Rustboro Gym Novels & Stories

“Eddie?” He rolled his eyes, tucking his knees on his chest, and flipped back up on his feet as if nothing happened. “Please remind me not to mess with you,” Eddie shook his head, a smile tugging on his lips. The gym I was in has no cooling system, for it is an open space. A local owns the place and a few gym goers, both locals and foreigners, enjoy the warm breeze from Carlisle bay while doing their routines.

"The Rusty Bolt" was the kind of place where the air seemed to have been filtered through decades of tobacco, cheap whiskey, and the sweat of men who didn’t know what an easy life was. Located on the outskirts of the city, the bar served as the unofficial sanctuary of the Leather Wolves. The red and blue neon lights flickered intermittently, casting distorted shadows over the stained wooden tables and the leather jackets that filled the room.

Rux. "Yeah, Rux is still running this city. Though Ryder Rux hepls him now," Bella said eyes glinting at the mentioned of the son. "Him and his friends run a gym and bar on their own. Fronts for the gang business." She leans in lowering her voice. Jasmine sighed her eyes drifting away. "They're so hot.. it's so sad they never come here." Thank fuck. I think to myself as Jasmine goes on. "They're like the avengers but tattooed and morally ambiguous."

Nikki POV Maisey, Gideon, and I decided that this week we would have to make things appear as normal as possible, so we didn’t raise any suspicions when Ernesto and AA were around. Once Gideon arrived in the evening we would head to Rusty’s Gym. Now when I say gym, I say that in the loose sense of the word. It had a sparring ring, speed bag, and a punching bag. The patrons looked like ‘50 miles of bad road’, the place was filthy, and it smelled like anyone who had ever been there wasn’t familiar with how to use deodorant.

JAX "Stay low, stay quiet, and for the love of the moon, let me do the talking." I adjusted the leather collar of my vest as Raven and I stood on the edge of a gravel parking lot. We were twenty miles out of town at a place called The Rusty Fang. It was a neutral bar—a hole-in-the-wall where rogues, loners, and the occasional scout from a rival pack came to drink and trade rumors. "I can handle myself, Jax," Raven whispered, her eyes scanning the flickering neon sign.

-You are Natacha- he said with a flirtatious voice that would melt anyone's legs. -The same, how can I help you- -Come with me- the man raised a spray and activated it in front of the beta's face. She fell into his arms quickly unconscious. The man raised a hand and touched the microphone to his ear –Target 2 captured- Falcon and Zacarias headed to a remote area of ​​the city made up mostly of abandoned factories and scrap metal dumps. The sun was almost setting so the yellowish rays danced over Falcon's tousled hair. He bit between his teeth a strong peppermint candy that his friend had given him, claiming that it would help him contain his anxiety, but he was doing little work. They had be

I say as I walk past him, determined to stay polite. The gym turns out to be a spacious space with high ceilings and an open floor plan, probably to accommodate the larger physiques of werewolves in their half-shifted or fully shifted forms. Large windows, much like those in Rocco’s house, allow plenty of light to flood in while offering views of the surrounding woods. Towards the back, battle ropes, tractor tyres, and climbing ropes signal that this place is built for something far beyond human fitness. I like it immediately and make my way towards a treadmill. Ordinarily I would have opted for a run through the woods, but this was foreign territory and I didn't feel safe enough to do so.

Tyler rolled his eyes at him, uninterested, "It was a long list and I might have made some mistake, so you better confirm it by your own eyes!" "Aright! What's the name of the place?" "It's some training facility named 'Rudra Arsenal Training Junction' on Zerg!"

The front desk was empty, the glass doors locked from the outside—only the side entrance remained accessible for late-night members and trainers. I pushed through at 10:12, gym bag slung over one shoulder, heart already beating a little too fast. Ronan had texted earlier that afternoon: Private session tonight. Studio B. 10:30 sharp. Don’t be late. Wear something you can move in. I’d chosen black high-waisted leggings and a cropped black sports bra—simple, functional, but the way the fabric hugged my curves felt suddenly too revealing under the quiet fluorescent glow of the hallway.

I hadn't seen Justin since I walked out of the clubhouse and handed him the President's patch. And right now, a cheap beer in a dive bar sounded like the only thing that would keep me from committing a murder today. I tapped on the glass partition. "Change of plans, Marcus. Take me to the South Side. Drop me at Rusty’s." The driver blinked in the rearview mirror, clearly terrified of taking a half-million-dollar car into Reaper territory, but he nodded. "Yes, sir." Rusty’s was a total shithole, and I meant that affectionately. It sat in corner of the industrial district, a windowless brick building with a neon sign that had been flickering the word BAR since 1998.