Aftermath Book Two Crash Series

Chapter Thirty

Mason

            With my hands up in front of my face, my fist clenched tight, and my focus targeted I shuffle my feet forward while I snap my right arm out. The flat of my fist strikes the black leather bag, through my cushioned gloves, as it rocks and rattles on a metal chain. In no more than a blink, my arm is retracting protecting my face once more. Using my momentum I lean back on my left leg while twisting slightly to the side. Perfectly positioned I kick my right foot out, my skin smacking the top of the bag with enough force to really put my footwork to the test.

            Sweat drips down my face in a river, some falling in front of my eyes like an optical distraction threatening to steal my concentration, while others hang from my chin slowly dropping to the floor or my bare chest, mixing with the sweat already there. My concentration doesn’t break, my focus remains targeted as my imagination sticks. It’s not a punching bag I’m brutalizing instead it’s my father. Or a life full of frustration, betrayal, and abuse finally leaking out of the cage I locked it in and demanding an escape.

            He turned the f*****g cameras off. Every single one. How’s the f*****g question. Dibb says he’s working on it but I’m growing increasingly impatient. We have no concrete evidence, nothing besides Aria’s word against my fathers. That is enough for me, but won’t be to a police department that’s bought and paid for by the very man they’ll be accusing. Nor will it be enough for the board to see through to who he really is. I know the men on that board, the only way to get them on my side is to force them there. Give them no other choice but to remain loyal to the true heart of the company and not the whims and corruption of the CEO and largest shareholder.

            They’re all cut from the same cloth as my father. Stuffy outdated businessmen that have their noses so far up their golden encrusted bubbles they don’t care about anyone or anything beyond their pocketbooks and power. They don’t want to see the people they force to sleep on the streets so they can get a better quarterly check. Or the hunched shoulders of the tired should be retired people they force to pick up hours at our local stores just to put food on the table.  

            They want to have the money to buy up and fund the local, state, and federal politicians so they can make their erupting wallets more explosive with policy and rewards handwritten and solely focused on benefiting themselves. They have no sympathy nor regard for the majority of people they take from and suppress. 

            The only way to gather their support, enough to hand the reins over to me and eliminate all standing and power from Edward, is to force their hand. I need enough publicity to make their names look bad enough they'll be sweating. I need to threaten them and the business enough to give them no other choice but to give me what I seek out of their pure greed to save their pocketbooks.

            Once Edward is criminally charged the publicity will be so widespread, the charges so damaging and the evidence so concrete there will be no going around it. They’ll be forced to officially give me the CEO position and Jaxson will take over as COO. At first, they’ll be sure they made the right decision, and it will be for everyone but them. It won't take long before they start to panic. Before they start to question and conspire against us, but by then it’ll be too late.

            Jaxson and I will already hold enough shares to have the majority, making their voice almost insignificant. But the final nail in almost every one of their coffins will be the charges they find being filed against them. Edward won’t be the last person we investigate with every resource we have. We won’t stop until every current board member is replaced with someone that holds more morals and integrity than any of them have in their pinky finger.

            Until the moment I see each of them, but specifically, Edward behind bars this punching bag and my imagination will have to do or I need a sparring partner. I was working with Aria here and there but it’s been a while since she’s joined in on a decent workout. Even then she wasn’t a real opponent. Don’t get me wrong she’s a badass woman.

            Dodging to my left I manage to avoid being knocked back by the heavy bag by only an inch. Jumping over to the right I follow its movement rolling my weight from my toes to my heels and back again as I plan my next attack. I go in hard, my arms striking out one after another like a rattlesnake catching its prey. One arm protects my face as the other connects with the bag over and over. I move with it, around it, or work on avoiding it as I keep pushing myself harder.

            The only reason Aria can box with me at all is the trust we created that’s gives her the comfort necessary to put herself in that position in the first place.  If she ever saw the beast I am now she’d never willingly put herself on the other end of my gloves again. Not only would she be terrified to see the truth I’ve kept hidden from her but she would never be able to keep up.

            I need someone that can more than keep up, I need a real challenge. Something to relieve the irritating itch burning under my skin. f*****g Edward has my vision red and my blood constantly at a boil. He’s pushed me too far plenty of times, but touching Aria? He had his motherfucking hands on her t**s and he would have gone farther if my girl wasn’t the badass she is. Waiting has never been so painful and my patients have never been so thin.

            Shoving the bag away from me I scream out my frustration and stomp towards the other side of the room as I rip at the Velcro on my gloves savagely with my teeth. Aria took Wyatt and Levi with her to Shirley’s leaving me alone for the first time since I got back. Since I was able to confirm for myself that she was okay and find out what really happened. Crash is a worthy distraction and Last night’s meeting soothed what she herself couldn’t. For a time.

            But in the moments of still silence, I grew restless and irritated. I hoped a good workout would help but if anything it’s only made it worse. My aggression has only grown along with my focus and resolve.

            The metal of the fountain on the sidewall of my personal gym is cold on my heated skin. The difference is so alarming I have to fight the urge to pull back my shaking arms. The water is even colder when I bend down and greedily suck it up but I have no urge to pull away, it feels good on my parched throat.

           Only when I’m satisfied do I pull away panting. My arms shake as I put my weight on them using them to brace me against the fountain as I stay leaning over it, my head hanging between my shoulders.

        “f**k! f**k! f**k!” I groan. I need to do something. Every cell in my body is demanding action. My mind is clear but driven by rage. And my patients are losing with every breath I take.

        How do I go into the office tomorrow, sit down next to him and pretend like nothing is different let alone restrain myself enough to keep from knocking him out like I really want to? I don’t know if I can and that’s a real f*****g problem.

        I’ve always had a firm grasp on my control. I’m proud of that but this time is different. I’m different. He threatened and touched the most important person or thing on this planet, my f*****g girl.

        My girl.

        I saw the person she was when I meet her because of a lifetime of abuse she should never have suffered. From the very first time I witnessed my beautiful yet clumsy spitfire flinch at a simple movement or her look of confusion at a kind gesture or gentle words, I vowed to protect her. And I prayed to whoever's out there that I could help heal her. The more I learned coincided with her growth and healing and then collided into a tragedy that tore us all into pieces.

        Aria has suffered so much already she needed nothing more but I failed her. And my own father was the one that brought her new pain and more tainted memories in the one place that’s truly hers. In the one place, she finds the most comfort and peace. How can I let that stand? How can I wait around for action well pretending in silence and civility?

        A bottle of whiskey sounds appealing. Oblivion has to be better than this torment at least for a while. I could get lost in the smooth liquor as it drowns out my shame and guilt. It’d be easy to forget for a moment the responsibility and necessity that grows with little to no results. Or the past that can repeat itself should I fail again. 

        But tomorrow will still come. And whether I’m hungover or not I’ll still have to look my father in the eye and I don't think I'll be able to hold my fists at my sides. I think it’ll be the first time I’ve ever hit my father and I cant come to regret the possibility for even a moment.