Every Four Years

Bad Blood

My new neighbour is a cop.

Perfect.

Because clearly the universe has a sense of humour.

I keep telling myself my dislike of the police is irrational — just like my fear of lifts. Both come from the same place, from when I reached out for help for the first time in my life and was let down by the very people that were supposed to protect me.

Even now, I can still see that officer’s face — kind eyes, patient voice — while he wrote down every word that damned me. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know not all cops would’ve believed David and Nancy over a broken twelve-year-old. Maybe Lucas is one of the good ones. But the betrayal runs too deep to untangle.

It’s only been twenty minutes since I walked out of the apartment, but my skin still buzzes like I’m trapped in a cage. If I’d stayed, I would’ve said something I couldn’t take back — something Grace couldn’t unhear and Lucas couldn’t forget. The last thing I need is to snap at a detective who lives ten feet away from me. So instead, I do what I’ve always done when the world feels too tight — I go to the studio.

It’s a large open space at the edge of town, where I hold self-defence classes and work out my own demons. The lights hum faintly overhead. The air smells like chalk, sweat, and metal. Familiar. Safe.

It’s my kind of church — no sermons, no forgiveness, just movement, focus and noise. I lock the door, double-check it, then pull my hair up and shove my earphones in.

Music. Volume high. Brain off.

—————————

“I know I can’t slow down,

I can’t hold back,

Though you know I wish I could…”

My fists meet the bag in time with the beat — steady, perfect rhythm. Every hit bleeds off a little more tension. Lucas’s face flashes in my mind — kind smile, warm eyes. The kind of man who looks trustworthy.

But so did the last one.

“Oh, no there ain't no rest for the wicked,

Until we close our eyes for good"

The final bars fade. I rip out the earbuds and stand there, chest heaving, the silence ringing in my ears.

Then —

Clapping.

Slow, deliberate, wrong.

“Still got it, I see.”

No.

That voice doesn’t belong here.

I turn and the years drop away like ash. Bulldog.

Adrian’s old enforcer. Thick neck, heavier hands, and still wearing that cheap aftershave that smells like petrol and bad decisions. Of all Adrian’s men, he was the only one I never trusted. The one who made my instincts crawl. Apparently, fate decided today needed to get worse.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out low, sharp.

He steps into the light, a wolf in an old tracksuit. “You might say I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d stop by, see an old friend.”

“Try again. How did you get in?”

“Door was open.”

“It wasn’t.”

He just shrugs. Of course he does. Men like Bulldog think rules are optional and women are replaceable.

“Cut the crap, Bulldog. You can’t be here. You know this violates our agreement.”

Adrian’s deal was ironclad—I fight for him until eighteen, make him his money, then I walk free — no strings, no contact, no ghosts from that world ever crossing into mine again.

Adrian never broke his word. Which means if Bulldog’s here, something’s gone very, very wrong.

He smirks. “You were never one for a chat, were you, Tiger Shark?”

“That’s not my name anymore.”

His eyes drift to the heavy bag behind me, its skin torn, sand leaking like blood.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I don’t blink. Don’t move. I let the silence stretch until it’s uncomfortable — until even he can feel the weight of it pressing down. I learned that from Adrian. Silence unnerves men who think they own the room.

He cracks first, as always. “I came to offer you a job.”

I blink once, slow. A job. That’s new.

“Does Adrian know you’re here?”

“This doesn’t concern Adrian.”

So no.

He shrugs taking a step closer. I smell the cigarettes and cheap whiskey clinging to him like second skin. “Adrian’s finished. Ever since you left, his empire’s crumbling. He lost his golden girl, and the money followed you. I’m stepping in. Taking over. Thought I’d make you an offer before things get… messy.”

I almost laugh, “you’re delusional.”

Bulldog, running an empire? That’s like putting a dog in charge of a steakhouse and expecting inventory to survive.

I shouldn’t care, Adrian was nothing but a business partner, a roof over my head paid for by blood, but something deep down writhes in me like snakes.

Bulldog grins, teeth yellow under the light. “Come on, little fish. It’s not just business. I’ve wanted you since the day I met you Alley. And what I want—” he leans in, voice dropping to a growl “—I get.”

My stomach turns. There it is. The real reason he’s here. The greed. The hunger. And under it, something darker.

Adrian never told anyone my real name. For the first year I was just the kid. Later, Tiger Shark. TS.

The fact that Bulldog knows it means he’s been digging. And the way he says it — like a promise he’s been waiting years to cash in — makes my skin crawl.

Every muscle in my body goes still. My smile doesn’t move. My heart doesn’t race. Outwardly, I’m calm — the kind of calm that used to terrify opponents in the ring.

Inside, I’m calculating. Door behind him. Phone in my pocket. Knife taped under the counter.

A dozen ways to end this in seconds if I have to.

“Not this time,” I say softly. “You should know by now — I never lose.”

I step toward him. My shark smile spreads, sharp enough to cut glass.

He flinches — barely, but I see it. His shoulders tense. That tiny shiver that says he remembers exactly what I’m capable of.

“Leave,” I tell him. “Before I make you regret walking through that door.”

For a second, the old arrogance flickers in his eyes. Then he decides he likes breathing more than bragging.

“This isn’t over,” he says.

“Yes,” I whisper, “it is.”

He backs out of the room, one step at a time, until he disappears into a side street.

The second the door shuts, I lock it. Twice.

Then I just stand there, shaking — not from fear, but fury.

Of all the people who could’ve crawled out of my past, him. The lowest kind of predator in a kingdom built of predators. And now he’s seen where I work.

It’s not the threat that shakes me — I could handle Bulldog in my sleep. It’s the risk. The possibility that someone saw him. That word will spread. Haven’s founder meets with known criminal. The tabloids would eat it alive. The donors would vanish. The people who depend on me — the kids, the mothers, the men clawing their way out of addiction — would lose everything.

Eight years of clawing my way out of the dirt, gone in one headline.

I take a long breath. Force the tremor out of my hands.

Then I reset the gym, wipe every surface he might’ve touched, and try to rebuild the calm he shattered.

By the time my students arrive for the evening class, my smile is back in place — polished, practiced, perfect.

I run through drills, corrections, encouragement. Every punch lands true, but my mind is miles away.

When the session ends, the applause sounds distant, like I’m hearing it from underwater. My body aches with exhaustion, but my thoughts won’t stop moving.

I lock up, walk home in the dark, and keep scanning the shadows for the echo of Bulldog’s grin.

Grace calls something from the couch when I step inside — a joke, maybe, or a question — but I can’t answer.

If she sees the fear in my eyes, she’ll ask.

If she asks, I might have to tell her.

So I just nod, head for my room, and close the door behind me.

Sleep takes me before I can change clothes, heavy and merciful.

But even in dreams, I can feel it — the walls of Haven shaking, the life I built trembling on its foundations.

All because one ghost decided to come back.