Chapter 19
The note was crumpled in Andrea’s hand, her knuckles white as she gripped it tightly. This one was worse than the others—its words cut deeper, sharper.
“Stop digging, Riley. Emma learned the hard way. So did her father. Do you really want to be next?”
Andrea’s heart pounded as she sat on the edge of her bed. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in. She glanced at Sophie, who was scrolling through her laptop, completely unaware. Andrea wasn’t ready to tell her about the latest threat. Not yet.
She folded the note and stuffed it into her bag. There was only one person who might give her something close to the truth.
The gym smelled like sweat and rubber, the air thick with the sound of punching bags being hit and muffled grunts. Andrea found Aiden near the back, his shirt damp with sweat, muscles rippling as he worked a heavy bag.
She hesitated. There was always an edge to Aiden, like he was a loaded weapon waiting for someone to pull the trigger. But he valued honesty—blunt, raw honesty—and that’s exactly what she was bringing.
“Andrea,” he said without turning, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “What do you want?”
“How did you know it was me?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Aiden smirked, finally turning to face her. “You walk like you’re about to fight someone. It’s hard to miss.”
“Good,” Andrea said, stepping closer. “Because I am.”
Aiden raised an eyebrow, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “You’re in the wrong place for a lecture. Try Nathaniel or Gabriel.”
“No,” Andrea snapped. “I’m here because you’re the only one who doesn’t sugarcoat things. I keep finding notes. Threats. They’re about Emma. About her father. And every time I ask for answers, I get nothing but walls and cryptic warnings. I’m done with that.”
Aiden’s smirk faded, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. “You think I’m going to give you what you want?”
“I think you’re going to stop treating me like an idiot,” Andrea shot back, her voice rising.
Aiden chuckled darkly, tossing the towel onto a nearby bench. “All right, Riley. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He gestured toward the boxing gloves hanging on the wall.
“What?” Andrea asked, confused.
“You’ve got all this fire,” Aiden said, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Let’s put it to use. You want answers? Earn them.”
Andrea bristled but grabbed a pair of gloves. She wasn’t going to back down now.
The first punch came faster than Andrea expected. Aiden’s glove darted toward her, stopping just short of her face.
“You’re slow,” he said, his voice calm but taunting. “Come on, Riley. You think you can handle this place? Handle us? Prove it.”
Andrea swung at him, but he sidestepped easily, his movements fluid and precise.
“Too predictable,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Come on. You’re supposed to be smart.”
Andrea growled, throwing another punch. This time, he blocked it, the force of the impact making her wrist ache.
“You’re holding back,” he said, his voice dropping. “That’s your problem. You’re too worried about what everyone else thinks. About playing nice. You think that’s going to get you anywhere here?”
His words stung because they were true. Andrea gritted her teeth and swung again, this time aiming for his ribs.
Aiden dodged, a grin tugging at his lips. “Better. But not enough.”
The sparring continued, each blow pushing Andrea closer to her breaking point. Sweat dripped down her face, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. Aiden was relentless, his taunts digging under her skin.
Finally, with a frustrated scream, she lunged at him, landing a solid punch to his shoulder. Aiden staggered back slightly, laughing.
“There it is,” he said, his tone almost approving. “That’s what I was waiting for.”
Andrea glared at him, her fists still raised. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”
Aiden shrugged, pulling off his gloves. “Maybe. But you needed that.”
Andrea sat on the bench in the locker room, her hands trembling as Aiden wrapped an ice pack around her bruised knuckles. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier intensity.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
“I’ll survive,” Andrea muttered, wincing as the cold seeped into her skin.
They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them shifting. Aiden’s usually hard expression softened as he looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable.
“You don’t give up, do you?” he said finally.
Andrea shook her head. “Not when it matters.”
Aiden sighed, leaning back against the wall. “You’re digging into things that should stay buried, Andrea.”
She straightened, her frustration bubbling to the surface again. “Because no one will just tell me the truth. If people were honest, I wouldn’t have to dig through their dirty laundry—or underwear.”
Aiden let out a short laugh, but it was tinged with bitterness. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant.
“Emma’s father was a cop,” he said finally, his voice flat. “He was obsessed with taking down my family. He thought she could help him—thought she was dating Nathaniel to get information.”
Andrea’s breath caught. “And was she?”
Aiden shook his head. “No. She and Nathaniel… it was real. But my father didn’t care. He told Nathaniel to end it, said it was bad for the family. Nathaniel refused.”
Andrea’s chest tightened. “What happened?”
“She disappeared,” Aiden said simply, his tone emotionless. “She left Blackthorn, and her father lost it. Started drinking. Lost his job. End of story.”
Andrea stared at him, her mind racing. “You’re telling me your father made her leave?”
Aiden met her gaze, his expression cold. “I’m telling you to stop asking questions you don’t want the answers to.”
