt nodded. He wanted to believe her. But he'd heard that promise before. And at just eight years old, he understood the threat that was his father. Knew the man wouldn't leave so easily. And even if he did, he wouldn't stay away.