~ IVANOV ~
My fist slammed into the punching bag again and again, each hit echoing through the gym like a thunderclap. Sweat slicked my skin, dripping down my back and stinging my eyes, the salty tang mixing with the musty scent of leather and old rubber mats. Pedro hung back by the edge of the ring, arms crossed, his gaze steady on me like he was waiting for me to crack.
I'd been in a foul mood since yesterday, a black cloud hanging over my head that I couldn't shake. And hell if I knew why. It gnawed at me, this restlessness, like an itch under my skin I couldn't reach.
Why the f**k had she shown up at the bar last night? The question looped in my mind like a bad song on repeat, refusing to let up.
Damn it all to hell. I drove my fist harder into the bag, and it caved in, folding lik
