CHAPTER 2
The silence on the blue mat was suffocating. Marcus had finally hauled his massive frame off the floor, his chest heaving, but he didn't move toward me. He, along with Jax, Rocco, and Bane, formed a loose, muscular wall around the edges of the mat, waiting for a command from their boss.
Silas Thorne didn't take his eyes off me. He stared at the shipping label bearing my comatose brother's name, his jaw clenching so hard I thought his teeth might crack.
"I asked you a question," Silas said, stepping into my personal space. I could smell his expensive cologne mixing with the stale sweat of the gym. "Your manifest says Leo Vance. Leo Vance has been in a hospital bed for six months. So why is a courier bringing a box with his name on it into my gym?"
I tightened my grip on the cardboard, forcing myself to look slightly intimidated, masking the cold calculation beneath. "Look, man, I just scan the barcode and drive the van," I lied, letting my voice waver just a fraction. "The depot loaded it on my truck this morning. Address says Apex MMA. That's all I know. If you don't want it, I'll mark it return-to-sender."
I moved to turn away, but Silas’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with a grip like a steel vise.
"You aren't going anywhere," Silas said softly. He gestured to Rocco and Bane. "Close the front doors. Lock them."
My heart hammered against my ribs. The heavy glass doors at the front of the gym clicked shut, the deadbolts sliding into place. The trap was sprung.
"Open it," Silas commanded, releasing my wrist and pointing at the box.
"It's against company policy for me to open a sealed—"
"Open the damn box," Silas snapped, his composure slipping.
I set the heavy carton back onto the black bench. My hands were shaking, but this time, it wasn't an act. If Silas realized who I was right now, with the doors locked and five heavyweights surrounding me, I would never make it out of this building.
I pulled a small box cutter from my yellow jacket pocket, slid the blade out, and sliced through the heavy packing tape. I opened the cardboard flaps and stepped back.
Silas leaned over the box. He reached inside through a layer of bubble wrap and pulled out the contents.
It was a pair of heavily worn, black and silver MMA sparring gloves.
The exact gloves Leo had worn the night of the championship fight. The gloves the police had mysteriously been unable to locate when they searched the locker room for evidence of tampering.
I watched Silas’s face closely. I expected him to look confused. But the moment his fingers brushed the worn leather, his eyes darted nervously around the gym, specifically looking up toward the security cameras mounted in the corners of the ceiling. He looked panicked.
"Where did these come from?" Marcus asked, stepping forward, his deep voice thick with confusion. He stared at the gloves in Silas’s hands. "Those are Leo's. The cops said they threw them out at the hospital."