I gave my girlfriend a pocketknife to protect herself—a fucking knife!
I didn’t want to think about how seriously messed up that was. I spun around and struck the bag with a forceful back fist and tried to erase the memory of Gianna telling me what Ethan had done to her—all the reasons why she needed a knife and self-defense classes. I turned again and landed a punishing roundhouse kick, forcing the image of her fearful eyes when she thought he’d found her. I pulled Ethan’s face from the deep recesses of my memory and imagined his bones and cartilage crunching beneath my fists as I inflicted another punch into the cylindrical bag.
Feral, violent thoughts consumed me. I didn’t like feeling this way and knew I needed to calm this unfamiliar temper. Rage wasn’t going to help Gianna—she’d already experienced enough rage from one man.
Taking a few calming breaths, I resumed working the bag at a more measured pace.
Snap. Two. Three. Four. Punch. Two. Three. Four. Kick. Two. Three. Four.
I counted the reps over and over again, using the tempo to calm the roiling anger. I let the punches flow freely, the snap keeping a steady pace as my feet moved effortlessly around the bag.
Thirty minutes later, I was drenched in sweat, and my knuckles were raw from repeatedly hitting the vinyl without the proper gear. However, my mind felt clearer. While still frustrated about the entire situation, I no longer felt as if I was about to lose control. With labored breaths, I stepped away from the bag and leaned down to brace my hands on my knees.
In general, I didn’t consider myself an angry person who couldn’t control his emotions. I took most problems in stride and allowed things to roll off my back. The fury I felt now came from some place deep within me—a place I hadn’t known existed until now. I may have unwillingly committed to trusting Gianna with whatever it was she was doing, but there was no way in hell I would let this go on indefinitely. I’d waited too long to have her. Now that we were finally together, I’d be damned before I let some son of a bitch fuck it all up. Gianna deserved happiness, and I would do everything in my power to make sure she got it.
40
Derek
I unlocked the door to my apartment and ushered Maisie inside. We’d just come back from the roof after letting her out one last time for the night. She scampered over to her crate and curled up inside, and before I’d removed my sneakers, she was already fast asleep.
“Must be nice,” I mumbled and shook my head. I’d barely slept in days. Making my way to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, I contemplated how easy it must be to live the life of a dog. Eat, sleep, poop. That was about it.
I twisted off the bottle cap and took a long swig. Mid swallow, a knock at the door sounded. I slowly pulled the plastic bottle from my lips and looked at the door. It was nearing midnight, and I typically didn’t get late-night visitors.
The hairs on the back of my arms stood on end, and an icy chill crept up my spine. I wasn’t one to spook easily, but I couldn’t stop Gianna’s fears from racing to the forefront of my mind. Grabbing a butcher knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen, I cautiously made my way to the door and peered through the peephole. A uniformed officer stood on the other side. That didn’t ease my concern. I never put much thought into Gianna’s theories about not trusting the police, but now… this uneasy feeling was making me think perhaps I should have.
I hooked the security chain on the door, hid the knife behind my back, and opened the door a crack.
“Derek Mills?” the officer asked.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Officer Ridley with the NYPD. Are you the owner of the gym across the street?”
“Um, yes. That’s correct,” I said, feeling somewhat perplexed.
“Unfortunately, there’s been a break-in. Someone standing outside waiting to get into Club Revolution noticed something was off inside the gym and called it in.”
I frowned. That didn’t make sense. I should have been notified.
“What do you mean there was a break-in? Why didn’t the alarm company call me?”
“It appears the alarm was disabled. The person who called it in also happens to live in this building. She’s the one who told us you lived here. It’s pretty bad. I’m here to ask you to come with me. We need to ask you a few questions and—”
“Hang on,” I interrupted. I wasn’t going to get to the bottom of this by talking through two inches of space. Momentarily closing the door, I tossed the butcher knife onto the couch. Just as I was about to remove the security chain from the door, I found myself hesitating. Moving quickly to the windows, I looked down at the street below. There was a line of people waiting to get into Club Revolution, extending all the way down the block. Three cop cars were positioned in front of The Mill, their lights flashing brightly into the night sky as the clubgoers looked on curiously. At least four armed officers stood talking to one another on the sidewalk.
Clearly, this wasn’t some hoax concocted by Gianna’s husband. This was the real deal.
Shit!
Hurrying back the door, I opened it and followed Officer Ridley down to The Mill, hoping and praying nothing of real value was taken.
“You said the break-in was bad. How much did they take?” I asked him as we exited my building. He paused at the curb and turned to face me. There was pity in his eyes.
“I don’t know what, if anything, was taken. The vandalism is what makes it so bad. Do you have any enemies, Mr. Mills?”
I didn’t respond as I mentally put together a possible scenario.
Vandalism. Nothing was taken. Enemies.
I had a sinking feeling I knew who was behind the break-in, but before I voiced my suspicions, I wanted to see how bad the damage was. Crossing the street, I walked through the main doors to The Mill. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the streetlights and the police cars. Still, at a quick glance, things looked in rough shape. Heading straight for the main desk, I hit the light switches on the wall.
I audibly gasped when the fluorescent lighting filled the space. I could barely believe what I was seeing.
Every single treadmill was destroyed. While replacing the slashed belts was easy enough, there would be no repairing the smashed NordicTrack touchscreens. The stationary bikes were all flipped on end, and the elastic cords from the rowing machines had been ripped from their wheels. However, the property destruction wasn’t the reason for my shock.
Every wall had been vandalized with red spray paint, covering the white and gray surfaces with barely legible words and symbols I wasn’t familiar with. The free-standing banner next to the front desk, once advertising yoga class offerings, had been shredded to ribbons. The frame for it was still intact, and the vandal had used a jump rope to fashion a noose from the top rail. Hanging from it was a large stuffed dog—one that very much resembled a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
Maisie.
A chill raced down my spine. I had to force myself to remember I’d just left her, and she was completely fine.
“Who would do such a thing?” I whispered to myself.
This wasn’t some random act. It was clearly the work of a madman. I walked across the main floor, surveying the rest of the damage. The smoothie bar was in ruins. Blenders and tumblers had been tossed about, and everything was covered in smashed fruit and supplement powder. Every one of the bench presses was toppled over, and the weight bars had been strewn haphazardly across the main floor. I nearly tripped over one and stopped to pick it up. However, I paused when I noticed the angle was identical to the one lying in front of it. I stood and took another look at the weight bars. On second glance, they weren’t tossed as carelessly as I’d thought. In fact, they looked like they formed a pattern.