Thorne | The Ex

My hand waves over the hidden door's sensor, the lock disengaging with a soft hiss. Stepping through, the world contracts into something manageable. Everything funnels into this brutal, unrelenting space. My gym. My sanctuary.

With hours to kill before the meeting, I need to bleed some of this rage out. There's no better way than throwing iron until the ache in my body outweighs the shit in my head. The air is cool, with the tang of metal and sweat.

Soft light glints off mirrored walls, casting jagged shadows that feel like home. Everything here, every machine, every barbell, every rope is custom-built to handle a monster like me. Even the punching bag in the corner, stitched with silver thread, barely survives more than a few rounds. This room is a temple. Power. Precision. Control.

I yank at the knot of my tie, tugging it loose. The shirt follows in one fluid motion; buttons be damned. I strip down completely. Naked means no restrictions, nothing to shred when I push too hard. And I will. The knotted tension demands it, tightening further as her face creeps into my mind.

Her eyes, wide and unsure, looking up at me. The tremor in her voice as she handed me her phone. The messages were bad, but her lie. That's the blade twisting under my skin, the thing that's got me coming apart.

I take a deep breath, trying to drown the fire building inside me, but it's useless. I roll my shoulders, stretching out the tension before grabbing the barbell loaded with enough weight to crush a human. It's familiar, the one thing I can bend to my will.

Even as I lift, the rhythm isn't enough to silence her. Maci. The way her pulse jumped when she lied to me, the subtle shift in her scent from fear to defiance. The way she looked at me, like I was both her salvation and something to run from. It's a fucking war inside me, my need to protect her battling the urge to claim her outright.

The weights thud against the floor as I finish the set, the impact rattling through the room. My muscles strain, the burn in my arms and chest giving me something to focus on, but it's not enough. Nothing will be enough until I know every piece of her, every secret, every scar.

Until she's mine in every possible way.

I stride toward the corner, the thick lengths of chain gleaming under the low light. Coiling them around my waist, I savour the pinch as the heavy links bite into my skin. Securing the ends with a heavy-duty carabiner.

At the centre of the room sits a custom-forged metal block. I clip the carabiner to the 150-kilogram weight, letting it dangle from my waist. The pull-up bar overhead gleams like a challenge, and I reach for it, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal until it groans in protest.

Pulling myself up, my muscles burn in defiance, but I force them to obey. Each movement is deliberate, driving out the chaos of my thoughts. Maci's smile slams into me, that soft, nervous curve of her lips that haunts me. It's immediately followed by the memory of Ethan touching her, brushing against her chest like he had the right.

I want to shred every inch of flesh from his body, to grind his bones to dust for daring to lay a hand on what's mine.

The combination of my body weight and the iron block does its job, my muscles scream with each pull. Sweat pours down my face, the burn radiating through my chest and arms, finally clearing my head. On the fifty-eighth rep, my phone buzzes from the bench pulling me back to the surface.

I drop from the bar; the weight crashing to the ground with a thundering vibration that rattles the floor beneath me. Unclipping the carabiner, I swipe up the phone, my chest heaving with exertion. Logan.

"Yeah," I snap, dragging the towel across my forehead to clear the sweat that's dripping into my eyes.

Logan's laugh crackles through the line, full of smug amusement.

"You sound absolutely thrilled to hear from me, Thorne. Let me guess, the little human is still living rent-free in that big, brooding head of yours?"

I grind my teeth, my voice dropping to a low warning. "I've had a shit day. Don't push me. What did you find?"

"Relax, boss," he drawls, clearly enjoying himself. "I've got every feeler working overtime. Picture's starting to come together. Maci Carter isn't exactly running a double life. Just your average girl trying to make it in the big bad city."

"She's not average." The words crack out like a whip. The line goes silent for half a second, but I can practically hear the grin spreading across his face.

"You're right about that," Logan replies, his tone downright smug. "I've seen her picture. She's…"

"If you finish that fucking sentence," I cut in, my voice pure venom, "I will tear your goddamn throat out."

A low chuckle rumbles from his end. "Easy there, alpha. No need to go feral on me. I was just about to tell you what I found on Mike."

The name pisses me off, my fingers tightening around the phone until the casing groans. Mike. This is the bastard Maci really thinks is texting her.

My voice is all steel. "Talk."

Logan doesn't make me wait.

"So, you were right. Mike's her ex. Ex-husband, actually. Looks like they met and tied the knot pretty damn quick, within a few months. But it didn't last long. A couple of years, tops. No kids. I'm waiting on the full papers, but I'll know more soon."

Ex-husband. The words slam into me, hollowing out my chest. Married. She was married.

My lungs seize as bile rises in my throat. The thought of him touching her, claiming her, calling her his. It's poison running through my veins. She let him. She gave herself to him in ways she hasn't given herself to me. Ways that should've always been mine.

The gym around me fades, the weights and chains forgotten as my vision narrows. She loved him. A fucking human. Loved him enough to say vows, to sign her name next to his. The thought makes my wolf surge, clawing at the surface, snarling with a jealousy so visceral it's blinding.

"Thorne?" Logan's voice snaps me back, but I don't respond. I can't. I'm too busy fighting the animalistic need to destroy.

My voice comes low and guttural, more growl than words. "I will flay him alive."

He dared to touch her. To hold her. To love her. And then he let her go. Discarded her like she was nothing. Like she wasn't the single most extraordinary thing to ever fucking exist. He didn't deserve her. No one does. Except me.

"You all good over there, Thorne? You sound… stressed." Logan's voice has shifted, the teasing replaced with careful observation. He knows me too well, knows when the edge is cracking beneath my weight.

"I'm fine,"

Lie.

"You just caught me mid set,"

Another lie.

"Uh-huh." The scepticism in his tone is almost tangible, but he doesn't push. Smart. "I'll let you know when I've got the full picture. Later, boss."

The line goes dead, and I toss the phone onto the bench instead of driving it through the nearest wall. My hands are shaking, the wildfire in my veins refusing to burn out. I plant them on my thighs, trying to ground myself, but every breath feels like inhaling gasoline.

She married him. She loved him. She let him touch her.

I shove the thought down, but it fights me, clawing its way back to the surface. This is why you can't have her, I remind myself, but the words are hollow.

Because I already know the truth: she's already mine.

Grabbing the towel, I sling it over my shoulder and head toward the shower, hoping the scalding water can drown out the chaos.

It doesn't. Nothing does.