Page 52 of Fall Before Her Throne

I sank into my stretches first, letting the movement ground me. My gunshot wound was still tight, but it was almost entirely healed, and I doubted I’d notice it after a few more weeks.

After stretching, I moved into some mobility exercises and boxing warmups. The more I moved, the calmer I got.

Until I heard the patio door open again.

I expected to see Cas, Leona, or Obi, but I froze when I caught sight of Max. He closed the door behind him and then leaned against the side of the house. Watching.

Anger flared through me when I thought about Leona’s tears from last night.

I’d grown accustomed to him around the penthouse before everything went down. Working with him while finding the Albanians and taking them out wasn’t as horrible as I had expected it to be. He clearly hated trafficking as much as we did. He was competent, and after hearing from Leona about what he’d done for her on the Albanian ship, my attitude toward him had softened.

But since we had to run from the penthouse, I was wary. Suspicious. The more lies he held, the less I trusted him—not with our safety, and not with Leona. The way he stood there, unmoving, like a statue, made me wish for a knife in my hand.

Ryu seemed to be rubbing off on all of us.

“What do you want?” I wiped the few droplets of sweat from my forehead with the edge of my shirt.

Shadows hung beneath his eyes. “Thought I might exercise.”

“You’re injured.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

I wasn’t like Ryu or Cas, who were baited by his attitude. Instead, I folded my arms over his chest and stared at the dark circles under his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I never sleep.”

Now that I believed. He perpetually seemed like he wore a twenty-pound weight hanging from his neck, and that had only gotten worse in the last few days. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with your fight last night. Nothing to do with how you pushed her away.”

“Of course she told you,” he huffed.

“She tells us everything. We tell her everything.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked down at his feet. He said nothing. Classic.

I turned my back and started moving through my exercises again. Warming up my muscles with bodyweight alone. I sincerely missed our gym back at the penthouse.

“Look, Wynn,” Max started. I paused and looked at him over my shoulder. He braced his hand on his head and avoided my eyes. “I just want to exercise. I usually go to the gym first thing in the morning. You seemed like you had the right idea out here. If I stay cooped up in there, someone is going to shank me, so at least I can watch my back out here and get out some of this restlessness. Two birds, one stone.”

I smirked. He wasn’t wrong. We were all watching. Waiting for him to slip up again.

As he stared, I looked around. There was more than enough room out here for both of us—and plenty of space in the grass right off the patio deck for sparring. Sparring didn’t sound like that bad of an idea.

Except if I sparred with him, I’d probably kill him. He was that weak, and I was that angry.

“Do what you want,” I said as I turned around and resumed my workout.

He went down to the grass and started working through his own series of stretches and bodyweight exercises. I watched out of the corner of my eye, keeping track of his movements and the way his body favored his right side—where his stab wound was on his ribs. It didn’t take long before his breaths became heavy and he had to sit in the grass for a pause.

I paused at the same time and snagged a drink from the glass of water I’d brought out here earlier. The back of his t-shirt was already marked with sweat.

“Do you want to spar?” he asked from his seat in the grass. “Cas and I used to spar all the time.”

I tilted my head to consider him. “You know you won’t last against me.”

His hand pressed against his side for a second while he grimaced. “Yeah. It’ll be no contest.”

“Then why do you want to spar?”