COLT'S POV
I can still feel the baby kicking against the couch cushion from last night. That small, defiant thump against my cheek while I whispered things I'd deny under oath.
So naturally, I'm in the gym at 7 AM beating the hell out of a heavy bag.
Left hook. Right cross. The bag swings and I follow it and hit it again. Knuckles wrapped. Shirt soaked through. Music loud enough to crack the walls because if it's loud enough I can't hear the voice in my head.
The voice that says: your hands are weapons. That's all they'll ever be. That's all YOU'll ever be.
It sounds like my father. It always has.
Right hook. The bag jumps on its chain. My wraps are staining pink.
I've been Iron Howl's enforcer since I was old enough to be useful at it. I'm good at putting people on the ground. The
