Chase
Look, I’m not gonna fuck around about this. There’s no fucking point in being modest when my rippling biceps and rock-hard six-pack are anything but. I’m the toughest bastard in this gym, and any asshole who says otherwise is going home with a broken face.
And a broken face is exactly what the dude watching me bench press ends up with.
Yeah, I see that fucker gawking at me while I lift three times his body weight over my body, as if the bar was hung with fluffy pillows instead of solid fucking steel. I see his cock get hard beneath his gym shorts at the sight of sweat pouring down my pectorals—which, I’m flattered, but that’s not my thing.
I even see the way his jaw hits the floor when I wink at him as I hit the apex of my lift.
What can I say? If they’re gonna gawk, they’re gonna get a fucking show.
But I don’t see the poor asshole walk into the wall in front of him as he stares at me. I only hear it: the sick crunch of his nose crumpling up like a balled up piece of notebook paper.
As blood pours down his face, the dude whimpers like a fucking pussy. I roll my eyes and catch the gaze of one of our personal trainers, who rolls his eyes right back.
“Fuck’s sake, Chase,” Brett swears as he jogs past me to help our injured customer. “That’s the third time this week.”
I just shrug. “His mamma should’ve told him it ain’t polite to stare.”
I’m not fucking phased—not by the attention and certainly not by the blood. I saw my fair share of that shit with my battalion in the Middle East. Saw a lot more working as muscle for the Cox crime family—and even more still when I wound up in jail for it.
But the army rangers, the mob, and the U.S penal system are all behind me now. I’ve got a good fucking gig going here with Eric at Power Plus—and for once, it doesn’t involve killing anybody.
They say crime never pays—but you can fucking bet that the corporate life does. Eric’s the mastermind of the operation. I’m just the hard body with the bad reputation that lends us some credibility.
We’ve made fucking billions opening gyms across the country, and we’re good enough at it that gyms are just the beginning. Fucking Eric has some kind of fifty-year plan for our brand, I have no goddamn doubt—I’m just here to punch him in his pretty mouth and put him in a headlock if he starts waving his dick too wide.
We’re a good fucking team, Eric and me.
And when you sow seed as well as Eric Hale and I do, you’d better fucking bet it won’t be too long until you’re gathering all the sweet, ripe fruit.
Which, speaking of fruit—you wouldn’t fucking believe the juicy-ass peach that just walked through Power Plus’ front doors.
She’s got long, wavy, bimbo blonde hair piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. And a cute little workout outfit that she obviously just fucking bought.
As she talks with Jackson at the front desk to set up her membership, I can already see him losing himself in her pretty blue eyes and sizing up her glossy blowjob lips. When he puts his dirty hands on her slender shoulders to position her for her membership photo, I imagine ripping his fingers off and making him eat them.
Don’t get me wrong—I like Jackson. But I’m a territorial bastard, and I’ve already decided that this girl is mine.
I raise my eyes to Eric’s office, which is a couple stories up and overlooks the gym floor. Sure as fuck, there he is, eyeing this sexy piece of ass just like I am. Eric lords over his domain from above like some kind of god, but I fancy myself as more of a Jesus-among-the-people type.
When his eyes meet mine, I’m fucking smirking.
He can run down the stairs as fast as he likes—but I already know I’m going to get to this girl first.
Power Plus isn’t a cheap fucking gym—most of our clients are celebrities, billionaires and, worse—so as she signs our membership agreement, I check her finger for a ring.
Not wearing one—which is to my benefit. I don’t mind fucking the hell out of the bored wives of Hollywood fat cats, but if this woman did have a husband, she wouldn’t have one for long.
And if it’s her boyfriend paying for her membership…well. I don’t like the idea of going back to jail, but maybe she could be convinced to suck cock for gym time instead.
My gaze slides down to her wrists as she hands over her credit card to finalize her membership payment. They’re bone-thin and delicate. The kind of wrists that, if I wrapped my fingers around them too hard, I’d be afraid they’d break.
This girl is thin—too thin, in my opinion. I like my women with a little more meat on their bones, and this hot little slice looks like she’s been living for a little too long off of nothing more than diet coke and cheeseburger dreams.
If she’s looking for a workout, I’ve got a workout for her that she won’t forget.
As she struts her stuff across the gym floor, I figure she must be single after all. She’s got a model walk, for one thing—and the way those hips move, they’re looking for trouble in all the right places.
I figure she’ll go straight for the cardio area. Most women do.
They think if they lift anything that’s not bright pink or weighs more than five pounds, their muscles are going to balloon up like fucking She-Hulk or some shit. How else could some jackass have been able to make such a fortune off of fucking Shakeweights?
But to my surprise, she doesn’t hop on a treadmill or start putting in her rounds on a stationary bike. No, this little cutie tucks her gym bag into a locker and makes her way over to the weights—my domain of choice.
I won’t lie. I’m impressed. I like a woman who’s not afraid to pump a little iron, if you know what I mean.
But as quickly as she wins my respect, she wins my concern as well. Dumb little cunt jumps beneath a squat bar that’s still heavy with some other asshole’s weights. I can take one look at her slender model thighs and tell that there’s no way in hell she’s going to be able to lift that—especially not with that form.
But oh, she sure fucking tries.
I see Eric come to the base of the stairs clad in sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt. He spots the danger just as quickly as I do. We don’t even need words to form a battle plan—we just jump into action.
“Oh…shit,” the blonde whimpers, a half-second away from crumpling beneath the weight.
Just as the hot little blonde begins to slump, I catch one side of the bar and Eric catches the other. We ease it back up onto the rack while the blonde’s knees threaten to give out.
“Silly bitch,” I chuckle to myself.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
I raise my eyes to meet her baby blues.
“I called you a silly bitch, sweetheart,” I level with her. “You damn near just hurt yourself—you’re lucky that all that’s bruised is your ego.”
“My ego is not bruised,” she says. She puts her hands on her hips like she’s Wonder Woman or some shit, which only make me laugh again.
And oh, boy. She doesn’t like it when I laugh at her.
“Happens to the best of us, honey,” Eric says, picking up where I left off. “Unfortunately, you don’t get any stronger just carrying around that chip on your shoulder. No shame in biting off more than you can chew.”
It’s then that it clicks for her. I’ve seen the same thing happen a million fucking times, and I never get tired of it.
It’s the moment when a woman shifts from angry to horny. Whatever bitchy attitude she’s fronting suddenly becomes overwhelmed by some little ping from her inner cavewoman as she realizes she’s in the presence of two hot, sweaty men that would make for prime mating material.
I watch her gaze shift down our bodies, until she’s blatantly focusing on our dicks.
When she meets our eyes again, there’s a little fire in her stare that tells me she did it deliberately, too. She let us watch her look.
Fuck, man. Now that’s my kind of woman—this girl is as hot as they come.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she says with a saucy little smirk.
At that point, she tries to leave. Tries to pass between us and walk away with not even a thank you—as if we didn’t just fucking save her life.
But nah—fuck that.
Eric and I close ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder before she can pass.
“I think a thank you is in order. Don’t you, Chase?”
I smirk over at Eric, shifting my shoulders back like the cocky asshole I am.
“I don’t know, Eric. I think we might need two thank yous, actually.”
The blonde’s eyes narrow. “Or, you handsome gentlemen could kindly get the fuck out of my way before you wind up hurt.”
Christ. I know she’s trying to be all bad-ass and shit, but that’s just fucking amusing. Even Eric’s lips are twitching while he fights back his desire to laugh.
I’m not so fucking composed. This little tart? Hurting us?
Oh god, that fucking slays me.
Plus, she called us handsome.
I’m a sucker for compliments, what can I say.
“Sweetheart, the only thing you’re going to hurt if we let you loose in this gym is yourself,” I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Why don’t you let us teach you some proper form?” Eric offers. “Might be useful if you don’t want to end up in the hospital.”
Oh, boy. She doesn’t like that either.
I can see the nostrils flare on her delicate little nose. Her chest heaves beneath her sports bra. I can practically see her heart rate increase as she takes a deep breath, ready to let us have it.
But here’s the problem with women trying to breathe around us: pheromones make it fucking hard for a girl to keep her head straight, and since we’re constantly hitting the gym so hard we’re almost always dripping with sweat…
This little bitch’s temper is quelled with just one whiff.
“Fine,” she snaps. “Let’s see what you jackasses know, then.”
I look at Eric with the biggest fucking smile on my face. Like, are you seeing this shit?
The look he gives me in response isn’t one that I’ve seen since we were rangers together in Afghanistan.
It’s a look that says, Follow my lead, Lieutenant. We’re going in.