THE LIGHTS ARE DIM, and the entire floor is quiet.
Various equipments; barbells, treadmills, ellipticals, and the like lie strewn all over the entire gym. Sweat-stained towels hang from training benches and only a faint whirring sound floats by.
In the middle of all the untidy chaos stands Michael Landry. His fists are covered in white strips of cloth, and pulsing veins bulge from his strong arms.
Sweat forms on his brow in salty pebbles, trickling down his barechest, down his solid muscles and over his abs to his black boxing shorts.
The vine tattoo inked across his velvety skin glistens and melds perfectly to his flesh. His features are set in a grim expression, and his lips are pursed.
Slowly, he lifts his head and sweat trickles down from his wet hair to his jaw. He clenches his teeth and his jaw flexes. His blue eyes are piercing and full of fire. A burning, angry flame. Michael stares unsmiling into the dim, empty gym.
He had been sending his fists—and legs all over the boxing pouch far longer than was necessary. His arms were aching and his muscles strained in fatigue, but his mind on the other hand was restless.
His brain kept sending him images of Arielle locked in some sultry encounter with a stranger. He knew Arielle and Fallon had something between them, and he didn't mind. Frankly, if not because Fallon was his best friend's wife, he would have suggested a threesome.
The two women together were like vast waters at Nightfall. Appealing and entrancing.
But what he feels now is different, and bothersome. Arielle had been on many vacations and business trips. All of them lasted a total of two weeks before she returned back to HIARTON TOWERS—and him.
In all his life, Michael had never felt more alive when around her. And at her absence, he felt empty. There was also the issue of her tight, hot body. The dangerous edge he knew she hid. Her luscious, healthy body. Her glowing emerald eyes. And her fucking sharp claws!
A brief image of Arielle on her knees as he fucks her from behind assaults his senses and his cock hardens in his briefs. He indulges his thoughts and his hand slides down his slick muscles to his crotch. He rubs on himself and his cock bulges within. He is slipping his fingers in when suddenly the image transforms. It's suddenly another man. A taller man, fucking his Arielle.
A loud growl sounds in the gym and his gloved fist connects with hard leather. He groans as pain shoots up his arms. He immediately grips the fist with his other hand and lowers to the chrome floors.
Few seconds later, the doors slide open and a trio of uniformed men glide into the gym. They silently switch on the lights and begin to make sense of the scattered pile.
Michael slowly rises to his feet and walks out. He stops at the showers. As the warm water drips over his skin, he leans on the wall and breathes through his mouth.
Michael knew it in his gut. He had to find Arielle.
He quickly dries off and picks up his phone. A few swipes later, and the location he had saved pings up.
It reads; Blackbone Mountains: West of Winterville county.